Not in a humorous mood, she ignored his comment. "I made arrangements to have the wreckage removed by the Feds."
His surprise was evident. "The same Feds were supposed to be staying away from?"
"Same ones," she said, with a straight face. "I called Hartwell and he's taking care of the problem."
"So everything's tied up nice and neat and we re free to mosey on down the road?"
"We sure are," she said, and glanced at the sun. "But there's only about three hours of daylight left."
Scott glanced around the ramp. "That's better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs. Been trapped here most of the day."
Jackie climbed up the struts on the Wipline amphibious floats and looked inside the spacious cabin. Scott had loaded their luggage and survival gear, and they were firmly secured by a cargo net. The gray leather seats looked comfortable, and there was even a potty seat in the back.
She stepped down, nonchalantly put her arm on one of the chest-high floats, and donned her traditional aviator-style sunglasses. "Light the fire and let's mosey."
"Hop aboard."
Jackie looked at the small tires protruding from the giant-sized floats. The main gear on each side had two wheels, while the bow of each float had one caster landing gear. "I can see where this could lead to major problems."
"You just have to remember to raise the rollers to land on water and put them down to land on a runway — not that cerebral."
She grinned and climbed into the cockpit. "I guess not — if a marine aviator can remember to do it."
He glanced casually over the rims of his sunglasses.
"Start the motor," she said, with a demure expression.
Scott settled into his seat, turned the battery and fuel boost on, engaged the start switch, and eased the fuel-condition lever into low idle when the gas generator (NG) speed passed through 15 percent.
The big 675-shaft-horsepower Pratt & Whitney turboprop smoothly came to life. Scott checked ATIS and called Ground Control. He taxied to the beginning of Runway 10-Right, contacted the tower, and took off, heading southeast toward Twin Falls. As the fully fueled Caravan gained altitude, he moved the large gear lever up to stow the wheels inside the floats and then raised the flaps.
The huge floats brought the normal cruise speed down from 186 knots at 10,000 feet to 162 knots at the same altitude. With the flaps extended, the plane could loaf along at 75 to 80 knots for optimum viewing.
"This is a really great airplane," Jackie said, as she began exploring the wide well-engineered cockpit.
Scott leveled at 800 feet. "Its a simple, rugged, reliable, go-anywhere-and-haul-a-crowd airplane."
"I'm convinced." She was especially impressed with the straightforward systems, the redundancy of a twin-engine plane, and the same avionics and four-color radar found in the Cessna Citation Jet.
"What do we have here?" she asked, noticing a small box lying on the floor next to her right foot.
"That's a handheld VHF marine radio."
Jackie reached down for the box.
"Go ahead, open it. The guy who checked me out strongly recommended having one on board."
"To communicate with boaters?" she guessed.
"Right. Let them know our intentions before we land or take off."
"Makes sense." She examined the radio.
"The guy said this was a top-of-the-line totally submersible model that does it all."
"Okay, we're set for air and water," she said, reading the instructions for the Raytheon 106 radio. "This is an interesting toy"
"See if it works."
She turned it on. "What channel do we monitor?"
"The common marine channel is sixteen."
Jackie selected 16 and turned up the volume.
Scott adjusted the rudder trim. "You call other operators on sixteen and ask them to join you on another channel, to keep sixteen free for emergencies."
"Got it," she said, listening to a distant conversation between a marina operator and a boater who was having engine trouble. They switched channels and Jackie followed, monitoring the call. "I can see how this could come in handy out in the middle of nowhere."
"A lifesaver, like our sat phones." Scott eased the power back for long-range cruising. "We have to have a call sign for the radio, like the name of a boat or something."
Jackie thought for a few seconds. "How about Water Bird?"
"What?" Scott said with a slow grin.
"Water Bird, like Sky King's Song Bird."
"That'll do."
They surveyed several airfields, searching for the B-25 or anything else that looked suspicious. After passing Burley, Scott flew northeast to Idaho Falls and Rexburg. With the sun dipping well below the mountains, he removed his sunglasses. "Have you had enough for today?"
"Actually" she admitted, "Fd had enough when we crawled out of the LongRanger."
"Fd have to agree." He turned south and landed at the Pocatello Regional Airport. "It s been quite a day, one for the books."
"That it has." She sighed. "Are you as sore as I am?"
"At least. Feels like I took a ride in a clothes dryer."
After they secured the Caravan for the night and rented a Chevy, Scott started the car s engine and turned to Jackie. "What s for dinner?"
She smiled and rested her head on the seat back. "I always like to celebrate my crash landings with a thick, juicy filet mignon, baked potato swimming in butter, crisp, cold salad, and a good Merlot — lots of Merlot."
"I believe we can handle that."
Chapter 15
Located directly on the Houston ship channel, the massive 250-acre refinery had deepwater access for off-loading heavy, sweet crude oils. Extra security personnel were in place inside the busy facility, while members of the Texas National Guard patrolled the perimeter of the refinery.
Moored in forty feet of water alongside the ship channel frontage, the 1,112-foot Gulf Courier was in the process of off-loading her crude oil. Owned by Saeed Shayhidi, the behemoth supertanker carried 74 million gallons of oil.
Rain was coming down in sheets at 9:17 P. M. when six hand-picked members of SEAL Team Four approached the Gulf Courier. Wearing the LAR V rebreathing apparatus that allows them to swim underwater without leaving surface air bubbles, the divers carried satchels of high explosives. Only the team leader raised his eyes above water to take a final bearing on the ship before the six submerged to a deeper depth. Minutes later, they reached the stern of their target.
The men attached most of their specially prepared explosives to the rudder of the tanker. Working in total darkness, they hooked the other explosives to one of the massive propeller blades. The charges were designed to destroy the rudder and propeller without penetrating the ships hull. They set a timer that was connected to both packages. It would allow them thirty-five minutes to return to their entry point, board their innocent-looking thirty-two-foot fishing boat, and be miles away when the charges detonated.
Two U. S. Army AH-64 Apache Longbow multimission combat helicopters were circling the Houston refinery, one at 900 feet and the other at 1,500 feet. The two-man crews from the 1-227th Attack Battalion stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, were responsible for protecting the facility from ground or air attacks.
The veteran aviators had been secretly briefed about the SEAL operation. Along with the members of the Texas National Guard, the flight crews knew the approximate time the 4 event" would happen.
Gulf Courier was finished off-loading when the quiet evening was shattered by a huge blast of water shooting straight into the air. Small waves rippled across the ship channel while security personnel hurried toward the tanker.
In the water before 10:30 P. M., scuba divers with powerful underwater lights discovered the extensive damage done to the Gulf Courier. The huge rudder was almost twisted from the shaft connecting it to the ship, and one propeller blade was lying on the bottom of the channel.