Pulling out slightly below the Marine F/A-l8s, Farkas heard the Sidewinder give a low growl as the 747 filled his windshield. The growl turned into a high-pitched screech a second before Farkas fired the missile. As the heat-seeking weapon accelerated to two and a half times the speed of sound, Farkas fired the second Sidewinder. He saw a flash under the right wing of Air Force One as he snapped the A-4 inverted and dove straight toward the undercast.
“Cover the president!” Devil One ordered as he rolled the Hornet over and chased the Skyhawk toward the dark gray clouds. Darnell started to fire a missile at the terrorist, but checked himself when he thought about the civilians beneath the clouds. I have to take a chance! I can’t let him get away!
Just before the A-4 reached the clouds, Darnell fired a missile and watched it track straight into the tailpipe of its prey. The engine exploded in a giant reddish-yellow fireball that blew the airplane in half. Tumbling wildly and leaving a trail of flames and dense black smoke, the Skyhawk disappeared into the clouds.
Bolton and Upshaw were frantically trying to extinguish the fire in the number-three engine when Chief Master Sergeant Willard Brewer rushed into the cockpit.
“Colonel!” he said in his booming voice. “We have flames all the way from the right wing to the tail!”
Bolton was about to answer when the men felt a second, then third explosion. In slow motion the left wing started to rise as Bolton tried to correct for the uncommanded roll. He knew it was hopeless, but his survival instincts took command.
Upshaw and Brewer watched helplessly as Bolton fed in full left aileron and full left rudder. Air Force One slowly rolled over on her back and continued to roll until it was almost upright. Bolton tried to catch it, but the 747 rolled to the right even faster this time. The flight-deck crew had become passengers.
48
Frantic to salvage his mission, Massoud Ramazani fired another volley at the helicopter and ran for the ladder leading to the pilothouse. He wiped the blood from the flesh wound on his forearm as his frightened crew of four gathered on the sundeck.
Topping the ladder, Ramazani almost ran into the captain. “Head straight for the Mayport Naval Station,” he said breathlessly. “I want full power from the engines!”
“The engines are showing signs of strain.”
“Full power,” Ramazani bellowed.
Following the skipper to the bridge, Ramazani grabbed the other AK-47 and impatiently waited for the yacht to reach full speed. He picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned the coast, then stopped when he saw the top of the mast of the aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy.
He studied the chart-plotting GPS receiver and the radar, then turned to the captain. “Set a course straight for the channel leading to the naval station,” Ramazani ordered. “From there, program the autopilot to head straight for the carrier.”
While the frightened man was entering the way points into the autopilot, Ramazani briefly considered the possibility of navigating the yacht through the St. Johns River to the heart of downtown Jacksonville, then quickly discarded the notion.
Time was his enemy. Besides, Kennedy was a much more tempting target.
If the yacht could ram “Big John” just prior to the detonation of the nuclear bomb, it would sink the giant warship and destroy the naval station and most of Jacksonville. It might not be Washington, D.C., but it will be a tremendous blow to the infidels.
When the yacht was vibrating from maximum power, Ramazani rechecked the chart-plotting GPS. At their current speed, Sweet Life would plow into the supercarrier in fourteen minutes.
He went below and walked through the mahogany-paneled formal dining room to the master stateroom, stepped over the open crate of AK-47s, then opened the double doors leading to the sitting room. Working rapidly but carefully, Ramazani unlocked and removed the top of the heavy metal container. He set the timer on the nuclear bomb to thirteen minutes, then activated the master arming switch and relocked the large metal container. Now it’s just a matter of time.
While Jackie smoothly hovered the helo inches above the water, Scott waited for the right moment, then pulled the exposed lanyard on the life raft and shoved it out the door. The raft automatically ejected from its carrying case and fully inflated within three yards of the panicked women.
“Let’s go,” Scott exclaimed as Jackie banked and climbed away from the raft. “We’ll give the Coast Guard their position.”
The rotor wash from the LongRanger shoved the raft toward the women and they quickly scrambled into it.
“They’ve changed course,” Jackie said as she chased the yacht. “It looks like they’re headed for Mayport, and there’s a carrier in port.”
“That figures.” Scott kicked out the rest of the shattered passenger window. “Toss me the sat-phone.” If they have a nuke onboard, we can write Jacksonville off the map. “I hope Hartwell is in his office.”
“I’m sure he can be reached,” Jackie said as she handed him the phone, then gave the Coast Guard the position of the raft. After she explained the situation, she contacted Jacksonville approach control and asked them to notify the FBI and the Navy. They immediately relayed the information to the proper authorities, then had a short conversation with the tower controllers at Jacksonville International Airport. All airplanes and helicopters on the ground would be held in their places while incoming flights would be diverted to other airports.
Scott was off the phone in less than a minute. “Hartwell is pushing all the buttons at his end. He wants us to keep the terrorists in sight and slow them down if we can.”
“We aren’t flying a gunship,” Jackie said as she glanced over her shoulder. “How are we supposed to slow them down?”
Scott took a seat by the open window. “Let’s get out in front of the yacht, then make a low, head-on pass and I’ll see if I can take out the people in the wheelhouse.”
Jackie slowly shook her head, then belatedly turned to Scott. “I think you need to double up on your Xanax,” she said as she positioned the helo for a high-speed strafing run.
Ramazani watched the helicopter pass Sweet Life high to the port side. He studied the horizon for 360 degrees around the ship, then went inside the bridge to check the chart-plotting GPS. When the captain suddenly pointed up to the left, Ramazani turned to take a look. The LongRanger was diving to gain speed and headed straight down the center line of the yacht.
In one quick motion, Ramazani grabbed the AK-47 and hurried out to the sundeck. He raised the weapon and began firing short bursts at the rapidly approaching helicopter.
“There’s someone with a—” Jackie flinched as a round came through the windshield and shattered the left earcup on her headset.
“Jesus,” she exclaimed as another round tore a hole in the instrument panel. “He’s ripping us apart!”
Leaning out the passenger window, Scott held his Sig Sauer with both hands and squeezed off five rounds. He was astonished when two sections of the bridge’s windshield imploded. As Jackie pulled up, Scott fired his last rounds at Ramazani and ducked back into the cabin.
She took off her mangled headset and reached for Scott’s headset in the left seat. “He’s going to blow us out of the air if we aren’t careful.”
Scott looked down at the speeding yacht. “Jackie, if you can make a steady descent directly over the bridge, I can keep them pinned down until I can jump on the roof.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Can you do it?”