“Negatory. But if we turn back now I’ll be okay.”
Bruce started to abort the mission, call back to Clark and inform them that Air Force Two would have to make it “in-country” without an escort. Single-ship formations were frowned upon; all missions demanded a two-plane minimum. It wasn’t a rule to screw with.
But he remembered Simone’s comments about using his judgment … and escorting the vice president seemed a hell of a lot more important than holding Skipper’s hand.
“Skipper.”
“Rog.”
“Break for Clark. We’re going on.”
Silence. Then, “You sure, Assassin?”
“That’s a rog. Now get back.”
Bruce almost thought he could hear Skipper shrug. “It’s your flight.”
Bruce tensed up. Skipper’s fighter broke off to the right; Bruce lost sight of him as he left. Damn, thought Bruce. He hoped he hadn’t stepped on it. This wasn’t the time to make the wrong decision, but it was up to him.…
Skipper’s voice came over the radio. “Good call, Assassin. See you on deck.”
“We’re starting the descent, Mr. Vice President.”
Adleman sat with his head in his hands. He had just hung up the phone with Acht. Any time now, he had said. We’re going to need an immediate, overt transition. And the plane could immediately head back to Washington once they’d refueled.
“Mr. Vice President, we’re starting to descend through the cloud layer, and we’ll need you buckled in, just in case there’s any turbulence.”
He didn’t want to think about it, being sworn in as President, waiting for the final call informing him of Longmire’s death. But the plane was committed now, so they’d have to make the transition on the ground. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes.
Bruce paced the giant 747 as it lumbered across the sky. He kept the F-15 a hundred yards away, a long way since he was used to flying wing tip to wing tip.
That was probably the reason General Simone had chosen him in the first place. The general would have known that Bruce was sensitized to safety, especially after flying with the Thirteenth Air Force Commander. Besides, Bruce knew he was the best.
When the 747 began its descent into Clark, Bruce moved a mile behind it. The jumbo jet seemed to move slowly against the backdrop of clouds. The 747’s cruising speed was actually not that much less than the F-15’s, but the transport’s huge size made it appear much slower.
Bruce followed the same flight path and rate of descent. When the clouds enveloped the cockpit, blocking out the blue sky that surrounded them, Bruce fixed his eyes to the avionics.
Now, until Air Force Two and the F-15 had landed, their survival depended solely upon the intricate solid-state circuitry of the flight instruments. The two planes were packed with all the newest high-tech bells and whistles the government could buy. Even in the thick cloud layer, Bruce knew that he was a hundred times safer up here than he would be driving his car on the ground.
Bruce clicked his mike. “Keep me honest, Foggy. I don’t want to step on the big one in front of the brass.”
“That hasn’t stopped you yet.”
Bruce clicked his mike twice. “Let’s make it a first.”
The drive took less than half an hour. There was virtually no traffic in the heavy downpour. Even the jeepneys kept off the road. Once in a while Cervante had to jam on the brakes of Pompano’s truck, to avoid hitting a pedestrian scurrying across the street.
That would be all he needed — right at the moment when his wildest dream was about to come true.
Yolanda lay on the floor beside him. Gagged and tied with twine, she had stopped struggling ten minutes ago.
Cervante couldn’t allow her to tell the authorities about him. It would have been easy to finish her off — or would it? At any rate, she would prove to be an excellent hostage if something went wrong.
Cervante slowed as he approached the road outside of Clark. No planes flew overhead, but the missing roar of jet engines had been replaced by the sound of a deluge. The turnoff was muddy, and once off the main road Cervante stopped the truck.
A moment later, a figure wearing dark rain gear and holding a rifle appeared at the side of the road. The figure waved Cervante on.
Cervante nodded to himself. At least the cell remains at its post.
He drove the truck to the opposite side of a clearing. A person appeared at the truck’s door as Cervante stopped. The figure stuck his head up close to the window. It was the boy, Barguyo.
Cervante rolled down the window. Rain splashed in. Cervante peered up, but could see only darkness where the hole in the trees should be.
The boy said, “Cervante, is it time?”
“Yes.” Cervante shot a glance at the girl; she moaned slightly and moved her legs, but she was well bound. Cervante opened the door and joined the boy, oblivious to the rain. “We need to prepare the weapon, charge it, and shoot it off when we hear planes.”
“You have a flight schedule?”
“Yes. If we are lucky a plane will fly overhead. I need you to set off the weapon.”
Barguyo shouldered his rifle. “That is easy. Which plane do you want me to hit?”
“There will be at least two planes. Strike against both of them. Then load the weapon in the truck and meet us back at Pompano’s sari-sari store. Do you know where it is?”
“I can find it.” Barguyo thought for a moment, rain streaming down his young face. “The weapon is not much longer than the back of your truck. Why can’t we load it on the truck now, set the weapon off, and simply drive away when we are done? We should save much time that way.”
Cervante looked astonished, then proud. Barguyo would surely play an important part in the future of the New People’s Army. He clasped the boy’s shoulder. “Very well. Instruct the men. After the weapon is on the truck, pick two men to stay with you. The others will come with me.”
Barguyo responded by grinning. He turned and headed for the weapon. Cervante heard a shrill whistle, then, “Quickly — it is time!”
A group of men appeared from the jungle, where they had been waiting underneath a shelter. Cervante stepped back into the truck. Water ran off his clothes onto the seat. The rain swept a fresh smell into the truck. An — an omen, a fresh start, he thought.
Everything was in place.
The problem, after they had downed the vice president’s plane, would be to reach it before the Americans. The highest priority would be to mobilize the Huks throughout the countryside to spread out and find the plane.
Chapter 17
Once they had loaded the high-power microwave weapon onto the truck, Barguyo jogged over to Cervante. The Huk leader stayed in one of the jeepneys, off to the side. A girl lay in the back of the jeepney, bound and gagged — Barguyo paid her no attention. If Cervante had wanted him to know about the girl, he would have said something.
“Everything is ready.”
Cervante glanced at his watch. “Any time now.” Cervante smiled at Barguyo — the boy looked back with pride.
Cervante said, “Remember, there will be at least two planes. You must keep firing the weapon.”
“Will the planes really crash?”
Cervante shook his head. “I am not sure. The Americans always think their weapons are so powerful. We will give them a taste of their own medicine.” The Huk leader pulled at his jaw. “I will need you to hurry to Pompano’s store. And make sure you bring this weapon back with you, no matter what else happens.”