David Golemon - Legacy

Laurel lowered the glasses and reached for the small radio clipped to the inside of her jacket. She felt an adrenaline rush accompanying the action she was about to perform. From the day her high school counselor informed her father that his daughter had a severe problem with authority, she had thought her wealth precluded her from any form of normal social function. She smiled at the memory and lifted the small microphone attached to her coat collar.

“Site one, are you ready?” she asked, the smile lingering on her lips as she actually started shaking with excitement.

“Site one, prepared to lock on to target.”

“Site two, are you tracking?” she asked into the microphone.

“Site two is tracking.”

“Site three?”

“Three is prepared to do the will of God.”

Laurel wanted to laugh at the phrase coming from position three. She wanted to scream that it was her will, not God’s, that was controlling the fate of the nation today. Instead, she allowed the coat collar to fall back without commenting on the foolishness spouted by site three.

The men had been chosen by the Mechanic and had been taught extensively in the use of the FIM-92 Stinger missile system. The infrared targeting system would lock on to the exhaust of Marine One and send the 10.1 kilogram missile into the proximity of the engine compartment. The Raytheon theft was about to pay off once more.

Just as Laurel was about to start down the winding staircase to the ground floor so she could make a hasty retreat, her cell phone rang and she stopped halfway to the tenth-floor exit.

“What?” she said angrily into the phone.

“My dear, may I ask what it is you are doing?” McCabe said from three thousand miles away. He had just witnessed the culmination of a major portion of his plan and wasn’t happy about the failure of the missiles from Devil’s Island in not bringing down the first Ariane rocket.

“Doing something that you don’t have the balls to do, James. I’m betting heavily that the Americans won’t launch tonight, that’s what I’m doing. Your plan has failed completely. Now you not only have one but two missions on their way to the Moon.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Laurel. The Chinese system will eventually fail. It is far too complicated for a damaged ship to make the trip and land safely. They have a three-day journey and they won’t make it. The ESA platform is heavily damaged, so they’re also ill-fated. Now stop what it is you are doing because this action will not prevent the United States from following a presidential directive. You are making us all look like amateurs.”

“Nonetheless, James, I will do what you are destined to fail at, and I have the man who signs your mercenary checks backing me on this.”

McCabe had to think fast. His plans were unraveling and he was bound to be implicated in the actions thus far if Laurel continued to be a rogue element. But if he sent out a warning she would be caught and that would lead directly to her father. McCabe had no illusions that the trail would then lead right to his front door. If so, the plan for framing the Mechanic and his movement would just be a waste of time. McCabe thought of a possible way out.

“I tried,” he said as simply as he could. “Do you have a proper escape plan?”

“I’m heading to the street now. I’m taking public transportation to the airport.”

“That’s good. Then you should tell your shooters to commence lock-on of the target now. I see on television that Marine One is just lifting off.”

“James, I was informed that locking on to the target too soon would alert the defensive equipment of not only the presidential helicopter, but the orbiting fighters as well. Just what are you trying to do?”

McCabe now knew who was involved in planning the attack on the president. It could only be the Mechanic, because no one knew the Stinger system as he did. Now he had a confirmation that the Saudi was finally reverting to his old, terrorist ways-or was it something more like avarice?

“Normally that would be true, but you’re misinformed, my beauty. You are using the Stinger FIM-101, the newer system that allows lock-on with no tracking flashback from the seeker head. You can lock on early and get the hell out of there, and save your men at the same time. Whoever you’re in this with should have explained that to you.”

Laurel bit her lower lip.

“Look, you cannot get caught. It would lead directly to your father.”

Laurel’s vanity overpowered her mistrust of her father’s mercenary. She lowered the cell phone and then her hand went to her collar. She raised the microphone to her mouth.

“All stations lock on, now!” she said into the microphone.

Flying at 39,000 feet off the coast of Mexico, James McCabe smiled as he heard the voice in his ear.

“But, miss, we are trained to-”

“Lock on the target, now!” she screamed, sounding like a spoiled child balking at a parental order.

All stations turned on their IR and radar-equipped seeker heads located in the missile itself. The signal was sent through to the microchip inside the handle of the Stinger and the blip appeared as a target that had been acquired. The three Stinger stations placed on the rooftop all called in stating they had acquired the target.

“Now get out of there,” McCabe ordered. “Flag a cab about three blocks from the building you’re in and don’t look back. Meet me in Atlanta. D.C. is going to shut down minutes after the attack.”

Laurel listened to McCabe and for the first time she started to get frightened at what she had just ordered. It was like a twelve-year-old getting caught hitting a schoolmate with a sharpened pencil-while the exhilaration was still there, it was nonetheless scary to be caught red-handed.

“But-”

“Get the hell out, now!”

Laurel snapped the phone shut and ran for the stairs.

The two U.S. Air Force F-22 Raptors were flying at fifteen thousand feet through a cleared corridor dictated by Marine One’s flight plan to Annapolis. Their job was to cover the path of the presidential helicopter the entire time it was in the air. This was a new protocol since the attacks on air and space assets in the previous week. The pilots were on a rotating roster and were stationed at Andrews. Their duty was usually one of boredom and routine as they circled well above the commander in chief.

The flight lead was Lieutenant Colonel William “Wild Bill” Lederman, a career officer who was filling in for a pilot who had just received his orders to Afghanistan. He was doing it as a favor so the other man could spend a few more days with his wife and two children. His wingman was Thomas “Hollywood” Henderson, a young first lieutenant who was performing the protection run for only the second time.

The world for both pilots was about to change in dramatic fashion.

The large Sikorsky gained altitude quickly and its occupants were unaware of what was happening a mile away at an old and decrepit brownstone. Inside the helicopter a communications line buzzed.

“Mr. President, you have a call on the secure line,” a Marine corporal said as he leaned into the cabin.

The president of the United States looked over at his national security advisor, who was the only one of his staff accompanying him that evening. He then closed his eyes as the phone rang in the armrest of his seat. He sighed and then snatched up the receiver. He knew it was going to be a long night of nervous tension watching the double launch tonight from Vandenberg. He placed the phone to his ear and heard the scrambling sounds as the Marine communications officer made the connection.