The assassin looked at the digital phone sitting on the control board and counted the rings. When it stopped after the fourth one, he dialed in a frequency code on the control board and pressed the send button.
The signal was received less than a second later, and the transponder that was planted in the ABC van the previous evening kicked in. The power to the transmitter was restored, and the live feed was back on line. A couple of seconds later, the bottom left monitor went from a fuzzy, gray picture back to a clear picture of the South Lawn. Lortch watched the choppers as they flew across the Mall toward the White House. As they approached, the rotor wash became intense. Lortch’s tie started to flap up into his face, and he reached down, tucking it into his shirt. The lead Super Stallion hovered directly over Lortch’s head as the shiny green-and-white VH-3 in the middle descended and landed gently. The four ominous, loud Super Stallions held their positions hovering about two hundred feet above the ground, waiting for the VH-3 to ascend back into the formation. Lortch looked down and watched eight Secret Service agents escort the first two passengers to the foot of the VH-3. A Marine helped the two VIPS into the helicopter
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and then pulled up the steps and closed the door. Even over the loud roar of the Super
Stallions, Lortch could hear the VH-3 increase the power of its engines.
The executive helicopter gracefully lifted off the ground and stopped at an altitude even with her escorts. She hovered for a brief moment, then all five helicopters simultaneously banked to the right and headed northeast. As the choppers increased power and passed over the White House, Lortch and the other agents widened their stances to steady themselves against the intense rotor wash. The next group of helicopters was already passing the Washington Monument and moving toward the White House.
There was a brief moment of relative silence as the rumble of the first group lessened in the distance and the roar of the approaching group grew. Manly turned to Lortch and
Stiener.
“God, those damn escorts are loud.” Lortch and Stiener nodded their heads in agreement. The next formation swooped in over the South Lawn a little faster than the first, and the VH-3 wasted no time dropping rapidly and performing a quick, controlled landing. Once again the passengers were escorted by Secret Service agents to the chopper and loaded on board. The VH-3 lifted back into formation, and without pausing, all five helicopters banked to the left and continued to bank as they came back around to a southwesterly course, passing over the Reflection Pool. The next formation was moving toward the White House and Lortch looked at Manly. “Is Tiger ready?”
Manly nodded her head yes. President Stevens strode across the South Lawn wearing a dark wool suit with a faint gray pinstripe, a blue pinpoint oxford, and a deep red tie.
Surrounding him were six Secret Service agents, the one just behind him carrying a bulletproof tan trench coat, ready to throw it over the President at the slightest sign of trouble. Garret walked on the left side of the President so as to avoid getting between his boss and the cameras. Stevens smiled broadly and waved to the cameras and reporters.
He and Garret had debated whether he should give the press his serious and determined look or his happy and excited look before getting on board Marine One. Garret suggested a combination of the two-a happy and determined look. The President, being the consummate actor, understood completely the subtle difference between happy and excited and happy and determined. As they reached the helicopter, Stevens stopped and snapped off a sharp salute to the Marine in dress blues standing at the foot of the steps.
The crew chief, a Marine corporal wearing an in-flight headset, tan, long-sleeve shirt, and blue pants with a red stripe, met Stevens at the top of the steps and helped him through the small doorway. Garret, the Secret Service agent carrying the tan trench coat, and another agent came through this door, and the other four came on board through a second door that was located just behind the port-side wheel flange.
Normally only one agent would fly with the President and the rest of the detail would follow in the next chopper, but times were far from normal. The two doors, with steps built into them, were pulled up quickly and secured. Everyone took his seat while the crew chief made a quick pass to make sure everyone was strapped in. Before taking his own seat, he spoke to the pilots over the in-flight headset, telling them they were buttoned up and ready to go. The helicopter leapt into the air and rose up into the middle
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slot of the formation. Stevens looked out his small, starboard window and was surprised at how close the large, green helicopters were.
Unlike most military helicopters, the inside of Marine One was soundproofed against the noise of the large engines and the rotors, so conversation could take place without having to shout. The President looked to Garret and pointed out the window. “Stu, did you see how close this thing is?” Garret shrugged his shoulders. “You know how these flyboys are. They’re probably just trying to show off.” The digital phone started to ring in the old man’s pocket. He made no attempt to answer it. Staring at the four dull green helicopters that were hovering above the White House, he counted the rings. The call was a signal telling him that the President was on board the helicopter that was about to rise back into the formation. After the third ring he opened the left side of his trench coat.
Taped upside down to the inside of his jacket was a small, black box. The face of it contained a number pad, an enter button, and a power switch. The old man reached inside with his right hand and flipped the power switch to the on position. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then returned his attention to the helicopters hovering over the White House. He saw the green-and-white VH-3 rise into the air and punched two numbers into the remote, but did not hit the enter button. He had to wait until the formation started to move, otherwise the President’s helicopter would drop straight back down into the relative cover of the White House compound. The noses of the helicopters dipped slightly and the group began to move. The old man hit the enter button and said a quick prayer.
The signal was received a second later by the tiny surface-to-air radar unit that had been placed in the Washington Post newspaper box two blocks to the south of the White
House. The unit immediately started to sweep its wide-band search radar over the formation of helicopters.
The band narrowed in less than two seconds from acquisition, to track, to fire control.
Simultaneously, inside the cockpits of all five helicopters, missile warning lights began flashing, and the onboard threat sensors came screeching to life. The loud wailing of the threat sensor told them that they were being illuminated by fire-control radar.
There was no time to think, only time to react as their training had taught them. Heart rates quickened and heads snapped around to see if a missile was already in the air. Their threat sensors informed them that they were
