The copilot raised an eyebrow and glanced knowingly at his partner. “And, if I may get this straight, oh captain, my captain, we are surprised, are we?”
Craig glanced at him and smiled. “I guess I’d let myself hope this was all arranged. Ask him again.”
“Your wish is my futile gesture, sire,” Alastair said, pressing the transmit button to question the ground controller for the third time.
“Ah, roger, EuroAir,” the young American controller responded. “Rome control says they’re still coordinating. Please stand by.”
“EuroAir Forty-Two…er, Ten-Ten, thank you,” Alastair responded, remembering their radio call sign had now changed from a flight number to a charter call sign, EuroAir 1010. He glanced over at Craig, aware that the captain had punched the flight attendant call button on the overhead panel.
Jillian opened the cockpit door within thirty seconds, and Craig relayed a request for Sherry Lincoln to come forward.
“You wanted to see me?” Sherry asked as she stuck her head in the cockpit.
“Our clearance is being held up, Sherry, and I’m thinking I ought to phone Captain Swanson.”
She thought for a few seconds and shook her head. “If it’s being held up, Rome is responsible. Stand by. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If the clearance comes through in the meantime, take it and go.”
Sherry returned to John Harris’s side and explained the situation as she looked for the name and number Captain Swanson had given her. She punched the long string of digits into the GSM and waited. A male voice answered.
“Yes?”
“Ah, this is Sherry Lincoln, aide to President John Harris. I would like to speak to Foreign Minister Anselmo if possible.”
“Please wait, signorina,” the voice said evenly.
There was silence on the other end, but no sound of communications being switched or extensions being rung.
“You asked to speak with Minister Anselmo, yes?” the man asked suddenly, causing her to jump slightly.
“Yes, I did. Is he available?”
“Apparently he is, Ms. Lincoln, since I am he. You are speaking to Giuseppe Anselmo.”
She apologized quickly and relayed her suspicions. “I must ask you, sir, if the Italian government intends to prevent our departure?”
There was a pause on the other end before Anselmo answered.
“I will make that inquiry, Ms. Lincoln,” he said with a careful side step. “Where may I reach you?”
She passed the number and thanked him before disconnecting.
“And?” John Harris asked when she’d replaced the phone.
“Strange,” Sherry replied. “He sounded startled, which means someone else may be calling the shots.”
Six men and one woman had settled into the plush conference alcove of the Air Force Boeing 757 executive jet from Andrew’s 89th Airlift Squadron’s Presidential Fleet, all of them watching U.S. Secretary of State Joseph Byer, who was just hanging up one of the satellite phones.
“Okay, folks,” Byer said. “They’re just starting that hearing in London. It’s pro forma. They’ll come out of there with the English version of the warrant and then simply wait for Harris to step out of his chartered jet.”
“That aircraft is still on the ground at Sigonella, sir,” one of the men said, “but we’re expecting departure for London anytime.”
The Secretary nodded. “Count on it. I don’t know what the delay is, but as long as they can fly, Rome will let them out of there.”
“You talked to Minister Anselmo’s people?” Assistant Attorney General Alex McLaughlin asked.
“I talked to Giuseppe Anselmo himself. They’re overjoyed.” He looked around the table. “Okay, first order of battle is to get this defrocked little Texas judge safely contained and out of the way. Harris doesn’t need a maverick lawyer, and I don’t want any fallen cowboys riding into Buckingham Palace and asking the blinking Queen for a favor and screwing this up further.”
“He’s screwed it up already?” McLaughlin asked with surprise. “I mean, I know he sounds like a bit of a caricature, but I have talked with him, and I checked out his background in international law before his close encounter with judicial ethics, and he’s no dummy. He practiced with John Harris for years.”
The Secretary stared momentarily at McLaughlin. “Really?”
“Yes. And, by the way, the thing that wrecked his judgeship was falling in lust with a female defendant, whom, I might add, he later married.”
“Well, your oversexed and knowledgeable international legal scholar just blasted into Number Ten Downing a few hours back and essentially put the British Government in a corner, demanding to know what they were prepared to do.”
“That, I take it, was not the right approach?” McLaughlin asked.
“Are you kidding?” the Secretary asked with a smile.
“I’m a lawyer, Mr. Secretary, not a diplomat. I’m sure Mr. Reinhart and I share a propensity for finding the shortest distance between two points. Not to defend him, of course.”
“Of course.” The Secretary of State rolled his eyes and glanced around at the others again. “Defend Mr. Reinhart if you must, but just get him the hell out of my way. Understood? Send him on a tour, take him to din-din, buy him a cookie, get him drunk… whatever. Just get him out of my hair. This is a ‘No Amateurs’ zone.”
Everyone nodded without comment.
“Good,” Byer said. “We’re on a mission from God in the Oval, and that mission is to contain this situation until the Peruvians give up and die of old age. No extradition, no release, just a long, laborious, boring, and essentially useful submersion of this into triviality.”
“And what if the PM and the British Secretary of State won’t go along with that?” McLaughlin asked.
The American Secretary of State looked him in the eye. “You’re just a barrel of fun tonight, aren’t you, Mr. Assistant Attorney General?”
“Just wondering, Mr. Secretary, what we’re planning to do if the British judiciary claps the cuffs on our ex-Pres and has him carted off to a waiting Peruvian plane with the blessing of the PM?”
“Never happen.”
“You’re sure? What about the rule of law? Britain understands that concept. Heck, we got it from them in the first place.”
“Never happen, Alex. First of all, you yourself briefed me about the extradition procedure. It takes time. And I know this Prime Minister is a bit of a rogue, but the Court of St. James is still far too interested in American cooperation diplomatically and militarily to buck us on something like this. Extradition isn’t a worry. This Reinhart character is.”
Giuseppe Anselmo replaced the receiver and held it in place for less than ten seconds before turning to his secretary and bellowing in Italian.
“Get the head of Rome Air Traffic Control on the line. Quickly, please!”
There was a flurry of activity in the outer office and several lighted trunk lines glowing on his desk phone before the intercom line rang.
“He’s on three, sir.” She passed the name and the title of the man and Anselmo stabbed at the button with a pudgy index finger, identifying himself with the subtlety of a gunshot.
“Why are your people holding up the clearance of that EuroAir flight in Sigonella?”
There was a confused response on the other end and a request to hold.
“Ah… I thought, Minister Anselmo, that we were not supposed to release him. That is why the clearance has been… delayed.”
“Who thought that?” Anselmo demanded.
“I… ah, Minister, your staff told me your office did not want us to let him go.”
“My staff? Who on my staff?”