In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) (11 page)

Catherine McKay handed her ticket to the agent at the check-in desk and watched as he flipped through her passport.  She was a nervous traveler, especially since this was her first time in almost thirty years. 

She had initially resisted when her son had proposed the trip almost two months before.  But Francis had been persistent.  Outside of some distant cousins in Ireland, he argued, they only had each other.  With his work schedule, they never seemed to have time to spend together.  She was getting older, after all, and opportunities like this weren’t always easy to find.

“Why don’t you get yourself a nice young lady?” she had asked him.  “Why do you want to travel with an old woman?”

“Because I want to see Ireland, Ma.  And I know you do too.  You’ve talked about it ever since I was a kid.”

He had an urgent look on his face.  She could tell he was worried, particularly so over the last few months.  As much as she had wanted to refuse, he was her son.

“I’m not getting on no airplane,” she insisted.  “It’s a wonder more of those things don’t fall out of the sky.  I don’t care that you fly around in them all day.  I’ll go by boat.  That’s how my parents came here, and that’s how I intend to go back.”

The gate agent smiled and handed back her documents.  “You’re all set, Mrs. McKay.  We’ll be boarding in one hour.  Have a pleasant cruise.”

She put her passport and ticket in her purse.  This she put inside a large travel bag before walking to the waiting lounge.  She was traveling alone.  Francis’s work schedule had changed at the last moment, but he had promised to meet her in Waterford when her ship arrived.

“What happens if your schedule changes again?  Are you going to leave me stuck over in Ireland by myself?”

Her son had patted her on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry, Ma.  I’ll be there.  But just in case, two of our cousins from your side of the family will meet us in Waterford.  They’re excited to show us around.”

She clutched her travel bag to her chest.  Last night she had looked inside, just to make sure she was ready.  Francis had thought of everything.  There was an itinerary with descriptions of all of the activities available to her during the six-day cruise with circles around things he thought she might like.  She also found the names and numbers for her cousins, as well as those of relatives who lived in Dublin.  In an inside pocket, in an envelope, was a stack of Euros as well as a debit card.  Two thousand in total, she had counted.  So much money. 

There was also a cell phone.  “Just in case,” her son had said.  The last item was a smaller envelope.  On it he had scrawled,
To be opened in Ireland
.  She had resisted the urge to peek inside.  Francis had told her there was a surprise and that it had to wait until they were together. 
This must be it
, she reasoned.

Although she was apprehensive about traveling, she was also excited.  She hadn’t told Francis, but she was looking forward to spending ten days with him in Ireland and learning more about her family.  With her health, this might be the last time she could make such a trip.  She had sensed that this was important to him, too.  He was under too much stress from work and needed a break.  Although she hadn’t told him, she was pleased that he had asked her instead of some girl.  Her son needed her now and she was, above all things, a mother.  

“United Airlines Flight 201 to Seattle is now boarding at gate D2.”

Two well-dressed men stood and joined the boarding line.  They didn’t draw any unusual attention as they handed their boarding passes to the gate agent.  They proceeded down the jet way and nodded to the flight attendant standing in the door of the plane.  The two men found their first-class seats.  After stowing their luggage, the flight attendant offered them drinks.  The tall man asked for coffee.  His companion shook his head. 
Another pair of harried business travelers off to yet another meeting
, the flight attendant thought as she poured coffee.

They didn’t look like fishermen today.

At seven-thirty in the morning, two C-5 Galaxy transport planes taxied to the runway and, one after the other, took off from Andrews Air Force Base.  The planes were loaded with six armored limousines, almost two-dozen armored Chevy Suburbans, millions of dollars’ worth of electronic equipment and an impressive arsenal of weaponry.  The president’s advance detail sat in the forward section of each aircraft with members of the White House Military Office who were responsible for maintaining most of the vehicles.  The advance detail was comprised both of agents and members of the Technical Services Division, and their job was to ensure that Seattle was safe for the president well before he arrived. 

The advance detail had a tight schedule.  Over the next three days, they had to meet and coordinate with local law enforcement and review and test-drive multiple routes for the motorcade and assess the risk of each.  They would also perform security assessments of all the stops on the president’s schedule, secure the hotel rooms to be used by the president—both from physical threats as well as electronic—ensure local medical facilities were ready and equipped for any emergency, and review potential disaster scenarios and contingency plans.  The local Secret Service field office had been working with the Seattle Police for the last several weeks.  They had already reviewed the threat list, and agents were in the process of tracking down people of interest for a quiet conversation.  

If everyone did his job properly, by the time the president arrived, any potential threat would be minimized and the trip would go seamlessly. 

At least, that was the theory.

Chief Master Sergeant Andrew Brandt, clipboard in hand, climbed the ladder and peered into one of the four engines of his aircraft.  The fact that the Chief was a mechanic and didn’t legally hold the title to the plane was irrelevant.  In true Air Force tradition, the Chief owned the aircraft he was assigned to and, not surprisingly, had become as possessive and protective of his charge as a mother hen was of her chicks.

In Brandt’s case, his aircraft was a specially configured Boeing 747-200B sitting in a heavily guarded hangar at Andrews Air Force Base.  Unlike the typical 747, this airplane was furnished for VIP travel and, accordingly, few luxuries were spared.  Accommodations included an executive suite with a dressing room, lavatory, and shower, an office, and a combination conference room/dining room.  The plane was equipped with special electronic equipment for secure data and voice communications, allowing passengers to maintain continuous contact with their ground-based offices.  There were separate accommodations for the entourage that always accompanied the VIPs when they traveled. 

Brandt’s 747 was one of two identical planes that belonged to the 89th Airlift Wing, part of the Air Mobility Command located at Andrews Air Force Base.  Although the Air Force distinguished the two planes by their tail numbers, Chief Master Sergeant Brandt referred to them as
The Princess
and
The Bitch
.  However, when the president was on board either plane, it didn’t matter which one, it was called Air Force One.

The Princess, or tail number 28000, was first deployed in September 1990.  The plane’s performance and trouble-free operation during air trials had impressed the Air Force brass.  However, tail number 29000, delivered three months later, proved to be a paradox.  That Boeing engineers could produce two identical aircraft on the exact same production line with the exact same specifications, and yet one always seemed to be plagued with minor malfunctions mystified Brandt.

Today, he was working on The Bitch.

Each plane had a flight crew of twenty-six and was capable of carrying seventy-six passengers.  The Princess, and The Bitch too for that matter, when she wasn’t under repair, had a maximum range of over eighty-three hundred nautical miles.  However, in-flight refueling capabilities and a spare crew allowed Air Force One, in the case of an emergency, to remain airborne indefinitely.  Both planes were powered by four General Electric jet engines, each capable of developing almost fifty-seven thousand pounds of thrust.  Each plane had a top speed of six hundred thirty miles per hour, a hair below the speed of sound, according to Boeing, but neither had been pushed to the max.  Not yet anyway.

“Good morning, Chief.”

Brandt pulled his head out of the engine in time to see Sergeant Albert Morales wheeling another food supply cart to the aft loading bay.

“Mornin’, Al,” Brandt responded with a lopsided grin. “What’s for dinner today?”

Morales grinned back.  “Black Angus steak with a peppercorn sauce, braised carrots with baby onions, fresh sourdough rolls, and a garden salad with a vinaigrette dressing.  If you don’t like that, we have poached salmon and risotto, or fettuccini with portobello mushrooms in a garlic sauce.  Or pretty much anything else your little heart desires.  Oh,” Morales added, “and a bottle of merlot.  Actually, a case of merlot, some chardonnay, some cabernet, and a few other wines I can’t pronounce.”

Brandt shook his head.  “Must be nice.” 

“Don’t give me that, Chief.  You get to eat too.”

“Oh, sure.  I’ll eat the steak.  But I can’t have any wine.”

“My heart bleeds for you.”  Morales laughed.  “Hey, so where’s the boss off to today?” 

“Seattle,” Brandt replied as he stuck his head back in the engine.  “I got to make sure The Bitch will fly first, though.”

As usual, the crew arrived at the hangar five hours before the flight, allowing ample time for the preflight briefing.  Although the manifest listed fifty passengers, from their viewpoint, there was only one that mattered.  Given that, no detail was overlooked.  The pilots and flight engineer studied the weather forecast and conditions at their destination—on this trip, Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.  They reviewed their planned flight path and, as an added measure of safety, plotted the airports and air fields along the way that could be used in case of emergency. 

Next, they studied the maintenance records, noting that although there had been some minor issues with both the electrical and fuel management systems, the necessary repairs had been made.  Finally, they performed the walk-around: inspecting the control surfaces, the tires, the engines and other critical components, ensuring the plane was airworthy. 

Members of the press were usually the first passengers to arrive, and today was no exception.  After passing through both Air Force and Secret Service security checkpoints, they boarded the plane and found their seats.  Despite the fact that the press section was in the rear of the aircraft, it was as well-equipped and comfortable as the first class section of any commercial airplane. 

As the press settled in, Air Force stewards provided coffee, drinks, and snacks.  Half an hour later, Representative Pete Ortega, Senator Jane Wentworth, and Senator Peter Dykstra from the state of Washington arrived, each accompanied by one or two staff members.  They took their seats in a section of the cabin reserved for special guests of the president.  This was directly in front of the Secret Service section, which, Senator Dykstra noted with a chuckle, would keep the press at bay.

The president’s staff arrived next: speechwriter Nancy Hartwig, National Security Advisor Michael Breen, Commerce Secretary Felicia Jackson, and White House Counsel Linda Huff.  Moments later, Wendy Chow, the Press Secretary, joined them.  Each was accompanied by the usual entourage of aides.  They took their seats in the front half of the cabin, which was reserved for the White House.  With its plush seating, individual and group work areas, enclosed conference room, and private dining area for Cabinet and senior staff members, this section more closely resembled a four-star hotel than an airplane.  Throughout were numerous flat-screen TVs, secure telephones, and connections for computers. 

The section in the very front of the plane was reserved for the president and contained a private office as well as a private bedroom and bathroom.  Next to the president’s office was a fully equipped medical facility, which could serve as an operating room, if required.  The main galley, situated between the medical facility and the senior staff, was where the chefs, Air Force crewmembers, individually prepared meals for each guest. 

With a sophisticated communications system, which allowed the president to maintain audio and video contact with the White House and, if necessary, to place a secure call to virtually anywhere in the world, he was able to transact business as if he were sitting in the Oval Office.  This, more than anything else, made Air Force One a flying White House.

“Sir?”  Charles Howell stood at the door.  “Marine One is ready.”

The president grabbed his travel bag and walked toward the door.  As he stepped outside, he saw Tyler Rumson waiting. 

“Have a good trip, sir.”

“Thanks, Tyler.  See you Friday.”

“Don’t worry about a thing here.  I’ll hold down the fort.”

As Kendall and Howell walked out on the South Lawn and headed for the waiting helicopter to Andrews, it struck him.  After several weeks of nothing but deferential, respectful behavior, he was sure he had seen the hint of a smirk on Rumson’s face. 

Twenty minutes before the scheduled departure, inside the hangar conference room, the head of the Secret Service advance detail, Sean Tully announced, “POTUS is ten minutes out.  Colonel, nothing negative from my end.  Are we still a go?”

“We are a go, Mr. Tully,” Colonel Zweig answered.  Zweig was the pilot and highest ranking officer on Air Force One. 

After a brief conversation, Zweig stood, then he, Major Tammy Lewis, his co-pilot, and Captain Wes Thomas, his flight engineer, left the conference room.  Lewis and Thomas proceeded to the crew staircase.  Zweig stood at the base of the main staircase, waiting. 

Marine One touched down nine minutes later and taxied to the hangar entrance.  Once the blades stopped spinning, Kendall and Howell exited, followed by Agents Lansing, Sartori, and Richter.  The president and Howell were ushered inside the hangar.  Air Force personnel stood at attention; Kendall returned the salutes.

“How are you, Colonel?”

“Excellent, sir.  We should have a good ride out.  No major weather issues today.  We do expect some bad weather on the West Coast tomorrow and Friday.  Nothing the crew can’t handle, though.”