Whatever was going on, she was about to jump right in the center of all the attention.
It was a feeling that Rader knew wouldn’t pass. And what was worse, when he retired from the Air Force, he knew it wouldn’t get better with time.
They got to Charlie before helping Bruce down from the F-15. Bruce couldn’t see what was going on, so all he could do was to remain out of the way. The rain had changed to a hard drizzle, but Bruce tuned it out. There were too many emotions, too much sensory input, for anything to make sense: the strong smell of JP-4, the people crowding around the craft, the incessant jabber, sirens in the background.
Charlie screamed when they tried to move him. Bruce overheard a quick conference between the medics before they decided to sedate Charlie.
By the time the drugs took effect, they had Charlie out of the fighter and into an ambulance. The siren started up, lights rotated, and the ambulance peeled off.
Colonel Bolte joined Mooselips at the top of the fighter as Bruce slid out of the tight-fitting cockpit. “Charlie will be okay, Bruce.” The colonel reached out a hand to steady him. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Bruce started for his flight bag, but suddenly felt tired. He tossed his helmet back onto the seat. “I don’t know, sir. I can’t figure out what hit us.”
“You heard Tower wave you off. Why didn’t you do what they said?”
“I didn’t have time.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t have time? There was a good sixty seconds before you got hit again—”
“I said, Colonel, I didn’t have any time,” interrupted Bruce. “From what I could tell, we were hit about the same time as Air Force Two. It just got them harder, and didn’t come back and get us until later …” He trailed off. “Hey, what did happen to Air Force Two?” Bruce suddenly shifted gears, his scope of cognizance broadening. He looked around the runway. “Did it taxi in already?”
“It’s down,” said Bolte.
“Down? Where?” Bruce was still confused. A few minutes earlier, he’d been flying for his life.
“I don’t know, Son. We’re trying to find out. That’s why I want to know what hit you. What can you remember?”
“Colonel.” A major in fatigues stepped out of a staff car at the bottom of the stairs. The back doors to the car opened and two men dressed in suits emerged to stand alongside the major. One of the men straightened his tie as he looked up at Bruce. “Colonel, we’re ready for the debrief.”
“Right.” Bolte clasped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Good flying, Son. I’m glad someone learned a lesson from Khe Sahn.”
The rain ran down Bruce’s face, but it tasted salty to him as he wet his lips. Salty? He realized he must have been sweating in the F-15. Then as he raised a hand to wipe his brow, he saw a smear of blood on his fingers. He touched his forehead and winced.
But what was Bolte talking about? “Khe Sahn, sir?”
Bolte took off his sunglasses. He narrowed his eyes at Bruce. “You didn’t study that maneuver in fighter lead-in?”
“What maneuver, Colonel?”
Bolte looked at Bruce strangely, then put his sunglasses back on. He muttered, “What in the hell…?” then said to Bruce, “Clouds were so low back in ‘Nam that F-105s had to come in upside down, spot where their target was, then roll over to pickle them off.”
Bruce shrugged. He was starting to feel worn out. “Sorry, sir. Can’t say that I heard about it.”
“Too bad. What you did was a ringer for that maneuver.” He put an arm on Bruce’s back and motioned with his head to the bottom of the stairs. “These people need to debrief you. Try and remember everything that happened.”
“Who are they?”
“Secret Service and intelligence types. Just cooperate as much as you can — and remember, they’re on our side.”
“Thanks, sir.” Bruce climbed down the aluminum stairs. The men in suits moved aside for him.
“Bruce.” Colonel Bolte’s voice came from the top of the stairs. Bruce turned; rain kept him from seeing the colonel clearly. “Bruce … about Charlie. He’ll be all right. I’ve … got a daughter that has a stake in this too.”
Bruce nodded and turned back for the car. The men in suits motioned him into the back of the dark blue staff car. They were off as soon as the doors closed.
The screaming had finally stopped and low moans now filled the plane.
Vice President Adleman tried to move, but couldn’t. It didn’t feel like he had broken anything — at least he didn’t feel any pain, the sharp twinge of bone grinding against bone.
Light diffused into the chamber from the rear of the plane. A hole must have been torn in the tail section. The sound of the dripping rain and the smell of spilt fuel overwhelmed his senses. A memory of the crash came back to him. He yelled hoarsely. “Is anybody there?”
“Mr. Adleman?”
Colonel Merke! Her voice sounded weak; the sound came from just outside of the chamber.
“Merke … can you get in here?”
“Just a minute, sir.”
“Mr. Vice President, are you all right?” It was McCluney, the Secret Service agent.
Adleman tried once more to push up. Something seemed to be on his leg, pinning him down. His eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Reaching down, Adleman tried to push the object away — his desk had ripped free from its anchor in the plane’s floor and tumbled across the chamber, pinning him during the crash.
Adleman grunted as he tried to move the desk. “I need some help.”
Merke’s voice came back. “Hold on, sir. I’ll be right there.” Adleman heard scraping against the chamber wall. He imagined a jumble of objects crammed up against the door, trapping him in.
Adleman fell back, relieved. They might have crashed, but now they were all right.
The men stumbled upon the plane. The jumbo jet lay nestled in the thick jungle, trees pressed up against the fuselage and tiny fires flickering around the metal body. The rain seemed to have prevented the plane from bursting into flames.
Rifles at ready, they fanned out around the craft. A hole in the jet’s back allowed half of the eight-man group to enter; the other four entered in the front. They didn’t know how much resistance to expect, but they prepared themselves for the worst.
Adleman lay back on his couch and rested. He thought about getting out of the plane, lowering himself down to the ground, but at least inside he remained dry.
Minutes before, Merke and McCluney had freed him from the desk, and now the two were checking the rest of the plane. Adleman had urged them to go, for the sobs and cries coming from the front of the plane had begun to subside.
Merke had a long cut on her face. Adleman had wanted to join the two in their expedition to the front of the craft, but McCluney firmly pushed him to the couch. None of the emergency radios worked, so Adleman decided he would remain back here.
Longmire resurfaced in his mind. What happens now? Adleman felt ashamed that he should be thinking of succeeding the President, but it had to be on the top of his mind. That was what his position was all about.
Something moved in the back of the plane.
Adleman struggled to an elbow. It sounded like a twig had popped, as if someone had been walking just outside of the jet. But that was crazy.…
“Merke? McCluney?”
Gunshots came from all around. Adleman heard the sound of bullets ricocheting throughout the cabin. Screams …