A grainy photo of Vashin flashed on the screen. He was getting out of his limousine at the funeral of Boris Bakatina.
“Look at their faces,” Waldo whispered, gesturing around the room. “They want his ass.”
“Indeed,” Pontowski murmured, his own face a perfect reflection of the other pilots.
The door banged open and the brigadier general commanding the 1st Air Regiment entered. He crisply called everyone to attention and the three-star general commanding the Polish Air Force stomped into the room and joined Emil. Jerzy Fedor was right behind him. “The mission is canceled,” the general barked.
“I’m sorry,” Fedor said. “But I have received information that the objective will be moving constantly while he is in Yalta and we don’t know where he will be at any given moment.” Fedor rushed out, not wanting to answer any of the astonished flyers’ questions.
“I cannot allow the mission to continue,” the general said to the hushed room. “I will not kill innocent people in a hurt for Vashin.”
Pontowski closed the door and faced the general. “I know where he’ll be,” he said quietly, just loud enough to be heard. He cycled the mission graphics on the screen to an area chart. He traced Vashin’s flight plan on the screen. “We know when his aircraft will be here, here, and here.” He pointed to the waypoints the aircraft would overfly and circled the town of Kremenchug in the Ukraine. “His airliner will be here at exactly 1012 hours our time today.”
“Holy shit,” Waldo said, “the Yamamoto option.”
“What my eloquent friend is referring to,” Pontowski said, “is the operation in World War II when we intercepted and shot down the aircraft carrying Fleet Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto. He was the genius who planned the attack on Pearl Harbor and the Japanese never recovered from his loss.”
Emil studied the chart and measured the distances. He shook his head. “We would have to take off in forty-five minutes to make the interception. We can’t possibly plan a mission and brief in so short a time. Besides, we have practiced for a bombing mission, not an air-to-air mission. We don’t have the experience to do it.”
“Waldo and I can do it in our sleep,” Pontowski said.
Waldo groaned loudly. “My momma warned me about doing this.”
“Doing what?” the general asked.
“Volunteering to get my ass shot off.”
Sanford tuned Zeth’s radio, trying to work through the static. By changing channels, he was able to piece together a weather report. “It’s improving. But they’re calling for local flooding. Let’s head back and see if we can get across the bridge. Go get your things,” he told Zeth. She ran upstairs while he again tried to contact anyone to relay a message. He briefly considered pressing the emergency button on the truck’s locator beacon. But they weren’t in trouble and with all the real emergencies, he didn’t need to create a false alarm.
Zeth came back with her bag and a large flashlight. “Ready,” she said. Sanford slipped the truck in gear and headed back down the dirt road, slipping and sliding in the mud. Twice, they bogged down and the boys had to get out and push the truck free. The second time, Brian slipped and was covered with mud when he got back in the cab. “I always knew you were good for something,” Zeth told him. Brian grinned at her.
The brigadier general commanding the 1st Air Regiment left the briefing room and went to his office. He punched a number into his new telephone and waited. A woman answered on the fourth ring. He hung up, waited exactly two minutes, and dialed another number. This time Evan Riley answered. “The general changed his mind. It’s a go. But there is a problem. Pontowski and Walderman are leading the mission. I can contact the minister of national defense and he will cancel it.”
A long pause. “When do they have to take off?”
The brigadier checked his watch. “In thirty-five minutes.”
Another long pause on Riley’s part. “Without Pontowski and Walderman, they can’t do it. Let it go.”
The brigadier broke the connection and thought for a moment. Then he called Jerzy Fedor.
She was in front of a mirror, her nightgown in disarray. A bare-chested Matt Pontowski was standing behind her, his arms around her, his lips gently nuzzling her hair.
“Madame President.” The woman’s voice was soft but demanding. Maddy’s dream shattered. “Madame President.” Maddy’s eyes came open. A low light illuminated the woman’s face and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then it all snapped into sharp focus. “We have a situation that you should be aware of,” the woman said.
Maddy sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed as the woman handed her a robe. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
Maddy stood and stepped into her slippers, still groggy from less than two hours sleep. She paused briefly at her dressing table and ran a brush through her hair before walking into the family room. “Patrick, I didn’t know you were here.”
Shaw stood. “Yes, ma’am. I flew in on the shuttle. The Secret Service is cycling agents back and forth so I bummed a ride with them.”
It was a flimsy excuse and she knew it. “We can talk later.” The night duty officer waited for her to recognize him. “What do you have, Bill?”
“General McMasters at NMMI called. Brian has left the campus with Agent Sanford and they’re out of contact. There is some concern because of the flooding that has hit the area.”
Fear froze her and, for a moment, she was a mother, worried about her firstborn. “What happened?”
“We don’t have all the details, but Matthew Pontowski, who is his roommate…”
Maddy interrupted him. “I know who his roommate is.”
“Sorry, Madame President. Agent Sanford and Mr. Pontowski drove to a ranch to check on another cadet, Zeth Trogger, who had been expelled. Your son left a note saying he was going to sneak along with them.”
“Sneak along?” Maddy said.
“Yes, Ma’am. That’s what Brian’s note said. Consequently, General McMasters thinks Brian is with them. Because of the storm and flooding, they’re out of contact and isolated. However, Agent Sanford’s truck is equipped with an emergency locator beacon and since it hasn’t been activated, we think they’re okay.”
“I want to speak to McMasters,” Maddy ordered, her worry giving way to anger.
The duty officer handed her the phone. “He’s on hold, Madame President.”
She took the phone. “General, what the hell is going on out there?” She listened and her anger slowly eased. Then, “Isn’t that near the Escalante Ranch? Is it a safe area?” Her face paled when McMasters said the Hondo Valley was subject to flash flooding. “Please let me know as soon as you learn anything.” She broke the connection.
The head of the Secret Service detail entered the room and waited to be recognized. “We’ve established an open line to the detachment at NMMI. They’re trying to reestablish contact with Agent Sanford but can’t send a vehicle because of the flooding. As soon as the weather breaks, they’ll launch a search helicopter.”
The anger was back, driving her. “What do we pay you people for?” she snapped, immediately regretting it. “Please forgive me. I’m upset, but that’s no excuse.”
“Nothing to forgive, Madame President,” the agent said. “If it was my son, I’d be breaking down doors.”