In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) (18 page)

Richter and President Kendall were huddled inside the snow cave.  An hour earlier, when they had reached the tree line, Richter, Jack, and Derek had decided to build the cave below a tree for protection from the wind.  The lower branches dipped down almost to the ground, effectively sheltering the cave.  They had used the wire saws to cut dead branches from the trunk to make room, and then, once they had constructed the walls, they used the cut branches to form a latticework support for the roof.  They layered on snow with the shovels from the survival kits.  

Once the basic cave had been constructed, Jack had insisted that Matt stay inside with Dave to keep warm while he and Derek finished the roof.  Richter crawled inside, checked on the president and found that he was breathing regularly.  He spread the second parachute on the ground to keep the sleeping bags and their clothes from getting wet.  With nothing left to do for the moment, he climbed into the sleeping bag with the president and draped the second sleeping bag over them like a blanket. 

He opened one of the chemical light sticks, and the cave was filled with an eerie green light.  After several minutes of shivering, his chest and thighs begin to warm.  He checked the president again.  With his bruised and swollen face, he was hardly recognizable.  Richter noticed a large bump behind the president’s right ear.  It was sticky with blood.  He cleaned the wound as best he could and applied a bandage. 

Kendall began to stir.  Richter checked his eyes and asked him a few questions.  His eyes weren’t completely focused, and his speech was slurred.  While Jack and Derek were still outside, Richter explained what had happened.

“This was…an assassination attempt?”  The lisp was heavy; the president sounded drunk.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Richter replied.  “But listen—these two campers?  I think it’s best if we don’t reveal who we are yet.  I want to get a better sense of who they are first and why they’re out here in this storm before we say anything.”

“What do we tell them?”

“I think we can say we are low-level government officials who work in one of the departments…why don’t we say Immigration and Customs.  I still have my gun, which might make them suspicious.  So, I’ll say I’m an Immigration Agent.  You can be someone from headquarters, maybe a department lawyer or something like that.  We’ll say our plane developed problems and we parachuted out at the last second.  Can you do that?”

“Yes.”  The president responded, his voice thick.

“Dave!  You’re awake!”  Jack knelt in front of the president.  “My name is Jack Walsh.  I’m a medical student.  Can I take a look?”  Jack didn’t wait for a response and proceeded to examine him.  “Looks like you were in a fight.  You were out for a while.”  Jack studied the president’s eyes.  “How do you feel?” 

“Like I lost the fight.”

Jack grinned.  He took his time examining the president, then checking and re-bandaging the head wound.  “It looks like you have a moderate case of hypothermia.  But your buddy Matt prevented it from getting worse.  He saved your life.  He did a pretty nice job treating your head wound too.” 

The president smiled as Jack turned to Richter. 

Richter reluctantly allowed Jack to examine him.

“You’ve got a nasty cut on your head, Matt.  You could use several stitches.  It looks like you lost a bit of blood, but you don’t seem to be bleeding anymore.”

Richter held up a handful of snow, stained red.  “I’ve been applying cold compresses.”

Jack smiled.  “Good thinking.”  He cleaned the wound, applied surgical glue and a bandage. 

Derek waited until the exam was complete.  “So, you guys had plane trouble?  What happened?” 

Richter relayed their cover story. 

“Was there anyone else on the plane?

“Yes, the pilots.”  Richter responded.  “They told us to jump first.  I don’t know if they made it out or not.”  He changed the subject.  “Do you guys live around here?”

“No, we live in Lewiston.  Or at least I do.  Jack goes to school down in Boise.”

“Where’s that?”

“Lewiston?  About a hundred twenty-five miles northwest from here.  Right on the border with Washington.”

“What are you guys doing way out here?”

“Jack’s on spring break from college.  He came home for the week and we both decided we needed a break from our families.”  Derek smiled at his own joke.

“Where did you guys start your hike?”

“From Elk City.  That’s about ten miles from here as the crow flies, but probably sixteen miles by foot.”

“Is your car in Elk City?”

“Yeah.  Well, sort of.  We parked off a four-wheel drive trail about five miles out of town.”

“What’s Elk City like?”

“Very small town.  Three hundred, maybe four hundred people.  It’s an old mining town.”

Within five hours and thirty minutes of the crash, the twelve members of the NTSB Go Team had assembled at Andrews Air Force Base.  The team was comprised of scientists and crash investigators under the lead of Stan Burton, the NTSB investigator-in-charge.  Burton was anxious to get underway.  Like most team members, he felt the same rush of adrenaline he always felt as the team prepared to depart.  Despite the horrors of a typical accident scene, the utter destruction, the loss of so many lives, the twenty-four-seven work schedule he would face for the next few months, this was what he lived for.  It was morbid when he thought about it.  However, he tended to look at the bigger picture and the role that his team played in not only uncovering what had gone wrong, but in helping to prevent future accidents.  Burton checked the time again.  If this were a civilian airplane crash, they would already be on their way. 

“I hate this hurry up and wait shit.”  He was careful to keep his voice low.

“Patience, Stan.”  This was the second time that NTSB Board Member Brenda Hughes had accompanied a Go Team.  Her role was to be the public face for the NTSB, handling the press briefings, updating the NTSB board, and managing the interagency glad-handing so often required in these things.  This was her first military crash, and she suspected she would spend most of her time managing the relationship with the Air Force brass, which had primary responsibility for investigating the crash, and deftly balancing what she anticipated would be a strict communications protocol mandated by the military and the White House.

“Ms. Hughes.  I’m General Bud Trescott.  Is your team ready?”  She hadn’t noticed the general until he was standing in front of her. 

She stood.  “Yes, we are.”  Nodding toward Burton. “This is Stan Burton.  He’s our lead investigator.”

“Mr. Burton.”  General Trescott said in clipped acknowledgment.  “Okay.  Let’s board.  I’ll brief you in-flight.” 

In the mouth of the snow cave, Derek heated water over the camp stove. 

“You guys have some nice gear,” he said. 

“Your tax dollars at work,” Richter responded.  “Just the basic survival kits carried on most government planes.” 

Derek had been eyeing the survival packs—he had already seen the saws, sleeping bags and thermal blankets, and some of the cooking gear—and Richter suspected that he wanted a closer look.

“Looks like pasta for us and chicken-noodle soup for Dave.  Sorry, Dave…Jack’s orders.” 

Jack smiled.  “You’re looking better, but I want to get some more hot fluids in you.”

The president’s smile was weak.  “Thanks, Dr. Jack.  Soup is fine.”

After they ate, Derek cleaned the dishes outside.

“Do you think they’ll send a search and rescue team for you?” Jack asked.

“I assume so,” Richter responded. “But, with this weather, who knows how long that will take. 

“Any idea how long this storm will last?” Derek asked.

“It’s supposed to be bad through Sunday morning.”  Richter changed the subject.  “You said Elk City is an old mining town?  Are there any abandoned mines in this area?” 

Jack opened a pocket on his backpack and pulled out a topographical trail map.  He took a moment to study it. 

“There’s a mine about four or five miles from here, basically west from us toward Elk City.  But I think I saw something closer on my GPS.  Maybe a mile away.”

“Do you think we could hike there in this weather?  Are you still able to get a GPS signal?”  Richter wanted to put as much distance as he could between the president and the crash site.  There was no way to tell how big the conspiracy was, and as long as POTUS wasn’t at risk of dying, it made sense to hide until he could better assess the risks and figure out what to do.

“I can check.  My battery is low, but I should be able to recharge it tomorrow.”  Jack pointed to his backpack and the framed black and grey patterned grid on one pouch. 

It took Richter a moment to recognize it.

“That’s a solar panel?”

“Yes.  If we can get enough sunlight, I should be able to recharge it.”  Jack reached into his pocket.  “But I don’t know about my phone.  I think I got snow in it.  We’ll have to see tomorrow.  You think we’re better off in a mine?”

“Possibly.  It might be warmer.  We might be able to start a fire.” 

“I don’t know.  We explored some mines a few years ago.  The farthest in we went was about twenty feet.  Derek wanted to go farther, but I’ve read stories about explosive gases, people dying of asphyxiation, that sort of thing.”

Richter shivered as the image of Brad Lansing, dead on the floor of the cargo hold, popped into his head.  Agent Lansing couldn’t help them now, but Jack and Derek could.

“These mines must have wood, building materials, that sort of thing.  Right?”

“Probably.  The ones we saw had formwork for sluices and bracing for the tunnels.”

“What do you think about the…” Richter caught himself.  “Do you think Dave can make it?”

“He’s not as bad as I first thought.  I think if he’s looking this good tomorrow, we might be able to try.  That is, if I can recharge my GPS.”

Once the C-40B was airborne, the general organized the meeting.  He introduced the Air Force investigation team, consisting of investigators, engineers and security personnel.  Next, the general introduced representatives from Boeing and General Electric.  Brenda Hughes let the NTSB team introduce themselves.  With formalities out of the way, the general provided an overview of the mission.

“The number one priority is getting search and rescue teams in.  CSAR teams have reached the area but have been unable to put people on the ground.  We have a major winter storm underway dumping one hell of a lot of snow in the area.  Visibility is shit with eighty to ninety mile per hour wind gusts.  The temperature right now is twenty-four degrees.    

“Based on infrared imaging, the wreckage is scattered over a sizable area.  The majority of the wreckage, what we call the primary debris field, is in an area that’s almost three quarters of a mile long by seven or eight hundred yards wide.  Our estimate right now is that this only accounts for approximately eighty to ninety percent of the total debris.  We expect to find a considerable amount of debris outside of this primary field, not only along the axis of flight, but also to either side due to the wind.  We’re mapping this now.

“This is a remote area.  It’s mountainous, so you can expect significant changes in elevation across the debris field; topographical data indicates anywhere from thirty-five hundred feet to over eighty-five hundred feet.  The storm will make our task even more difficult, not only in getting to the site but, as the debris cools, it will be covered with snow.

“The closest town is about fifteen miles away.  Elk Creek, population three hundred.  With this storm, though, we can’t safely land anywhere near there.  For now, we will be staging in Portland, Oregon, at the Air Guard Base.  We will try to transport the team to Elk City by helicopter, possibly later tonight if the weather permits.  Since we don’t know if we can land a helicopter near the crash site, we may have to rely on four-wheel drive vehicles, Humvees, or snowcats to get in.  There are some logging roads and ATV trails, but if we’re forced to go in by ground, we’ll be trailblazing most of the way.  Hopefully, we can land a helo closer but we won’t know that until we get some men on the ground. 

“Mr. Burton, for reconstruction, we’re still trying to determine whether there is sufficient space in Elk City.  In all likelihood, we will have to commandeer a hangar in Portland.”  The general turned back to the rest of the group.  “Needless to say, there will be a lot of eyes watching us.  I want to see everyone’s ‘A’ Game on this one.  I will not accept anyone cutting any corners.  We do this one by the book.  Is that clear?”

He waited until he saw heads nod in agreement.

“Okay.  That’s the big picture.  Major Conklin will take you through the specifications, the operating history, and operating parameters of Air Force One.”  The general paused again and looked around the cramped meeting room on the C-40B.  “This,” he paused until he was sure he had everyone’s attention, “is classified data.”

Richter sighed.  It was going to be a long night.  Jack had lit one of the candle lanterns, and it hung from the crisscrossed branches that formed the roof support.  The president seemed to be sleeping peacefully, despite Derek’s snoring.  After dinner, Jack had given his coat, hat, and gloves to the president, insisting he wear them.  He had inspected the president’s feet, then slipped foot warmers into his socks.  The president was fine for now in his sleeping bag.  As best as they could tell, his body temperature was back to normal and his pulse and respiration were strong. 

The president had done well, Richter thought.  He stuck to the cover story and had answered Jack and Derek’s questions without providing anything specific. 
Well, he is a politician
, Richter reminded himself.  He took it as a sign that the president was recovering. 

Richter was reasonably warm in his bag with the mummy hood cinched around his head.  Before he had climbed in, he had wrapped one of the thermal blankets around himself and had placed one of the hand warmers down by his feet.  Comfortable for now, but unable to sleep, he watched the flickering light dance off the walls and ceiling of the cave.  He studied the ceiling and walls but didn’t see any signs of ice or dripping water.  That was good.  It meant that the air inside the cave was probably no more than thirty-five to forty degrees, the ideal temperature for a snow cave, he remembered from Army survival training years ago.  They would have to be careful to avoid melting.

Jack sat by the mouth of the cave with his mummy bag cinched up around his face.  He, too, had one of the thermal blankets.  Still awake, he periodically used the shovel to clean out the newly fallen snow from the opening, providing much needed fresh air.

“Tell me about Elk City.”  It sounded like they were sitting in a soundproof room as the snow structure absorbed their words.  Even so, Richter kept his voice low, trying not to disturb the sleeping men.

Jack turned.  “The town sprang up in the Gold Rush, sometime in the mid-1800s, but the mining operations were shut down by the 1930s.  I think the miners moved on to newer and larger discoveries elsewhere and the population dwindled.”

“What does the town do now?”

“This area is mostly timber farming.  This is all part of the Nez Perce National Forest, so there’s not a lot of development.  There are some fly-in trout fishing and hunting camps.  During the winter, there’s some snowmobiling.  I think there’s a business in town that rents them and provides guided tours.  Mostly, it’s a great place to hike.  You can go out for a week and not see another soul, even during the summer.  It’s beautiful here.  When the sky is clear at night, the stars are amazing.”

Richter smiled.  “That’s pretty cool.  Are there any airports close by?”

“Elk City has an airport, but I don’t think they have a lot of flights.  The Forest Service also has a number of air fields, but those are for small planes and they’re open only from late spring to early fall.  It’s a very remote area.”

Richter digested the information.  “Is there a sheriff’s office in Elk City?”

“I don’t know.  We never saw one.”

“What about forest ranger stations?”

“The only station I ever saw was at one of the air fields.  I read somewhere that many stations were closed permanently, something to do with budget cuts.  Those that are left normally shut down for the winter.”

“How far is the closest station?”

“I’ll check my map and my GPS in the morning, but my guess is at least ten, maybe fifteen miles away.”

Richter pondered this.  One thing was certain.  He needed Jack and Derek.  These guys knew the area and they appeared to be exactly who they said they were…two hikers caught by the freak storm.  He liked Jack.  The kid was careful, thoughtful, even caring.  Derek on the other hand was arrogant and cocky.  Then again, Richter remembered, he had been too at that age.  Regardless, his instinct told him that they were both good kids, and he was very glad that they had run into each other.  

Elk City sounded like their only option.  They could survive here, in the snow cave, for a little while, but then what?  Two questions remained: besides Jack and Derek, who could they trust and where should they go?

The president woke with a start, and it took him a moment to realize where he was.  He heard snoring, but that wasn’t what had woken him.  He sat quietly and tried to remember his dream.  It had been unsettling.  He gave up after a while and, with a clearer head, pondered their predicament.  Never in a million years would he have predicted that something like this would happen.  That someone would try to kill him and that he would be stranded in the wilderness, trying to survive in an ice cave in the middle of a brutal snowstorm. 

Richter had told him that Air Force One—his plane—had crashed.  Everyone aboard was almost certainly dead.  Tears began to run down his cheeks.  Charles Howell was gone.  His Secret Service agents died trying to protect him.  Linda Huff.  Felicia Jackson.  Nancy Hartwig.  Mike Breen.  All of his closest advisors—his friends—were dead.  The Air Force crew—folks he had come to know and trust—was gone too.  

His thoughts drifted to Maria and the girls.  They had to be devastated.  He wished that he could do something to ease their pain, hug them and tell them that everything was all right.  That he was okay.  The only thing he could do, he realized, was to survive somehow and make it back home.  Thinking of his family, he felt hope.  They were something he could hang onto in a storm.  They gave him strength and the will to keep on fighting. 

His mind drifted back again to the people who had been on Air Force One.  As he thought of everyone who had unknowingly sacrificed their lives for him, he felt outrage; outrage and determination.  He had to make it back.  He had to find out who did this and make them pay.     

He realized that this could wind up being one of those defining moments in history where the entire nation felt intimately connected somehow to the event.  How many times had he heard people discuss where they were and what they were doing when they had first learned that President Kennedy had been shot or when President Walters had killed himself?  There would be confusion, disbelief, anger, tears, and grief.  The TVs would be running continual news coverage, providing the latest information, the latest theories, interviewing hundreds of so-called experts who would be only too happy to offer their opinions. 

He wondered what was happening in Washington right now, back in the White House.  He had lived through it once when President Walters died.  But it had to be far worse now.  It was probably two or three in the morning, and the West Wing would be a zoo.  There would be a team in the Situation Room trying their best to figure out what had happened and what to do.  There would be discussions on succession and chain of command.  Rumson was probably taking advantage of the opportunity.  He was probably smiling right now, not believing his good luck; probably thinking that he couldn’t have planned it any better…

Oh, shit.