“No shit,” Gaspar exclaimed, looking with total amusement at Vincenti’s puzzled expression. “We’ll be right over.” He replaced the phone and smiled broadly at Vincenti. “Well, cowboy, looks like you do have a powerful friend, and he’s decided to crash Lani Wilkes’ press conference. Let’s go.”
“The terrorist bombing incidents over Sacramento and San Francisco last night are terrible and tragic ones for all concerned,” Lani Helena Wilkes, FBI Director, said to the members of the press from the podium erected on the aircraft parking ramp just outside the base operations building at Beale Air Force Base. This was where the bulk of the FBI’s field investigative work for the Cazaux attack was going to be conducted. “Because this is an investigation in progress, I cannot talk about our investigation itself, except to say this: one of the largest manhunts in U.S. history is under way right now in California for Henri Cazaux, who bailed out of the cargo plane seconds before it crashed into San Francisco International. Over three thousand federal agents are on his trail, and I’m confident — no, I’m positive — that he’ll be captured soon.”
Wilkes was a powerful and dynamic presence, and the press corps treated her with great respect. An accomplished trial lawyer, state and federal district court justice from Alabama, ordained Baptist minister, and political campaign consultant, Lani Wilkes was one of the preeminent personalities in American politics. Rising from a life in the Montgomery slums to leading the number-one criminal investigative force in the world, Wilkes was undoubtedly one of the most notable and most respected figures of either sex in the world. Once mentioned as a vice-presidential candidate, there was no question that the forty-eight-year- old African-American woman, tall and statuesque and beautiful, would be one of the nation’s top leaders of the twenty-first century.
“Director Wilkes, do you have any leads yet on the case?” one reporter asked.
“I can’t go into details, but we believe we’ve tracked down the origin of the explosives and other weapons used in the attacks, and the registration of the aircraft used. It was a U.S.-registered aircraft, belonging to a small cargo firm in Redmond, Oregon — obviously a front for Henri Cazaux’s operation.”
“Henri Cazaux was operating here in California? Why wasn’t this discovered earlier?”
“As you all know, Cazaux is extremely intelligent and resourceful,” Wilkes responded. “And if I may give the Devil his due, it seems that in this case he played by the rules, which of course in a free society such as ours means that he’s relatively free of intrusive government scrutiny. So far we find only legitimate businesses doing legitimate business transactions here in California and much of the western United States and Canada for many years. He pays taxes, sends in his reports, keeps his nose clean. Even a merchant of death can roam free in our society if he doesn’t call attention to himself.”
“Director Wilkes, can you please go over again the path that Henri Cazaux took after departing Chico Airport last night?” another reported asked. “As I understand it, Marshals Service, ATF agents, and even the U.S. Air Force had a chance to apprehend or shoot him down.”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t had time to fully study the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms’ operation, so I can’t really comment on it,” Wilkes responded, smiling tightly. “I haven’t been briefed by the Treasury Department yet, but I understand they were the ones that requested support from the Air Force. As far as the Marshals Service, their role in this incident was to try to apprehend Cazaux as part of his numerous outstanding warrants. Unfortunately, their efforts, as far as I can ascertain, were not coordinated.”
“Not coordinated?” A general hubbub followed. Just then an Air Force blue sedan pulled up beside the group of photographers, and several Air Force officers and a civilian got out. Wilkes recognized the civilian who got out of the sedan, one of her assistants, and motioned him to bring the Air Force officers over to the podium.
Being invited to stand on Wilkes’ podium didn’t mean he had to wait for her expected barrage, so Gaspar took the initiative, stepped right up to the microphone, and without waiting for Wilkes to introduce him, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Colonel Charles Gaspar, and I’m the operations group commander for the 144th Fighter Wing, California Air National Guard, based at Fresno Air Terminal. With me is Lieutenant Colonel Al Vincenti, the lead pilot involved in last night’s incident.” Gaspar did not introduce the third officer with them, a young female Air Force captain who stayed away from the podium but within earshot: she was the area defense counsel, the military defense attorney assigned to Al Vincenti, and like any defense attorney her job was to be sure Vincenti was not forced or tricked into answering questions that might harm his defense, should he be brought in front of a court-martial.
“We arc here at the request of FBI Director Wilkes to make some general statements about last night’s incident,” Gaspar continued. “As Colonel Vincenti’s superior officer, and as the representative of the 144th Wing, I would like to speak for the Wing and Colonel—”
But the members of the press didn’t allow him to finish. One reporter shouted out, “Colonel Vincenti, why did you chase Henri Cazaux over San Francisco? Tell us why you wanted him dead. Is it because of what he allegedly did to your partner, Linda McKenzie?”
“Why is it,” Vincenti blurted out, “that you call what Henri Cazaux did ‘alleged,’ and what I did you think is a certainty? Cazaux bombed Mather and San Francisco International, for God’s sake!” The press corps’ photographers snapped away at the pilot’s angry face, and within seconds the reporters were inching back in to hear every word. “And I didn’t ‘chase’ him over San Francisco,” Vincenti continued. “He flew over the city and into the traffic pattern to try to get away from me.”
“But who gave you the order to pursue him into San Francisco? Who gave you the order to attack him?”
This time the area defense counsel pushed her body in front of the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel Vincenti will be appearing in front of an Air Force flight review board and accident investigation board, and he will certainly be part of the FBI’s investigation. Please don’t try to convict him in the media as well.”
“I think the Captain is right,” Wilkes said, holding up her hands protectively in front of the area defense counsel. “Colonel Vincenti is not on trial here, and we don’t expect him to be responsible for what someone like Henri Cazaux does.” Those remarks made Vincenti and his defense counsel relax — and that’s when Wilkes continued: “But I think this incident points out the enormous hazards involved with asking the military to participate in any way other than in an indirect supporting role in law enforcement operations. The military’s primary function is to destroy and kill, and that’s what Colonel Vincenti was trying to do last night when he drove Cazaux’s plane over San Francisco.”
“I did not drive Cazaux over San Francisco, he flew there all by himself,” Vincenti snapped. He stepped over toward the microphone, and Wilkes had no choice but to give ground. “And the military’s primary job is not to destroy and kill — our job is to ensure national security by protecting this country from all enemies, domestic as well as foreign. A terrorist in the sky is a threat to our national security, and it calls for a military response. Just because we operate over American soil rather than foreign soil doesn’t mean the military can’t or shouldn’t do the job. The cops and the federal authorities — even the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms — are all outgunned. Cazaux realizes this now—”