A small rod had been thrust out of the front carrying a cloth-like appendage with writing, and Arlie squinted to read the message: Bang, it said. You’ve been warned. Next time you’ll be dead.
Arlie yanked the device from the engine and threw it angrily as far into the adjacent field as he could, then slammed the hood closed and walked quickly back to the house, shaking slightly with a confusing mix of anger and apprehension.
Rachel was standing at the center island of the kitchen when he threw open the door. She turned from the task of opening a small package and looked at him, startled at his wild-eyed appearance. “Honey? Back so soon?” she asked, continuing to remove brown wrapping paper from what appeared to be a small cardboard box.
“What’s that?” Arlie asked, leveling a finger at the package, aware that his beautiful wife was inches away and pulling open the top.
“Don’t know,” Rachel replied. “Maybe a gift. It was on our doorstep.”
“NO!” he lunged at the box as a loud crack echoed through the house.
Rachel jumped back as Arlie grabbed the box seconds too late. A similar puff of burned gunpowder assaulted his nose as he recovered his balance and turned around, his eyes meeting Rachel’s, his memory recalling the horrid decapitation of one of the infamous Unabomber’s victims.
“What on earth?” she managed, pushing herself back along the counter.
Arlie looked down at the box, disgusted at the small flag that had emerged: It’s Monday morning. Know where your daughter is?
Rachel read the words as well.
“Is this some sort of stupid joke?” she asked. “If so, it isn’t funny.”
He was shaking his head in spite of himself. “No. No joke. It’s a threat.”
“From whom? About what?”
He laid the box on the counter and came to her, holding her tight, unable to stem the cascade of tears from his eyes.
“Arlie? What’s going on?” she asked, her voice small and strained.
“Baby, get dressed and pack a bag. We’ve got to leave right now. I’ll explain after we’re on the road.”
She pulled back, looking at him. “Where are we going, and why?”
“Trust me. I’ll explain after we’re in the air.”
“In the air?”
“We’re taking the Cherokee. Pack light. Call no one.”
“Arlie—”
“Not now! Just… just trust me. Our lives are in danger.”
The sound of gravel crunching beneath the wheels of a car was growing from the vicinity of the front drive, and Arlie grabbed Rachel’s hand, leading her in a crouched position across the living room toward the bedroom, his mind fixating whether the .357 Magnum he kept under the bed was loaded.
Mac had never been in the office of the FAA administrator before, but somehow he’d envisioned a larger room than the one an aide was ushering him into. The FAA chief, the second woman to hold the position, got to her feet and came around the desk to shake his hand, motioning him to a large chair on the other side of the desk. Laura Busby sat in the companion chair across a small table.
“So, General MacAdams, what can I do for you? All I know so far is that you’re running a very important black project, have a serious problem to grapple with, and can’t tell anyone but me anything more.”
He smiled and opened a leather folder to fish out a two-page briefing sheet with the essential facts, and handed it to her.
“What I can tell you is this. Your enforcement folks are inadvertently creating a major security problem and you could make it go away very quickly. Since this is a serious matter of national security, that’s precisely what I need to ask you to do.”
Busby, a tall, elegant former congresswoman with a full mane of silver hair and a reputation for no-nonsense decisions, cocked her head and studied his eyes.
“Specifically?”
“I need you to sweep aside an emergency license revocation and reinstate the affected senior pilot before his daughter, lawyer, and friends kick open the wrong doors and expose our project prematurely, something that would cause irreparable harm.” Mac explained the basic facts and the newly obtained information on FAA Inspector Harrison’s background.
“Wait,” Laura Busby said, interrupting him. “You say all three charges we’ve raised are bogus? Support that.”
Mac sighed and launched into an explanation.
She was nodding slowly. “How do you know that propellor blade broke?”
“We… have hard evidence. We know precisely what the wreckage looks like, and the proof is undeniable.”
“I see. That’s one out of three, because you haven’t convinced me he wasn’t illegally continuing flight into instrument conditions without a clearance, or that he wasn’t drinking.”
“I need you to trust me on this, since we really don’t have time to go through the normal procedures.”
“I’m a stickler for normal procedures, General.”
“Yes, but this is an extraordinary situation. I seriously doubt you’ve had the Pentagon coordinator of a black project in here begging for an exception since you’ve been in this office.”
“You might be the first. Then again, you might not.”
“Well, considering the national defense harm this could do and the gross overreaction inherent in issuing an emergency license revocation within forty-eight hours of a crash based on almost nothing, coupled with the obvious personal bias of the inspector based on his own bad experience in the past, we’ve got all the ingredients here of a monumental injustice that needs immediate reversal, even if there wasn’t a national security aspect.”
Busby sighed and lowered the hand she’d been using to cup her chin.
“General, when I took over here, one of the things I pledged to my people was that the days of second-guessing and overruling field inspectors for insubstantial or political reasons were over. When I was in the House and on the Aviation Subcommittee, I got sick to death of watching the FAA mollycoddle unsafe operations because they — now we — were afraid of political backlash.”
“I understand. But this involves—”
“National security. I know. I’m not unresponsive or unsympathetic, but what I’m not going to do is just sweep this aside without delving into the details.”
“Time is of the essence here. The man’s family has been pulling out all the stops to disprove your allegations, and they’re getting uncomfortably close to us. If this thing blows into a courtroom, there is even more danger, because of possible media involvement and judicial orders we can’t easily evade. This is a bum charge, and it would be beneath the dignity of the FAA to pursue this, because I promise you, on the other end you’ll be mightily embarrassed. And, the damage to Captain Rosen would be immense. He’s a major airline 747 captain who will stay grounded and unemployed until the license is reinstated.”
She picked up the briefing papers and got to her feet, signaling the end of the discussion. “I’ll look into this as soon as possible, General.”
Mac stood, too, mildly alarmed at what was beginning to smell like a brush-off.
“May I check back with you this afternoon?”