“I’m perfectly okay flying coach.”
“I won’t hear of it,” John Harris had replied. “It’s the cost of doing business. Think about it, Jay. I need you working and communicating all the way across the Atlantic. Only first class.”
“If you insist,” Jay said as he fought the conclusion that he’d just been sentenced to die in a plane crash.
“Okay, let’s talk about what we’re going to do. What’s your strategy?” John Harris asked.
“I wish I had one!” Jay replied. “Right now, I’m still trying to guess how long this little charade about where you are is going to work. I mean, we probably have at least as long as it takes the C-17 to get to Andrews, but what then? That 737 you’re on can’t carry enough fuel to fly nonstop across the Atlantic, so even if we can charter that aircraft and crew and get you out of there, we have to face the prospect of landing you somewhere else outside of U.S. control, and that means we’ve got to expect Campbell will be there, wherever that is, with the warrant and local authorities.”
“Suppose we don’t tell anyone where we’re going to land? Could Campbell move that fast?”
“The pilots have to file a flight plan, John. I promise you Campbell will be informed of the destination as soon as its filed.”
“But, Jay, if they believe that just my staff is on board and I’m gone, who’ll know?”
“The media. They’ll be waiting at Andrews Air Force Base when the aircraft arrives and they won’t see you get off. That’s when the cat will depart the bag at high speed.”
“But… let’s suppose they arrange to taxi the aircraft right into one of the Air Force One hangars and out of sight. I mean, I’ve been there, Jay, as President. Those hangars are huge!”
“You’re overlooking something really basic,” Jay said, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Cavanaugh decided he couldn’t pull you out of there because the U.S. couldn’t be seen as an international hypocrite when it comes to enforcing a major treaty.”
“I know. He explained his reasons to me. I can’t fault him.”
“Well, he’s agreed to smokescreen the media for a little while to help us, but that’s probably as much as he can do, since this ruse to fuzz up where you are carries a lot of political risk.”
John Harris sighed. “I know. I was trying to ignore that. He really does need to tell the world he didn’t stiff-arm the warrant.”
“I’ve been flipping through the channels, John. The negative publicity and second-guessing has already started, and Cavanaugh’s likely to get a double backlash. I doubt we can rely on the White House for anything else until this actually lands in a courtroom. I mean, it’s true that many Americans are going to be outraged that he left you there, but when the media finds the White House pulled a half-truth deception, they’ll howl that the President personally orchestrated it specifically to help you escape international justice. And, his opposition will scream that he didn’t have the guts to do the job right by using the Air Force. Either way he loses whatever value he might have gained by leaving you there. And just watch. As soon as everyone knows you’re still in Sigonella or anywhere else in Europe, Campbell will race there with the warrant. I’m sure he’s got every country covered.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Jay,” Harris replied, falling silent for a while. “You know,” the President began, his voice betraying fatigue, “I wonder if the right thing to do… the best thing… wouldn’t be to just pick the best place and surrender. After all, this is a borderless process, and I do support the basic idea of the treaty.”
“Well…”
“When Campbell called here in the plane, he said to me that the act of running from this warrant is beneath my dignity. Jay, he may well be right.”
“I don’t know, John. If I could be sure…”
“Maybe we’d be best off figuring out which country would never accelerate the extradition process, and just accept the arrest there. I am scared of this thing, Jay. It scares me because there’s always an outside chance some judge will go temporarily insane and grant Campbell’s request, and you know if they ever get me to Lima, I won’t get out for a long, long time, if ever.”
Jay closed his eyes and tried to think it through. “John, surrendering is too big a risk. And you’re not being a hypocrite to avoid an illicit warrant. We do know it’s illicit, right? I mean, I hate to ask…”
“Of course,” Harris replied quietly. “Of course it is.”
“Well, then you know Campbell. Hell, John, he wrote that treaty, and I’ll give you even money he’s already constructed a detailed plan on how to accelerate the extradition process in a half dozen countries, if not all of them. The man is famous for thinking way ahead of the game. That’s what frightens me the most. You could end up trapped somewhere for a year, and still be sent to Lima!”
“Only if a judge ruled the warrant valid, and I don’t think that would ever happen in a properly constituted common law system. Think about it, Jay. Think about whether I should just surrender or not. Get yourself on a plane moving in this direction, but think about it, because… I’m not sure trying to run from this is the right thing.”
“I will.”
“And consider the U.K. Maybe I should go there and surrender. They were careful with Pinochet, even if they were only temporarily ready to pack him off to Spain a year later. After all, the English system is the mother of our system – absent the sanctimonious wigs, of course.”
“I always liked those wigs, John. They lend dignity to a process that’s often anything but dignified.”
There was another long sigh from Sigonella. “Well, that’s the operative word, isn’t it?”
“Sir?”
“Dignity. I do not want to do something undignified, Jay, no matter how frightened I might be. Even out of office, an American President carries the dignity of the office with him, and I’m trying hard not to forget that.”
TWENTY
For the past hour, Edwin Glueck had been quietly moving among the milling passengers in the Air Mobility Command passenger lounge, talking quietly one by one to the male members of his tour group.
Twenty years had gone by since he’d retired as a U.S. Army brigadier general, but his mind and his instincts were still sharp – even at the age of seventy-nine.
His wife of twenty-six years, Joanie, was in a far corner of the terminal talking to the tour director to keep her distracted. Ed glanced in her direction, pleased at her image. She was still attractive and even shapely at sixty-nine, and the sight of her now momentarily ignited other desires, threatening to divert him from the mission.
Joanie saw him looking and smiled back, nodding just enough to let him know she had things under control. She was exceptionally aware of what was going on around her, he thought. Before they’d left the aircraft, no one else had noticed as he strolled the aisle and momentarily glanced through the curtains separating coach and first class. No one but Joanie, that is. She’d known instantly that something was up.
“I shouldn’t ask what you’re up to, should I?” she’d said in a whisper after the captain announced the delay was over and they’d be leaving the 737.
“No,” he’d replied. “But I’ll tell you anyway. President Harris didn’t leave. He’s still on this aircraft.”
She knew that tone of certainty and respected it. He wasn’t always right, of course, but when he focused on a problem, the General – as his grandchildren called him – could be trusted to be on target the majority of the time.
“Did you see him?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be sure?” she countered.