“I want to land at Andrews Naval Air Facility in Maryland. I’m going to ask the President to pick me up in Marine Two and take me to the White House.”
“Why not Marine One,” Daniel asked sarcastically.
“I don’t want to overdo it,” Hail joked.
“Are we going to have clearance to land at Andrews Naval Airbase? I mean, I don’t want your beautiful sixty-four million dollar Gulfstream to get shot out of the air. Oh and you would be dead as well, so it would be kind of a double bummer.”
“Don’t worry about any of that. I’m going to write a quick email, jump into one of the ship’s helicopters and hop over there. Just be ready to fly.”
“Well, I feel much better about the Gulfstream not getting shot down landing at Andrews because you sent an undependable email message,” Daniel said, this time making sure the sarcasm in his voice was rich and thick. “Why don’t you just send a text? You could text something like, landing a strange plane on your secured air force base with no flight plan.”
“I’ll be there in a few,” Hail said and clicked off the connection.
To: TrevorRogers@fbi.gov
Hi Trev, Got your invitation. Tell the President I will be there tomorrow for lunch. You did say she would work around my schedule? Also, tell the boys at Andrews that my Gulfstream G650 will be touching down tomorrow around 11:00AM your time. Tell them not to shoot us down. Also, if the VP isn’t using Marine Two, then I would appreciate a ride to the White House. I’m in a crunch for time.
Got to go if I’m going to make the lunch with the POTUS.
See you tomorrow.
Marshall
What to pack, what to pack, Hail mumbled to himself. He then realized that his Gulfstream had everything he needed. It had its own bedroom and all the drawers in his plane were stuffed with all the same stuff his stateroom drawers were stuffed with.
Hail left his quarters and began walking down the long hallway toward the flight deck.
He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed another six-digit number.
This time the phone rang twice before Gage Renner answered.
“Hey Gage,” Hail said. “I have to go to Washington to get paid by the POTUS herself.”
“Wow, that was quick,” Renner said.
“Yeah and I want to keep it that way. I want our momentum, the momentum of our mission to keep going forward. Things like this take forever and I am going to shorten forever to one day.”
“Do you need any company?” Renner asked.
“No, my friend. I have some private stuff I need to take care of and it would just bore you.”
“I understand,” Renner said.
“As usual, I need you to run things while I’m gone.”
“I can do that,” Renner replied confidently.
Hail tried to think if there was anything else that needed to be said.
Finally, he offered, “That was a great first mission today. Wasn’t it?”
“Perfection,” was Renner’s one-word response.
“See you in a couple of days,” Hail said and hung up.
He had to climb several decks of steps and traverse the entire length of the ship, but in real time it took Hail less than four minutes to reach the ship’s door that was labeled FIGHT DECK. He spun open the bulkhead wheel-handle and stepped inside. Parked in front of him were several commuter helicopters. He walked past two of them before selecting the AgustaWestland AW101 VVIP.
The helicopter’s skids were sitting on wheeled dollies. One of the mechanics noticed Hail climbing into the eighteen-million-dollar aircraft. The mechanic walked over to a small tractor, got in and fired it up.
The helicopter mechanic didn’t need to know why his boss wanted to fly the machine; he just understood that he was going to fly it. But first the helicopter had to be pushed over to the flight elevator. Once the helicopter had been positioned on the elevator, the mechanic would then pull back the tractor and press the elevator button on a remote control attached to his belt. Huge hydraulic cylinders would lift the helicopter to the top deck and it would be ready to fly.
As the tractor pushed the AgustaWestland onto the elevator pad, Hail began to go through a pre-flight checklist. He had never actually flown the AgustaWestland before, but he had over forty hours of simulator time with this model, and these days the simulator was just as good as the real thing. Maybe even better. The simulator offered a dozen different flight scenarios which included many combinations of adverse weather conditions.
The darkness and gloom of the imitation light on the lower deck turned into happy sunlight on the top deck as the elevator heaved the massive chopper to the top deck.
Hail pressed dozens of buttons and flipped another dozen switches. He stopped flipping and pressing when he heard the three turboshaft Rolls-Royce/Turbomeca RTM322 engines come to life and saw the rotor beginning to spin. The AW101 was a big helicopter, but Hail didn’t care. Once they were in the air, they all pretty much flew the same.
With the main rotor screaming, Hail placed the stick in the neutral position and raised the collective. The helicopter became light on its tow dollies and then lifted off, leaving the dollies on the deck below.
Hail knew that the Sultan Aji Muhammad Sulaiman Sepinggan International Airport was east from his position. Basically all he had to do was fly over ten miles of the Bilikpapan peninsula, and he was there. As a standard protocol, the Gulfstream was always flown ahead to the next port of call from whatever ship Hail was on. That way it was always available. Since the death of his family, Hail refused to fly on commercial aircraft. Psychologically, it was more involved than a simple choice. He couldn’t fly on commercial aircraft. He had developed some phobia that was all encompassing. But strangely enough, he didn’t have an issue either flying his own aircraft or being flown by someone in his employ. For some reason he felt in control under those specific conditions, and control was what his life was all about these days.
In stark contrast to the unending greenery of the Indonesian jungle, the land Hail was currently flying over was highly industrial. Other than warehouses and homes that were all crammed in against one another, there wasn’t much to see. Five minutes into the flight and Hail observed the area of the airport that was reserved for Hail Industries. The Gulfstream sat gleaming on the tarmac, all porcelain white with banded blue stripes running from its nose to its tail. Other than the plane’s registration numbers, the only markings on the aircraft was the G650 model number written in big blue letters on its tail. The machine looked fast just sitting there on the ground.
Hail checked his power to the rotors, checked his airspeed and looked for a wide space near the jet to set down the big helicopter. Swinging the tail around to his right, he thought the twenty-three-thousand-pound helicopter was more sluggish than it had performed in the simulator. But then most of the simulated flights Hail had taken were located in the mid-west of the United States. The thick Indonesian air probably had something to do with lethargic response to the controls and therefore Hail poured on extra power in order to set the beast down gently.
Hail touched the AgustaWestland down lightly onto the hard black surface and reached up and the killed the engines. He opened the pilot’s door and stepped out into the heat. One of Hail’s mechanics began walking toward the chopper, meeting Hail halfway between the helicopter and the jet.
“How did she fly, Sir?” the greasy man asked Hail.
“I’m not sure,” Hail said honestly. “It’s the biggest chopper I’ve flown and I didn’t know what I expected, but I guess it was OK. It’s kind of like driving a huge bus. A huge airbus.”