“You mentioned something about him on the way out here,” Martindale said. “What was it again?”
“Vincenti was flying F-4 Phantoms up in Iceland — this was just before Gorbachev came to power,” Hardcastle explained. “He scrambled on a Badger bomber that he found flying low-level across the ice pack. The Defense Early Warning radars were out, but he did the pursuit on his own and shoots the damned thing down.”
“You’re kidding! I never heard about that.”
“Hardly anyone did,” Hardcastle explained. “Turns out the bomber was a rogue — a crew of fliers sympathetic to Andropov wanted to start World War Three by bombing U.S. bases in Iceland. They had nukes on board, but they say they never would have gone off.”
“But Vincenti’s not a hero in this story, right?”
“Yes, sir. Problem was, Vincenti never got clearance to shoot — no communications between the controllers and the plane. Vincenti just went ahead and did it, much like the incident last night. He gets a reputation as a hero with the crew dogs, but a wild-dog reputation with the brass. The. Badger shoot-down is highly classified—”
“But the Pentagon’s recollection of Vincenti isn’t,” Martindale finished for him. “Vincenti can’t follow orders. Vincenti likes to shoot first and ask questions later. Question, Ian: is he a wild dog?”
“No, sir, he’s not — but my reputation is not exactly fresh and clean either,” Hardcastle said with a wry smile. “In my opinion, putting on my pundit’s hat for a moment, I think it would be ill-advised for you to openly support Vincenti. But I want to consult with him on a regular basis. He knows his shit, and he will be very valuable to us and the Air Force when Cazaux tries to take on the authorities again.”
“Wait a minute, Ian… So you don’t think this is a random incident?” Martindale asked Hardcastle. He was getting nervous already — his high-profile military guy was thinking in a totally unexpected direction, and with more press conferences scheduled for that day, he had to be brought up to speed immediately. “Just bad luck that Cazaux hit that terminal with a cargo plane and killed several hundred people…?”
“Sir, I can’t explain it, but talking with Colonel Vincenti, the F-16 pilot that chased Cazaux’s cargo plane, I wonder if this is the last we’ll hear from him,” Hardcastle said. “Cazaux is not going to dive underground.”
As enthusiastic as they were about pointing out the inadequacies of the current White House Administration’s military policies, the others in the limo were not at all ready to agree with the former Coast Guard and Border Security Force officer. The former Vice President ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Jesus, Ian,” Martindale exclaimed, giving him a tired smile, “I pray you’re wrong.”
There was no more time for discussion, because just then the limousine pulled up to the aircraft hangar turned investigation center, and the members of the Senate subcommittee task force began to step out. The line of twelve hangars on the parking ramp at Beale Air Force Base once housed the SR-71 Blackbird spy planes, which were the fastest air-breathing aircraft in the world before the advent of the still- classified SR-91 Aurora. “A minute, Mr. Vice President,” Hardcastle said. Martindale let everyone else out, and the Secret Service agent closed the door again.
“Spit it out, Admiral.”
“Sir, you know that I believe in your campaign,” Hardcastle said easily. “No one was happier than I to see you at our board of directors meeting, getting involved, helping to raise money for the Task Force, all that. I know publicly you haven’t announced if you’re going to run in ninety-six, but I feel you will, and I’m one hundred and ten percent behind you all the way.”
“I hear a big ‘but’ coming…”
“Yes, sir. But, after speaking with Vincenti, I realized that we are not faced simply with gathering ammunition to use against the current Administration — we need to formulate a policy to make sure that attacks like last night don’t happen again.”
“Attacks? They weren’t attacks, Ian, it was the act of a madman trying to escape pursuit,” Martindale scoffed. “The odds of Cazaux blowing up another airport in this country are… well, hell, they’ve got to be astronomical.”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Hardcastle said. “I think he’ll strike again. I think we need to set up a program to defend this country’s major airports from attack. With all due respect, sir, I need to know if you’re serious about responding to the threat, or if this is just a way to make some political hay until you’re ready to throw your hat in the ring.”
“Christ, Hardcastle, ease up a bit with that rhetoric — and the threats,” Martindale said, motioning with his body that he was ready to get out of the car. “First of all, whatever use I have for my activities with you and the Project 2000 Task Force is part of my campaign. You and the membership agreed to spearhead my campaign. Like it or not, I’m in it, and I’m calling the shots. You know I’m serious about national defense, Ian. When I joined forces with the Task Force, you agreed to my terms. You and the other Task Force members fall in line with me or I walk — it’s as simple as that. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Kevin to you, Ian,” Martindale said. “Both now and when I’m in the White House. And I am going to the White House, my friend, let there be no doubt about that.
“As for my thoughts on Cazaux: So far I haven’t seen any evidence indicating the beginning of a wave of terrorism. We start creating fear like that, and we’ll look bad. Hell, even if we’re right, we’ll look like doomsayers. I don’t want to start putting Patriot missiles on the front lawn of the White House, Ian — all I want to do is point out to the people of this country that the current President’s got his head up his ass when it comes to the application of military force and his support for the military.” Martindale paused for a moment, then seemed to decide to go ahead and say what was on his mind — Kevin Martindale never had any trouble keeping his feelings to himself: “Frankly, Ian, your alarm-ringing reputation is well known in town. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I feel a lot of people might be turning you off. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since the attack. Let’s not come to any really dire conclusions until we get some more concrete evidence. Okay?”
“That’s fine, sir,” Hardcastle said. “I’ll stand by my reputation and my opinions.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Ian,” Martindale added. “I consider you a valuable asset, and your thoughts mean a lot to me. But let me make the decisions and the public announcements, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Hardcastle said. He exited the limousine, but turned to face Martindale just before the former Vice President stepped out. “But think about this, sir — what if Henri Cazaux strikes again? Then what will you be prepared to do to stop him?”
Martindale had already been psyching himself up to get ready to speak with the press that had assembled outside the hangar being used to headquarter the FBI’s investigation, so he really wasn’t fully listening to Hardcastle — until that very last sentence. If Cazaux did return, if this was only the beginning and not the end of a horrible nightmare, then what could be done to stop it?