Singapore roughly twelve hours ago.”
“That British Air pilot. He sound to you like he had a gun to his head?”
“He absolutely did not, Mr. President,” Thompson said. “Rock solid.”
“No,” Baker agreed. “No coercion in that voice.”
“Holy Mother of God,” the president said. “Get the British prime minister on the line. And patch me through to Hawkeye.” A Marine bird colonel waved at him and he picked up the blinking phone.
“Hawkeye, we got a little problem here,” the president said.
“Yes, sir,” Alex Hawke replied.
“Airplane now approaching LAX is a Boeing 747-400ER, tail number matches the one BA confirms as having departed Singapore at 0700 hours this morning. Passenger count is identical. Squawk code identical. Pilot identifies himself as Captain Simon Breckenridge, exactly the man who should be sitting in the left-hand seat according to the BA spokesman in London and has correctly given his company identification number. Any ideas?”
“Yes, sir. Shoot him down.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The White House
“SHOOT DOWN A CIVLIAN AIRLINER WITH A FEW HUNDRED people aboard. Based on your best guess as to what the hell is actually going on here.”
“It’s not a guess, sir.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Alex.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re not on speaker. Just you and me. Haven’t got a lot of time here. You told me yourself that what you had, you would not, or could not, characterize as hard information, correct?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“You saw an aircraft explode, but it was on a monitor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could have been a tape. Could have been digitally altered in some way.”
“Could have been, yes, sir.”
“This information about an alleged second 747 carrying terrorists you received directly from bin Wazir himself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Confirmed by a secondary source.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Reliable? Who the hell is it?”
“He’s a sumo wrestler, sir.”
“Alex, listen. Unless you’ve got something, anything you’re not telling me, and I mean right this second, I’m going to authorize the FAA to let that airplane land in Los Angeles, you got me?”
“Mr. President, the man flying that plane is not who he says he is. Nor is that airplane what it appears, no doubt unquestionably in many people’s eyes, to be.”
“How do you know that?”
“My gut.”
“Your gut. Well, that’s hardly enough to go on now, is it? Shoot down a planeload of people. Alex, you know I’m sorry as hell about Tex Patterson. Goddamn it. Tex was one of my closest friends. But you did a fine job of getting Brick Kelly out of that goddamn place alive, helluva job, and I want to personally—”
“His mother, sir.”
“His mother?”
“His mother. Or, his wife or his girlfriend. Doesn’t matter, as long as they’re close. We could patch them through right to the pilot. Have them ask him a few intimate—”
“Goddamn right we could! Good thinking! Jesus Christ! Stay with me—I want you to hear the whole thing— hey, Karen, you still got British Airways on the line? Tell ’em you want personnel, now! Call the FAA and tell them to buy time. Put that plane in a traffic hold—Alex, you still there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, we’ve got BA chief of personnel on, go ahead Alex, this is your baby.”
“Hello?” Hawke said.
“This is Patrick O’Dea speaking, sir, how may we be of service?”
“Mr. O’Dea, Alex Hawke speaking, there’s a problem with one of your pilots. Simon Breckenridge. I’d like to speak immediately to his wife. Or closest relative. And I need you to ring straight through—”
“It’s the middle of the night here, sir! We—”
“The president of the United States is also on the line, Mr. O’Dea. This is a crisis situation—”
“Yeah, this is President McAtee in Washington, Mr. O’Dea. I’d appreciate it if you’d just put us through to Captain Breckenridge’s closest relative.”
“Certainly, Mr. President, I, uh, I’m just looking—ah, here we are, his wife, yes, a Mrs. Marjorie Breckenridge living in Hay-on-Wye. I’ll put you through to her straightaway, Mr. President.”
There was a faint screeching tone, during which the president said to Hawke, “We’ll take it from here, Alex. I’ll keep this line open and…however this plays out, good work and God bless, Hawkeye.”
A ring, and then a woman answered, “Hullo?”
“Mrs. Breckenridge? This is Jack McAtee, president of the United States calling.”
“Very funny,” the woman’s voice again. “If you call this number again, I shall call the police. They can trace you, you know. Good-bye and don’t ever—”
“Wait! Don’t hang up! It’s about your husband, Simon!”
Navy F/A18-E Super Hornets suddenly swarmed around the inbound 747 like angry bees. Upstairs, F-117A Stealth fighters from Miramar were standing by. Johnny Adare was on the radio now, talking to the tower, trying desperately to stay calm. Soong was filming the fighters, but he wasn’t very calm either. It was almost worth it to see the little bastard sweat.
“Squawk two-five-zero-six, climb and maintain flight level one-niner-zero,” L.A. said.
“Climb and maintain one-niner-zero, Speedbird 77 heavy…Uh, what exactly is the problem, L.A. Approach?”
“We’re trying to work that out, sir. Captain, I have an urgent call for you. I’m patching it through to you now.”
“What?” Johnny Adare said. “What are you talking—”
“Simon? Simon, what’s going on?” a woman’s voice asked him. Johnny grabbed at Soong’s shirt, pulling him closer. Then he had his hand around his throat, shaking him like ragdoll.
“They’ve got a fucking woman on the phone now fucking wants to talk to me!” Adare hissed in his ear. “You got some fucking ideas how to handle this part, you bleeding little shit?”
“Stay cool, Johnny, just talk to her—whatever she wants to hear.”
“Simon,” the woman said, “You don’t sound like yourself. Are you all right, love? They won’t tell me what this is about. They want me to—to ask you our children’s names, dear.”
“Children’s names?” Adare said, his voice rising involuntarily.
“Yes, dear. The children’s names—”
“Well, there’s little Simon. And, of course—”
“Oh, dear God! Are you quite all right, dear? Has someone got a gun? Tell me what’s wrong! I can’t stand this. I can’t—”
“Yes, I’m fine. What’s the matter? I don’t—”
“For God’s sakes, Simon, we don’t have any children anymore! That lorry came round the bend and—oh, my
