Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (4 page)

“No sir, no
threat, it’s for real.”

“What?”

“Well look.” The
co-pilot pointed toward the plane’s window. Everyone hurried over to see what
the terrorist co-pilot was talking about.

Sure enough, two
Marine Corps F/A-18 Deltas sliced through the sky at an impressive speed as
they began to tail the flying White House.

Winnfield
thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Then he realized no one was
guarding him except one man who was gawking out the window. Nobody was paying
attention to him. The President, almost instinctively, grabbed the nearest
man’s sidearm, fired a short burst of shells into him, wheeled around and faced
the barrels of three other pistols. The President pulled the trigger again and
again, not really aiming at anything, just combing the room. Before he could
inflict much damage, he felt a bullet rip into his right shoulder, making him
drop the weapon and roll onto the floor in pain. Blood began to soak his shirt
and suit coat and started to drip onto the spotless white floor. The pain was searing.
He instinctively glanced up to see Tandy’s 9mm Beretta smoking, and ready for a
follow-up shot.

“Fool! You think
you could take on us all?” Tandy yelled, pressing his pistol’s barrel against the
President’s pale face. “
All you did was get yourself a bullet in the
shoulder.
”

The wounded
terrorist groaned loudly, rolled over and died.

“It’s a good
thing for him,” Tandy started, “I’d have killed him if he didn’t die. What an
idiot.”

The President
was losing blood, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t want to ask
for help even though his efforts of applying pressure to the wound were not
helping any. After all, wasn’t it better if he died fighting instead of live
and know that he asked a terrorist for help? Yes, he determined it was better
to go out of this world fighting.

The President curled
in a tight ball and gasped for air. He knew he’d be dead in a matter of minutes
at the rate he was bleeding. He just hoped his country brought revenge on these
scumbags.

Thursday, January 16
^th
– 2345 hours

The Lead F/A-18 Delta

Lieutenant
Colonel J.E. Roberts, the pilot of the lead F/A-18 Delta, codenamed PAPA ALPHA
ONE, maneuvered his jet near
Air Force One
and waited for further orders.
Roberts wished he could let the hijackers of the President’s plane have it, but
his orders were clear: “Don’t fire anything unless ordered otherwise.”

The pilot radioed
to General Lawington at the command center. “SPYGLASS, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE
calling for a report. Over.”

Lawington
instantly replied, “This is SPYGLASS. Proceed PAPA ALPHA ONE. Over.”

“We’ve
surrounded the plane, sir; there’s no reaction so far. What would you like us
to do with them, sir? Over.”

“Just stand by
PAPA ALPHA ONE. I’ll get back to you after I talk with GOLDEN TOWER. Over and out.”

The pilot shook
his head and continued the pursuit, still itching to fire a Sidewinder missile
at the hijacked plane. President or no President, the terrorists had to be
stopped or they’d cross the Mexican border and be free to do whatever they
wanted. And Roberts had no intentions of letting that happen. If need be, he
could take matters into his own hands, but that was a worst case scenario. Perhaps
the Vice President would come up with a good plan.

In an instant,
Air
Force One
plummeted down, leaving the F/A-18 pilots up above, stunned and
confused.

“SPYGLASS, this
is PAPA ALPHA ONE, come in. Over.”

The general
replied without hesitation. “Go ahead PAPA ALPHA...”

“SPYGLASS, did
not copy that. Say the last part again,” the pilot begged.

“PAPA ALPHA ONE,
can you...” The radio again crackled. “Do you copy? Over.”

“Negative, SPYGLASS,
you’re cutting out.
Air Force One
is going down. We need orders. Please
advise. Over.”

“PAPA ALPHA ONE,
I did not copy the last part...We’re breaking up...I cannot understand you...Try
again later. Over and out.”

“
No
!”
Roberts screamed over the radio, but SPYGLASS never heard it.

Roberts dove
after
Air Force One
, with the other F/A-18 following him close behind.
Roberts didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t want to have
Air Force
One
be flown into a building on some kamikaze mission and have hordes of
innocent people killed. That’s what he suspected though, so he desperately needed
to make contact with the command center. He needed orders as quickly as he
could get them.

He tried again.
“SPYGLASS, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE. Do you copy? Over.”

Absolutely no
response came this time. PAPA ALPHA ONE had no way to communicate with the
command center. Perhaps he could still radio in the F/A-18. Roberts decided to
give it a try. “PAPA BRAVO TWO, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE. Do you read me? Over.”

Static filled
the pilot’s radio, and again no response of any kind came over the headset’s
earpiece. “There must be some kind of malfunction with it,” he told his Naval
Flight Officer, who was sitting in the rear seat.

The lead F/A-18 pilot had absolutely no communication with anyone, no way
to translate the information he thought to be true, and he was possibly the
only one in the world who had an idea of what was going to happen. He just hoped
his fellow fighter would catch on fast.

*          *          *

“PAPA BRAVO TWO
to SPYGLASS. Over,” the second F/A-18’s pilot spoke into his headset.

“This is SPYGLASS,
PAPA BRAVO TWO. Do you read me? Over.” It was not Lawington, but his female
deputy who was filling in for him.

“Affirmative, SPYGLASS.
Air Force One
is diving at alarming rates, we think it’s going on a
kamikaze mission. Requesting orders. Over.”

“Did you make
contact with the lead F/A-18 yet? We were disconnected due to some malfunction
of his radio. Over.”

“Negative, SPYGLASS.
Haven’t heard a thing from him. We just followed his lead of diving after
Air
Force One
. Over.”

“Roger. We’ll
get your request to GOLDEN TOWER as fast as we can. Over.”

“How long will
that take, SPYGLASS? We don’t have all day
.
Over.”

“No time at all.
The general’s already talking with them now; I’ll update him on the scenario.
Over and out.”

The Marine
captain and pilot of the second F/A-18 concentrated on flying as he calculated
the time before
Air Force One
could hit the ground. According to his
calculation, only a few moments remained. The command center better be quick with
the orders or the outcome of this ordeal could be fatal.

A few minutes
passed before his radio crackled to action again. He hoped someone had made a
decision because time was almost out.

“PAPA BRAVO TWO,
we have a response. Over.” It was the general this time.

“Roger, SPYGLASS.
Proceed. Over.”

“GOLDEN TOWER says just to watch and pray for all you’re worth. Over.”

The pilot was
dumbfounded. What kind of an order was that? And what exactly was he supposed
to pray for?  “SPYGLASS, what does that mean? Over.”

“GOLDEN TOWER doesn’t want you to take any action against
Air Force One
right now.
Over.”

“Sir, there’s a
chance of
Air Force One
being a suicide plane. If that’s the case then
the pilots will crash it into some major building and innocent Americans will
die. What does GOLDEN TOWER say to that? Over.”

“GOLDEN TOWER says if there’s nothing solid, don’t take action. Over.”

The pilot
swallowed hard, and then nearly argued. “SPYGLASS, we are talking about
hundreds of innocent lives, sir. I do not doubt GOLDEN TOWER’S orders, but I’m
wondering if they really know the situation unfolding here. Over.”

“PAPA BRAVO TWO,
they are well informed. They know everything that’s happening right now, and
they still say, do not, I repeat,
do not
take action. They need some
more time to think things through. Over.”

“Over and out, SPYGLASS.” The pilot took a deep breath and watched as the
enormous
Air Force One
, plummeted ever closer to the ground. A lot more
was at stake now than just losing the President. That’d be bad enough, but
having a plane crash into some building with the President inside of that plane
was too horrific to imagine. The decision was not his to make, though. The only
thing he could do was keep chasing the taillights of
Air Force One
.

*          *          *

Everyone in the
Situation Room was sitting on pins and needles. Everyone had been informed
about the possible suicide plane crash, and no one liked what was being
portrayed on the screen, which was flashing images of
Air Force One
.
Nobody knew what to do. Nobody knew what the terrorists had in mind, and nobody
even knew whether or not the President was still alive. It would make sense for
the terrorist to kill the President, then use the plane for a suicide mission. But
what if the President were still alive? It was difficult to stop a plane on a
kamikaze mission when the highest White House official was aboard it. But then again,
no one was sure the plane was even destined for a suicide attack. For all they
knew the terrorists could just be trying to fool everyone into thinking that
they were going to fly
Air Force One
into a building.

Still, no one
had any idea how to stop the President’s kidnapping or a suicide attack. The
matter was delicate, and a single mistake could crush the White House’s last
glimmer of hope. Every possibility for rescuing the President had been thought
through a hundred times. Yet nothing seemed to be the right solution. Only one
option had been suggested that actually had a slight chance of succeeding. That
being to force the plane’s nose down by flying and slowing the F/A-18s in front
of it, which would eventually make the plane land, or crash. Then agents would
be sent into the plane to try and pull the President away from the terrorists.
The National Security Advisor said the Marine pilots practiced the scenario and
it was codenamed Operation NOSE DIVE. It would be extremely difficult, risky,
and had a small possibility for success. But what other choice did they have?
There was no other way that they could get the President out of there without
the terrorists killing him. Sure there was still a chance that they’d kill him
even if the White House decided to make the F/A-18s force a landing, but this
seemed to be the only option. They had to try.

There was no
more time for procrastination. The decision had to be made, and that decision
belonged to Anders. He couldn’t make the wrong choice, he had to be calm and
think the thing through, one more time. It made sense that they should probably
take out the plane before the terrorists got away with the President. After
all, wasn’t it better for the President to die now than to be tortured to death
later? Still, it was a hard game to play, and even harder to win. Every senior
advisor had recommended to make the plane land, then send in agents to get the
President, dead or alive. Anders knew he had to do it. They were out of time,
and every other option had been ruled out. The Vice President had to issue the
order. There was no other choice. He just prayed it would work.

“Tom,” he
started.

“Yes, Mr. Vice
President?” The National Security Advisor had been waiting for the VP’s
decision, as had the entire NSC.

“Tell General
Lawington to carry out the plan.”

“You mean Operation
NOSE DIVE?”

“Right. Get on
it fast, there isn’t much time.”

“Yes sir, but
that operation will be impossible with
Air Force One
’s position.”

“I know. But if
and when it levels off, I want the F/A-18s to carry out the plan.”

“And if the
plane’s on a suicide mission?”

“If the F/A-18
pilots are sure that’s what is going to happen, then instruct them to take it
out. But have Lawington tell them not to do anything like that until it’s run
by me. Got it?”

“Yes sir. I’ll
get on it right away.”

The VP’s head dropped
into his hands once more. He couldn’t believe he’d just authorized that. But
there was still more work to be done. “Frank, what do you have on the ground?”
he asked, not bothering to raise his head.

“Near
Air
Force One
you mean?” Franklin Watkins, the Director of the FBI, wondered
aloud.

“Yes.”

“Everything
needed. I have several Quick Reaction Forces in helicopters that can carry out
the rescue plan when necessary.”

“All right. Get several
agents to carry it out. Personally instruct them on what to do, and have them nearby
when the plane goes down. And do it quickly, will you?”

“Got it sir,”
the FBI Director confirmed as he trotted out of the room, glad he could finally
get involved with this operation. That was his job, and he loved what he did.
He was determined to make this operation work, or die trying.

The VP again looked at the image of
Air Force One
, still diving
down. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He had to keep his mind in
the game. He couldn’t let it wander when his country, and his friend, needed
him most. If all went well, Operation NOSE DIVE would be completed in less than
half an hour. Anders couldn’t wait for this to come to a close. He just hoped
that the President was alive, or he’d be in charge longer than just tonight.

*          *          *

“What do you
think you’re doing?” Tandy yelled into the pilot’s ear.

“Hey man, I
don’t like those Marine planes on our tail. I’m just shaking things up.”

“How is diving
straight down to the ground shaking things up?”

“Maybe we can get
rid of them.”

“Are you
kidding, Marine F/A-18 pilots leaving the flying White House? Impossible,”
Tandy declared, beginning to lose his temper.

“Okay wise guy,
how else do you want me to stop them from shooting us down? Ask them over the
radio? Say, ‘Oh please sir, would you stop tailing me, it makes us nervous?’
Well?”

Tandy wanted to
put a bullet right through this military dude’s skull, but he held himself in
check. He needed the pilot, and he wasn’t about to kill anyone he needed.

“Just make sure
you don’t waste any time, because we have none to spare.”

“Yeah, yeah,
yeah.”

“Watch it!”
Tandy shouted, referring to the ground that was rapidly approaching them.

The pilot skillfully swooped upward just in time, jolting everyone on
board. Everybody was petrified except Winnfield; he was completely oblivious to
the whole matter. Unconscious, yet still bleeding, he was sprawled on the
floor, looking more dead than alive. One of the terrorists had bandaged his
wound and slowed most of the bleeding, but the President was still in poor
condition. The bullet had passed clear through his shoulder and had clipped his
shoulder blade on its exit. He was blessed that was the case. Had the bullet
not exited his body he’d have had less of a chance to live than he already did.

*          *          *

The F/A-18
pilots had watched in horror as
Air Force One
swooped dangerously low to
the ground, then climbed slightly, leveled off and began flying at low altitude.
It now seemed to the pilots that the VP was still going to do nothing about
this. The pilot of the second F/A-18 had no way of communicating with the other
lead plane, so he was in the dark as to what his counterpart wanted to do. It
really didn’t matter. This was the White House’s game to play, not theirs. What
the Vice President decided would be done no matter what either of them thought.

“SPYGLASS to PAPA
BRAVO TWO. Over.” Again the pilot’s radio interrupted his thoughts, and he
hoped the general had some kind of order for him.