Flying FPV, Kazi could see from the aircraft's perspective, and didn’t even have to look at the plane as he ran off the field and stood in the tunnel that led to New Mexico State’s locker room.
“Then shoot the damn plane down,” Camp yelled over the headsets as he arrived at the place where Kazi had been standing.
“Too many people behind it,” the FBI field office director said over the radio.
“The plane… that plane has got to come down. That’s our bio-weapon,” Camp said frantically as he walked in and out of the dignitaries gathered on the field next to the vice chancellor. “I’ve lost him. Anybody see where he went?” Camp asked to no one in particular.
Neo, the six-year-old Golden Eagle was restless but still sitting on his perch near the vice chancellor’s microphone when one of the Alabama State Troopers started to feel the full panic from the FBI over his radio.
The Trooper edged closer to Neo’s handler and shielded his eyes from the sun as he tried to follow the path of the P-51 Mustang now making its second loop around the stadium. The Trooper pulled out his service revolver.
“What’s the problem?” the handler asked sensing the Trooper’s tension after seeing the unholstered gun.
“FBI says that plane’s gotta come down now!”
Camp looked over at the Trooper next to the Golden Eagle and then up at the plane circling above the stadium.
“Untie the damn bird!” Camp yelled. The handler followed the command and released the jesses.
“And from the Class of 1992,” the vice chancellor announced completely oblivious to the hysteria from law enforcement around him, “please welcome NFL football legend and Auburn’s 1985 Heisman Trophy winner, Bo Jackson.”
The crowd went crazy and Camp watched as Neo drew a bead on the intruding P-51 in his aviary that was banking out of the far end zone and heading the length of the field about 50 rows up.
“In the visitor’s tunnel. He’s standing in the other team’s tunnel,” a voice said over the radio. Camp looked toward the opposite end zone where he saw Kazi reaching for the extra lever he had mounted on to his remote control. Kazi started to pull it.
Neo tore violently into the side of the P-51, avoiding the propeller on the front. Clutching the plane in his talons, Neo flew back toward his perch and smashed the plane into the turf right in front of the vice chancellor’s feet. The eagle’s airspace was once again free from threat.
“WAR DAMN EAGLE, WAR DAMN EAGLE,” chants erupted as the camera panned up from the broken fuselage of the P-51 Mustang to the smiling face of Bo Jackson who waved to the fans on the field. Neo returned to his perch, and 87,451 fans cheered the incredible show they thought was fully scripted.
Kazi and Camp watched the death grip talons of a 6-year-old Golden Eagle pluck the WARBIRD out of the air and smash it to the turf. Kazi dropped his remote control, flipped the goggles over his head and sprinted for his rental car in the parking lot.
Camp saw the executive navy blue suit and yellow power tie running like frightened prey. Camp’s legs started running before his mind gave him permission to chase.
Camp chased Kazi in and out of rows of parked cars. Kazi reached into his pocket, pulled out the rental car key fob and pushed “unlock” from 20 feet away. Headlights blinked as Kazi pulled the door open.
Camp went airborne over the trunk of an adjacent Mazda. His hands slammed Kazi’s head into the doorjamb of the front door as his body pinned Kazi’s against the Ford Taurus rental. Camp pulled Kazi out of the car and down to the cement in the parking lot of Jordan-Hare Stadium and started to beat his face with relentless punches. Kazi had no upper body strength and couldn’t fight back.
“You piece of shit, you’re a disgrace to Islam… you’re not half the man of Omid.”
Alabama State Troopers caught up and pulled Camp off of Kazi whose face was bloody, battered and swollen. Camp kept swinging as the Troopers restrained him and cuffed Kazi.
“Who are you?” Kazi demanded as blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his lip.
“A friend of Omid.”
“I do not know an Omid,” Kazi said as the Troopers started to move him.
“Colonel Farid Amir… Iranian Revolutionary Guard,” Camp yelled.
“Farid?”
“He was a great man, Kazi… and you are a piece of shit!”
The Alabama State Troopers started to hand Kazi over to the FBI agents who arrived at the scene.
“Do NOT read him Miranda rights… he has no rights! He’s an enemy combatant,” Camp screamed.
None of them saw Auburn beat New Mexico State University in the Homecoming game.
46
Washington Dulles International Airport
Virginia
Camp made the 750-mile drive along Interstate 85 and 95 up from Auburn, through Atlanta, Charlotte, Durham and Richmond and along the 495 to the Dulles toll road exit. He arrived at international baggage claim just minutes after Leslie Raines cleared customs.
A long embrace and several tender kisses later, Raines and Camp were in the Defender 90 heading to Camp’s townhouse in Old Town Alexandria. Raines took note when Camp decided not to go north on 495 toward her apartment in Frederick, Maryland.
“Did the sailor forget that I live north in Maryland?”
Camp just smiled and kept driving up Interstate 66 toward Arlington and then cut over on the George Washington Parkway past Reagan National Airport.
Camp opened two bottles of wine as soon as they got inside his townhouse, a bottle of Pinot Gris for Raines and an old vine red zinfandel for himself. After the long international flight, Raines hopped in Camp’s shower and emerged with wet hair and wearing one of his large button-down white dress shirts and nothing else.
“You look tired, Camp.”
“I’m fine. Went to see a college football game, and I’m a bit exhausted, but thrilled — no energized — to see you, Les.”
Camp pulled her close on the couch and kissed her for what seemed like an eternity. The world seemed less crazy when he held Leslie Raines in his arms.
“Have you called your parents since you’ve been back?”
Camp sighed and confessed.
“No. Mom and Dad don’t know I’m back yet. I’ll call them tomorrow morning… when we wake up.”
Raines set her glass of wine down on the coffee table and excused herself.
“No need to change on my account. I think you’re looking pretty hot ‘as is’ colonel,” Camp yelled as Raines went back into Camp’s bedroom and rifled through her bag. She pulled out two candles left over from her long bath in Lyon, lit them and placed one on each night table. Then she returned to the couch and handed Camp a DVD.
“You need to watch this,” Raines said.
“Now? I’m sitting next to the half-dressed woman of my dreams, getting her loaded and delusional with wine, and now I have to watch a DVD?”
Raines kissed him again and caressed his face.
“Yes… now.”
Camp feigned protest for another minute or two, but he knew Raines would have her way. It was no point arguing with this woman. He flipped the TV over to AV-1 and the frozen image of his dad, Seabury Campbell, was fixed on the screen with the word PLAY beneath his image.
“My dad? Is he sitting in the milking barn?”
“Push PLAY, Camp.”
Camp’s iPhone started vibrating on the couch next to him. He picked it up and took a look. He had received a text message from Eileen at Lightner Farms in Gettysburg.
HEY THERE… ARE YOU STATESIDE?
“It’s Eileen,” he whispered to Raines, “…let me answer quickly.”