We're heading for Gander, and we need the Mounties. Over.'
'Rainbow?'
'Just like it sounds, Agent Carney. I repeat, the situation is under control. The three hijackers are in custody. I'll stand by to talk to your director.'
'Yes, sir,' replied a very surprised voice.
Clark looked down to see his hands shaking a little now that it was over. Well, that had happened once or twice before. The aircraft banked to the left while the pilot was talking on the radio, presumably to Gander.
'Niner-Two-Zero, Niner-Two-Zero, this is Agent Carney again.'
'Carney, this is Rainbow.' Clark paused. 'Captain, is this radio link secure?'
'It's encrypted, yes.'
John almost swore at himself for violating radio discipline. 'Okay, Carney, what's happening?'
'Stand by for the Director.' There was a click and a brief crackle. 'John?' a new voice asked.
'Yes, Dan.'
'What gives?'
'Three of them, Spanish-speaking, not real smart. We took them down.'
'Alive?'
'That's affirmative,' Clark confirmed. 'I told the pilot to head for RCAF Gander. We're due there in-'
'Niner-zero minutes,' the copilot said.
'Hour and a half,' John went on. 'You want to have the Mounties show up to collect our bad boys, and call Andrews. We need transport on to London.'
He didn't have to explain why. What ought to have been a simple commercial flight of three officers and two wives had blown their identities, and there was little damned sense in having them hang around for everyone aboard to see their faces-most would just want to buy them drinks, but that wasn't a good idea. All the effort they'd gone to, to make Rainbow both effective and secret, had been blown by three dumbass Spaniards-or whatever they were. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police would figure that one out before handing them over to the American FBI.
'Okay, John, let me get moving on that. I'll call Rene and have him get things organized. Anything else you need?'
'Yeah, send me a few hours of sleep, will ya?'
'Anything you want, pal,' the FBI Director replied with a chuckle, and the line went dead. Clark took the headset off and hung it on the hook.
'Who the hell are you?' the captain demanded again. The initial explanation hadn't been totally satisfactory.
'Sir, my friends and I are air marshals who just happened to be aboard. Is that clear, sir?'
'I suppose,' Garnet said. 'Glad you made it. The one who was up here was a little loose, if you know what I mean. We were damned worried there for a while.'
Clark nodded with a knowing smile. 'Yeah. so was I.
They'd been doing it for some time. The powder-blue vans - there were four of them - circulated throughout New York City, picking up homeless people and shuttling them to the dry-out centers run by the corporation. The quiet, kindly operation had made local television over a year ago, and garnered the corporation a few dozen friendly letters, then slid back down below the horizon, as such things tended to do. It was approaching midnight, and with dropping autumn temperatures, the vans were out, collecting the homeless throughout central and lower Manhattan. They didn't do it the way the police once had. The people they helped weren't compelled to get aboard. The volunteers from the corporation asked, politely.
They wanted a clean bed for the night, free of charge, and absent the religious complications typical of most 'missions,' as they were traditionally called. Those who declined the offer were given blankets, used ones donated by corporate employees who were home sleeping or watching TV at the moment-participation in the program was voluntary for the staff as well-but still warm, and waterproofed. Some of the homeless preferred to stay out, deeming it to be some sort of freedom. More did not. Even habitual drunkards liked beds and showers. Presently there were ten of them in the van, and that was all it could hold for this trip. They were helped aboard, sat down, and seat-belted into their places for safety purposes.
None of them knew that this was the fifth of the four vans operating in lower Manhattan, though they found out something was a little different as soon as it started moving. The attendant leaned back from the front seat and handed out bottles of Gallo burgundy, an inexpensive california red, but a better wine than they were used to drinking, and to which something had been added.
By the time they reached their destination, all were asleep or at least stuporous. Those who were able to move were helped from one truck into the back of another, strapped down in their litter beds, and allowed to fail asleep. The rest were carried and strapped down by two pairs of men. With that task done, the first van was driven off to be cleaned out-they used steam to make sure that whatever residue might be left was sterilized and blasted out of the van. The second truck headed uptown on the West Side Highway, caught the curling ramp for the George Washington Bridge, and crossed the Hudson River. From there it headed north through the northeast corner of Jersey, then back into New York State.
It turned out that Colonel William Lytle Byron was already in the air in a USAF KC-10 on a course track almost identical to, and only an hour behind, the United 77. It altered course northward for Gander as well. The former P-3 base had to wake up a few personnel to handle the inbound jumbos, but that was the least of it.
The three failed hijackers were blindfolded, hog-tied, and laid on the floor just forward of the front row of first class seats, which John, Ding, and Alistair appropriated. Coffee was served, and the other passengers kept away from that part of the aircraft.
'I rather admire the Ethiopians' approach to situations like this,' Stanley observed. He was sipping tea.
'What's that?' Chavez asked tiredly.
'Some years ago they had a hijacking attempt on their national flag carrier. There happened to be security chap aboard, and they got control of the situation. Then they strapped their charges in first-class seats, wrapped towels around their necks to protect the upholstery, and cut their throats, right there on the aircraft. And you know-'
'Gotten,' Ding observed. Nobody had messed with that airline since. 'Simple, but effective.'
'Quite.' He set his cup down. 'I hope this sort of thing doesn't happen too often.'
The three officers looked out the windows to see the runway lights just before the 777 thumped down at RCAF Gander. There was a muted series of cheers and a smattering of applause from aft. The airliner slowed and then taxied off to the military facilities, where it stopped- The front-right door was opened, and a scissors lift truck moved to it, slowly and carefully.
John, Ding, and Alistair unsnapped their seat belts and moved toward the door, keeping an eye on the three hijackers as they did so. The first aboard the aircraft was a RCAF officer with a pistol belt and white lanyard, followed by three men in civilian clothes who had to be cops.
'You're Mr. Clark?' the officer asked.
'That's right.' John pointed. 'There's your three suspects, I think the term is.' He smiled tiredly at that. The cops moved to deal with them.
'Alternate transport is on the way, about an hour out,' the Canadian officer told him.
'Thank you.' The three moved to collect their carryon baggage, and in two cases, their wives. Patsy was asleep and had to be awakened. Sandy had gotten back into her hook. Two minutes later, all five of them were on the ground, shuffling into one of the RCAF cars. As soon as they pulled away, the aircraft started moving again, taxiing to the civilian terminal so that the passengers could get off and stretch while the 777 was serviced and refueled.
'How do we get to England?' Ding asked, after getting his wife bedded down in the unused ready room.
'Your Air Force is sending a VC-20. There will be people at Heathrow to collect your bags. There's a Colonel Byron coming for your three prisoners,' the senior cop explained.
'Here are their weapons.' Stanley handed over three airsick bags with the disassembled pistols inside. 'Browning M-1935s, military finish. No explosives. They really are bloody amateurs. Basques, I think. They seem to have been after the Spanish ambassador to Washington. His wife was in the seat next to mine. Senora Constanza de Monterosa - the wine family. They bottle the most marvelous clarets and Madeiras. I think you will find that this
