Patient One (21 page)

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. You scoot down the corridor. If they stop you, tell them you’re going into the treatment room for supplies. I’ll wait a little, then be right behind you.”

“They’ll come after you,” Carolyn warned.

“Not if I’m holding up a used plastic bag of blood,” David improvised. “I’ll tell them I’m coming to get you so we can refill it for the President.”

“It’s so dangerous,” Carolyn breathed.

“I know,” David said. “But we really don’t have a choice, do we?”

Carolyn bit down on her lower lip and tried to steel her nerves. “Whoever thought the practice of medicine would come to this?”

“It’s not just medicine,” David growled. “It’s the whole goddamn world. Now go!”

Carolyn turned for the door, then came back and kissed David hard on the lips. Twice.

“For double good luck,” she said, and dashed out of the room.

_____

From his vantage point on the roof of the hospital, Aliev could clearly hear Basagev’s voice over the satellite cell phone. Once more they spoke in an unusual Middle Eastern dialect of Chechen.

“Everything is in order,” Basagev reported.

“And you are on schedule?” Aliev asked.

“Actually we are somewhat ahead of time,” Basagev answered. “Because of a tailwind, we should touch down in Los Angeles earlier than expected. Would you like me to slow the plane?”

“No,” Aliev said promptly. “Maintain your current speed.”

There was a loud burst of static, then the reception gradually cleared.

“And the nuclear weapon has been armed, in the event Los Angeles becomes the target for our bomb,” Basagev was saying.

“Good,” Aliev said. “But it seems we will be traveling on to Russia.”

“So the Americans are complying, eh?”

“Just as I predicted they would,” Aliev went on. “The Russians, of course, are being bull-headed.”

“Which is what you anticipated,” Basagev said. “But soon enough they will pay a heavy price for their stubbornness and for their cruelty to our people.”

“A price beyond measure,” Aliev snarled. “The oil-rich part of Siberia, which they are so proud of, is about to turn into a vast radioactive wasteland.”

“And instead of Chernobyl, the Russians will mourn over Siberia now,” Basagev prophesied.

“Now and for a thousand years to come,” Aliev added solemnly.

“And for those same thousand years, all of Chechnya will sing your praises.”

“And yours as well.”

“Peace be unto you, Aliev.”

“And unto you, my brother.”

Twenty-three

Ellen Halloway scowled at
the bad news coming from the speakerphone. The Chechen leader at Guantanamo Bay was refusing to talk.

“He believes it’s some sort of trick,” General Nichols reported. “And he won’t speak to anyone over the phone.”

Halloway looked up at the digital clock. In twenty-two minutes the terrorists would start killing hostages. “Did you tell him he’d be speaking with Aliev?”

“I did, ma’am. He just shrugged.”

“Hold for a moment.” Halloway quickly glanced around the conference table and asked, “Any suggestions?”

“We could point a gun at his head,” Toliver proposed. “I’ll bet that would open his mouth.”

Halloway waved away the idea. “All he’d have to do is tell Aliev there was a gun at his head, and their conversation would be over. And so would the life of one of the hostages.”

“What about a public address system?” Alderman asked.

Halloway considered the proposal, but it too had a big flaw. It was difficult to recognize a voice that was being blurted out over a PA system. And voice recognition was critical here. But still, there was a slim chance it might work. As she reached for the speakerphone, Halloway stopped her hand in mid-air. Her eyes narrowed noticeably. “I think I know how to do it.”

“How?” Alderman and Toliver asked almost simultaneously.

Halloway lost her train of thought for a moment. She had to strain to get it back. “B–by offering Aliev more and giving him less.”

“Be careful,” Alderman advised. “If he thinks he’s being deceived, he might do something drastic.”

“I’ll have to take my chances.” Halloway signaled over to the communications officer. “Keep Gitmo on hold and get me Aliev in the Pavilion.”

She glanced up at the wall clocks once more. It was just after
4 a.m., 1 a.m. in California. Only twenty minutes until the deadline. Every minute, every second, counted now. One mistake could cost so many lives. Hurriedly she organized her thoughts on how to deal with the terrorist.
Most importantly, don’t threaten him. That would only agitate him. Okay, so I won’t threaten him. Instead, I—

Suddenly Halloway found herself yawning, as a wave of fatigue swept over her. The adrenaline surge that had kept her going was fading fast and being replaced by the weariness of sleep deprivation. She bit down on her lip to suppress another yawn, then gazed at the others sitting around the conference table. Their faces were tired and drawn, their bodies slumped in their chairs. The long, stressful hours were taking their toll on everyone. But it was the mental toll that concerned Halloway the most.
Our brains are becoming sluggish at the worst possible time
, she thought gloomily.
It’s bound to affect our decision-making, if it hasn’t already.
Fighting her fatigue, Halloway reached for her coffee cup and drank the last of it, then asked aloud, “How is our coffee supply?”

“Running low,” an aide reported.

“Better brew up another batch,” she directed. “We’re going to need it.”

“Coffee won’t help us out of this damn mess,” Toliver grumbled, rising from his slouch. “The President is as good as dead and we may as well face up to it.”

Halloway ignored his remark and concentrated her mind on Aliev.
Let him have his way
, she decided.
Allow him to think he’s in control and dictating every move. Then ask, but not for too much. And have something in reserve to offer. Then hope to God it works.

“Madam Vice President, I have Aliev for you,” the communications officer called out.

Halloway cleared her throat and switched on the speakerphone. “Mr. Aliev, I have a Chechen prisoner at Guantanamo Bay ready to talk with you. His name is Shamil. Do you know him?”

“I have heard of him.”

“Good,” Halloway went on. “I would like you to inform him that his release is being arranged and that he and his men will shortly be on a plane out of Guantanamo. He may not respond, but he will hear your message.”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“Because he would believe you far more than me.”

Aliev asked suspiciously, “What assurance do I have that this is not a deception?”

“Once the plane is airborne, we will arrange for you to speak with him again,” Halloway replied.

After a long pause, Aliev asked, “What about all the other Chechens being held in prisons around the world?”

“I can only speak for the prisoners that the United States holds,” Halloway said, trying to keep her nervousness out of her voice. “We will release all those under our control, but we have no say in what the Russian government does.” There was another long pause. Aliev did not respond.

“If we can reach an agreement,” Halloway prodded gently, “I can have the Chechen prisoners at Guantanamo on a plane in a very short time. The others will take longer.”

“How much longer?”

“I need the deadline extended by an hour.”

“No,” Aliev said firmly.

The spirits of those seated at the conference table sank. All eyes went to the digital clock. Eighteen minutes remaining. They all realized that hostages were certain to die soon, and one of them could be the President’s daughter.

“We are freeing the Guantanamo prisoners as a gesture of goodwill,” Halloway said. “We would expect a similar gesture on your part. Surely an extra hour won’t matter that much.”

Again there was a long pause that went on and on before Aliev came back on the line.

“Assuming I have proof that the twelve Chechen fighters are in the air, I will give you thirty minutes more to free the others.”

“But we have Chechen prisoners scattered all over the—”

“Thirty minutes, and no more.”

The phone clicked off.

Halloway quickly switched to the line connecting the Situation Room to the base at Guantanamo Bay. “General Nichols, listen carefully and follow my orders exactly. Ready?”

“Ready, ma’am.”

“First, gather up the twelve Chechens on your list and tell them they’re being released. Treat them a little more kindly than usual.”

“Understood.”

“Next, place them on a transport plane that has only a pilot and co-pilot aboard. There are to be no guards.”

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” Nichols objected strongly. “These are cold-blooded killers. They’ll slit one of our boys’ throats once they’re in the air, and be happy doing it. They’ll figure that one pilot is enough to get them home.”

“They won’t do anything if they’re shackled hand and foot,” Halloway said icily. “And I mean tightly shackled.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And instruct the pilot to fly due east at a slow speed, but not slow enough to arouse suspicion.”

“Got that, ma’am.”

“I want them airborne ASAP. How long will it take?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

Halloway glanced up at the digital clock. Fourteen minutes until the deadline. “You’ve got ten minutes to have them up in the air.”

Before Halloway could sign off, Walter Pierce leaned into the speakerphone. “Paul, this is General Pierce.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep those Chechens in their prison clothes and speed their butts out to the tarmac. Have a C-130 waiting, engines fired up.”

“Will do.”

“In ten minutes, we want to hear that pilot’s voice—no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pierce switched the phone off and leaned back.

Halloway nodded appreciatively to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs for his direct, no-nonsense approach. “Do you think they’ll make it?”

“It’s going to be close,” Pierce hedged.

“Those Chechens aren’t going to like being shackled,” Toliver told the group. “It’ll make them feel like they’re still prisoners.”

“Tough!” Halloway said gruffly, her eyes watching the clock move to thirteen minutes. “We need a backup plan in case this fails. I’m open to suggestions.”

There were no responses.

Alderman took out his pipe and chewed on it, now reconsidering the deal they had just made with Aliev. His face took on a worried look. Something was off. Something was wrong. The Chechen terrorist had given in when he didn’t have to.

Halloway studied his expression and asked, “Is there a problem?”

Alderman nodded slowly. “Something is going on here that we don’t understand.”

“Such as?” Halloway queried immediately.

“Such as why did Aliev agree to accept half a pie when he might well have gotten the whole pie?” Alderman asked back. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he knew the Russians would never negotiate,” Toliver answered.

Alderman shook his head. “That’s an assumption. And terrorists like Aliev don’t assume anything. They just start killing hostages, and see if they can change your mind. And that’s what terrorists are good at—changing minds. A true terrorist would never have given in so easily.”

“What do you think is behind all this?” Halloway asked, now wondering if she had been outwitted by Aliev.

“It isn’t only twelve Chechen prisoners,” Alderman replied thoughtfully. “I can guarantee you that.”

Halloway grumbled under her breath. They weren’t coming up with any answers, just more difficult questions. And the clock kept clicking. She now had the uneasy feeling that a terrible disaster was going to occur on her watch.

Out of the corner of her eye, Halloway noticed a plasma television screen that was tuned to a cable channel. A BREAKING NEWS headline was flashing, and beneath it a subtitle read PRESIDENT SUFFERS SETBACK. She quickly snapped her fingers at the screen. “Turn up the sound!”

A news anchor was reporting, “The bleeding is believed to have been serious and required two blood transfusions. According to several sources, the President was rushed from the emergency room to an undisclosed location at University Hospital.”

“Christ!” Halloway growled. “This is the last thing we needed.”

“You’ll have to issue a statement,” Alderman advised.

Halloway thought quickly. “Tell them the bleeding has been controlled, and that the President is resting comfortably.”

Alderman nodded his approval, then added, “You realize, of course, that the news of the hostage situation will break very soon.”

“We’ll deal with that when it occurs,” Halloway said tersely.

“They’ll demand a press conference,” Alderman went on. “The country will have to be informed.”

“I know, I know.” Halloway felt like she was juggling hot potatoes. A public announcement would only complicate matters more. The press and leaders around the world would insist on being told who was in charge. The Twenty-Fifth Amendment would have to be activated. The shock waves would reverberate to every corner of the earth. Halloway took a deep breath and calmed herself.
You wanted to be President. Well, you’re about to get your wish.

A naval officer rushed into the room and came over to Emmett Sanders. He whispered a short message, then motioned to the large video screen. Four Mexican fighter-interceptors were closing in on Eagle Two. They seemed to be almost touching the American plane.

Sanders stood and hurried to the screen. “The Mexican jets are only twelve minutes away, and closing fast.”

“And our Hornets?” Halloway asked quickly.

“Nineteen minutes away.” Sanders pointed to a squadron of ten fighter jets moving in from the west. “And they’re at top speed, ma’am.”

“So our Secret Service plane will be exposed for a full seven minutes,” Halloway calculated unhappily.

“And totally defenseless,” Sanders noted.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“We can try to buy them some time.”

“How?”

“By telling Eagle Two to hug the coastline and drop down to three hundred feet,” Sanders explained. “That should put them below Mexican radar. It will appear as if our plane crashed.”

Halloway squinted an eye. “But the Mexicans won’t turn around because of that. They’ll go in to investigate.”

“Exactly right, ma’am,” Sanders agreed. “But they’ll want to search the area, so they’ll come in slower at cruising speed, which is approximately five hundred miles per hour. And that just might give our Hornets enough time to get into position.”

Halloway took a long breath, hesitating. She knew she was out of her depth. “How dangerous is this maneuver?”

“Very, ma’am,” Sanders answered. “One wrong move, and they crash into the ocean and everybody dies. But Eagle Two has terrain-avoidance radar, which should help.”

“But that’s not foolproof, is it?”

“No, ma’am. Flying at such a low altitude is always risky business.”

Halloway took another deep breath, watching as the Mexican jets moved even closer to Eagle Two. “Get them down to three hundred feet.”

Sanders snapped his fingers to an aide and the order went out in an instant. Then he turned back to Halloway and spoke in a solemn voice. “Madam Vice President, there is a good chance our Hornets will engage the Mexican interceptors in under twenty minutes. If that occurs, we may have to bring those Mexican jets down. You should be fully aware of that.”

Halloway hesitated, knowing she would be sanctioning an act of war. An out-and-out act of war, against a friendly neighbor.

“Ma’am?”

“Do whatever it takes,” Halloway said bluntly. “Just get that Secret Service team home safe.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

Suddenly Sanders’ expression changed. Everybody in the room noticed it. Now he had on his war face.