He rose occasionally to scan with the binoculars, then resumed his seat.
This little park was on one of the two routes he thought it probable the helicopter carrying the President might take when flying from Camp David to the White House. He suspected that the helicopter would in all likelihood avoid the airport traffic area at Frederick and Gaithersburg. If so, it could pass those two airports to the east and enter Washington heading straight south for the White House, thereby overflying Silver Spring and Bethesda. On the other hand, if the chopper passed to the west of Frederick it would probably overfly this little park on the Potomac on its way straight down the river into Washington.
As he had studied the map Charon had come to favor the Potomac route. As the helicopter descended into the Washington area noise in populated areas would be minimized by flying down the river. That struck him as just the kind of consideration that a harried staffer would base a decision upon.
Still, he wasn’t a pilot and he knew next to nothing about air traffic control. He hadn’t had the time to monitor the route of other Camp David trips or to do the dry runs that would ensure success at the proper time. This whole thing was pretty shoestring. Yet the longer he spent in this area checking things out, the greater were the chances he would be seen and remembered.
So he would try this. If he got the opportunity, he would shoot. If not, he would look for another opportunity.
One chance in four. Maybe less. But enough.
He sighed and watched the birds and listened to the river when the radios fell momentarily silent. Occasionally he rose and used the binoculars to check the area. There were three picnic tables between the parking area and the riverbank. Near each table was a small stone barbecue grill. In the summer this would be a very pleasant spot for an outing, if you could get an empty table.
It was a few minutes after three p.m. when he heard the call he was waiting for. It came over the VHF radio.
“Dulles Approach, Marine One’s with you climbing to three thousand out of Papa Forty en route to Papa Fifty-six, over.” Charon knew those areas: Prohibited Area 40 was Camp David, Prohibited Area 56 was the White House-Capitol complex.
“Marine One, Dulles Approach, squawk Four One Four Two Ident.”
A Cessna pilot made a call to Approach now, but his transmission went unanswered. Henry Charon turned off the radio, tuned to UHF, and put it back in the trunk of the car.
“Marine One, Dulles Approach, radar contact. You are cleared as filed to Papa Fifty-six, any altitude below five thousand. Report reaching three thousand and any change of altitude thereafter, over.”
“Marine One cleared as filed. Report any change of altitude. We’re level at three now.”
“Readback correct. Cessna Five One Six One Yankee, go ahead with your request.”
One last scan with the binoculars. He let them dangle around his neck. From the trunk he pulled out a roll of carpet. He put it on the ground and unrolled it. He took a second roll out and did the same.
Charon put one of the four-foot-long tubes carefully on the ground right by the gravel pile after he had inspected it for damage. The second he inspected and kept in his hands.
He arranged himself against the gravel so he had some support for his lower back, yet the exhaust from the missile would pass safely above the gravel. They would find this spot, of course, and the carbon from the missile exhaust would prove that it was fired here. He just didn’t want the hot exhaust deflected onto his back. He put the missile launcher across his lap.
He sat there and waited, counting the minutes. If the chopper was cruising at a hundred and twenty knots, it was making two nautical miles a minute over the ground. He had figured the distance at twenty-four miles. Twelve minutes. With a tail wind or more speed, the time would be less. He would wait for eighteen minutes and if the chopper had not appeared it would have used a different route. And the wind was out of the northwest, so the chopper would have a tail wind today. Eighteen minutes, then he would leave and try something else.
The helicopter might not use this route. There was no way of knowing of course. He would soon see.
And the pilot of the helicopter didn’t make the call to Dulles Approach from Camp David. He had lifted off a minute or two earlier and was climbing out on course when he called Approach. So less than twelve minutes.
The minutes passed as he scanned the sky. Six, seven, eight …
He heard the distinctive noise of a helicopter. He looked. The trees behind him would block his view until it was almost overhead.
He turned on the batteries in both launchers and grasped the binoculars.
There it was! High, to his left. Perhaps a mile east of his position.
He checked with the binoculars, thumbing the focus wheel expertly. Yes. A Marine VIP chopper, like the one he had seen on the White House lawn.
He lowered the binoculars and raised the missile launcher to his shoulder. Power on. Aim. Lock on. He squeezed the trigger.
The missile left with a roar.
Charon dropped the empty launcher and picked up the second one. Power on. Aim. Lock on. Shoot!
With the second missile on its way he tossed both launchers, the rugs, and the binoculars in the trunk of the car.
He looked up. The first missile had already detonated, leaving a puff of dirty smoke against the light gray overcast above. The chopper was falling off to the right, the nose swinging.
Whap! The warhead of the second missile exploded right against the chopper.
The helicopter’s forward progress ceased and it began to rotate and fall, a corkscrewing motion.
Henry Charon picked up the remaining radio.
“Mayday, Mayday! Marine One has had a total hydraulic failure and has lost an engine! We’re going down!”
“Marine One, Dulles, say again.”
The pitch of the voice was higher, but the pilot was still thinking, still in control. The words poured out. “Dulles, we’ve lost an engine and hydraulics. The copilot’s dead. Two explosions, like missiles. We’re going down and … uh … roll the ambulances and emergency vehicles. We’re going down!”
Charon snapped off the radio and carefully placed it in the trunk of the car on top of one of the rugs. He closed the trunk lid firmly.
He scanned the area. Nothing left lying about.
The assassin paused by the driver’s door and looked again for the stricken helicopter. Much lower, falling several miles to the southeast with the nose very low … rotating quickly, like once a second. The crash was going to be real bad.
Henry Charon seated himself in the car, started it, and drove away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Henry Charon dialed the radio to a Washington news-talk station and pointed the car north, toward Frederick. A woman was debating with various callers the appropriateness of the federal response to the AIDS crisis. At Frederick he turned east on I-70. When he saw a rest stop, he pulled off.
He parked the car on the edge of the lot and removed the galoshes. These he put in the trunk. He carefully wrapped the spent missile launching tubes in the rugs and wound the rugs with gray duct tape. After closing the trunk and ensuring the car was locked, he walked fifty yards to the rest rooms and relieved himself.
Rolling again, he was listening to the radio when the announcer broke in with a bulletin:
“A United States Marine Corps helicopter carrying the President of the United States and several other high-ranking officials has crashed in northern Virginia north of Dulles Airport. Emergency crews from Dulles International are responding. We have no word yet on the condition of the President. No further information is available at this time. Stay tuned for further news as we receive it.”
The radio station stopped taking calls. In short order the woman guest was off the air and two newsmen began discussing and speculating about the bulletin. They mentioned the fact that President Bush had spent the weekend at Camp David and was presumably on his way back to Washington when the accident occurred. They called it an accident. They read the list of the officials that had spent the weekend with the President and speculated about the reasons the helicopter might have crashed. The reasons they advanced all concerned mechanical failure or a midair collision. It was obvious to Charon that neither man knew much about helicopters.