Primary Target (1999) (37 page)

"He's going to contact Air Force One," she announced as they searched for any sign of the yacht. "I told him about Farkas being in Atlanta, and confirmed that a nuke was on the yacht."

"What's his thinking?"

She reached for the binoculars. "He wants us to find the yacht and keep it in sight until the Coast Guard or Navy can intercept it."

"What about the two guys we left on the island?" Scot
t
asked as he glanced at the mist of fuel spraying over the right wing.

Jackie turned an air vent directly toward her face. "Hart-well's contacting the FBI. He's keeping us out of the picture."

"Good."

Jackie slowly swept the horizon with the binoculars. "We have to find that yacht."

"Yeah, mucho pronto," Scott said as he leveled the plane at 500 feet. "It shouldn't be too difficult now that we know where they're headed."

Morteza Bazargan, the leader of the special action cell on the island, crawled out of the moat and pulled himself up the coral breakwater as the Maule disappeared in the distance. Wet and frightened, he reentered the water and waded across the chest-deep moat, then hurried to check on his two cornrades.

"What did you tell them?" he yelled when he found his second in command tied to the tree.

The man mumbled incoherently.

"Speak up!" Bazargan said as he backhanded the man across the face. "You told them about the boat, didn't you?" "Yes," the man said feebly. "They were going to drown me."

Without saying another word, Bazargan untied the traitor from the tree, but left his hands tied behind his back. He yanked him to his feet and shoved him toward the dock. "No!" the frantic man pleaded as he desperately tried to maintain his balance. "I didn't tell them anything that--" Bazargan shoved him off the pier and turned toward the home. He had seen the antennas crash to the ground and he had heard the communications equipment being destroyed. Somehow, Bazargan had to make contact with the ship and warn Massoud Ramazani before the people in the floatplane located Bon Vivant.

Unfortunately for Bazargan, a private pilot flying over the island spotted a bloody body lying on the grounds and another body floating beside the dock. The
. P
ilot contacted Miami Air Traffic Control Center and they alerted the Coas
t
Guard. Minutes later a Coast Guard HH-65 Dolphin arrived while Bazargan was changing into dry clothes. The helicopter crew entertained the suspected murderer and drug dealer until the FBI arrived.

Chapter
35

Air Force One
.

Cruising in relatively smooth air at 35,000 feet, the 747 Lo was rapidly approaching Atlanta. Noting that they were
105 nautical miles from the international airport, Colonel Bolton nodded to Kirk Upshaw. The copilot spoke into his microphone.

"Atlanta Center, Air Force One is ready to start down."

"Air Force One," the controller said clearly, "pilot's discretion to flight level two-six-zero. Advise leaving three-fivezero."

"Air Force One discretion down to two-six-zero, report out of three-five-zero."

Curtis Bolton gingerly eased the outboard throttles back, descending with an imperceptible change in aircraft attitude and engine sound. He worked hard to make the speed and attitude transition from level flight to the approach configuration almost unnoticeable to the passengers.

"Atlanta, Air Force One is out of three-five-oh."

"Ah, roger, Air Force One," the controller acknowledged, and gave them a new radio frequency.

Delicately working the inboard throttles to match the number-one and number-four throttles, Bolton called for the descent checklist. The pilots went through their normal briefing for a descent and reaffirmed their approach and landing speeds.

Above and behind the 747, four F-15s began descending with Air Force One. The flight leader could see that he and his charges would have to abandon the flying White House before they had planned to. In the next minute or two, the president's plane would be entering a wide band of dark clouds. The pilot checked in with the AWACS, then contacted the 747.

"Air Force One," the Eagle flight leader radioed, "Shotgun One and flight are breaking off and heading for Dobbins. Have a good day."

"Roger, Shotgun," Upshaw replied. "Appreciate the escort."

The F-15 pilot clicked his radio twice as the fighters turned toward Dobbins Air Reserve Base. Seventeen miles east of the fighters, the Boeing E-3 AWACS began descending toward Dobbins.

Nearing the murky cloud layer, Bolton and Upshaw listened to the Hartsfield Automatic Terminal Information Service. The latest ATIS recording provided them with information on ceilings, visibility, obstructions to visibility, temperature, dew point, wind direction, wind speed, altimeter setting, remarks about the airport, and instrument approaches and runways in use.

Bolton gazed at the thick, dense clouds as they began to descend into the dark maze. The sensation of speed mixed with nature's handiwork made him feel euphoric.

Ken Kawachi sat in the quiet, darkened room in the Atlanta Terminal Radar Control Facility and concentrated on his cluttered radarscope. With the burden of responsibility for hundreds of lives in his hands, Kawachi, like other air traffic controllers, paid very close attention to the constantly moving blips on his radar screen.

To the uninitiated observer, the ghostly radar returns with their associated tiny letters and numerals appear to be minuscule particles slowly drifting in a sea of molasses. But to the trained air traffic controller, each radar image represents a single airplane, the flight identification, and the speed and altitude of the aircraft.

The hushed atmosphere in the gloomy control room reflected the intense, serious environment the controllers work in while they steadily and efficiently handle multiple inbound flights. Working with a multitude of computers, radar, aircraft transponders, and radios, controllers and pilots work in unison twenty-four hours a day 365 days a year to make air traffic flow smoothly and safely.

Inclement weather conditions, like snowstorms, thick fog, and violent thunderstorms, have the potential to create tension so palpable that nerves are stretched to the breaking point and mouths suddenly go dry. It isn't the kind of work environment for those who have a low threshold for pressure. In fact, many aviation experts consider the profession one of the most stressful in the world.

Kawachi was working four airliners and a corporate Learjet when he accepted two more flights, United Flight 1147a Boeing 727 arriving from Chicago, and Air Force One en route from Andrews Air Force Base.

Customarily, the flying White House received kid-glove treatment from air traffic controllers when the commander in chief was onboard. However, the custom had been relaxed when President Macklin took office. Having been a seasoned military pilot, he had requested that the Federal Aviation Administration treat the world's most famous airplane like any other aircraft; no special considerations, no excessive separation from other aircraft, and no holding other flights on the ground until the big Boeing departed. In other words, no protective bubble. The word went out, but controllers still provided preferential treatment whenever possible. No one wanted to be remembered as the individual who caused a problem for the president of the United States.

Kawachi handed two other air-carrier flights to the final controller earlier than usual and quickly switched his attention to his new charges. Although the feeder and final controllers share the same working space, they don't have direct voice communication and they communicate with the flight crews on separate radio frequencies.

The final controller, Louis Traweek, was becoming over-
l
oaded by the multitude of inbound traffic. He was handlin
g
six aircraft when Kawachi dumped two more flights on him.

Traweek had to reduce the number of aircraft he was controlling before he could accept any more flights. He was becoming saturated and begining to lose his situational awareness.

Recognizing that he had a fast-moving Sabreliner corporate jet overtaking a twin-engine Cessna 310 he had turned eastbound onto the final approach for runway 8 Left, Traweek quickly ordered the jet crew to slow to their final approach speed and turn left to a heading of 350 degrees. Preoccupied by the latest two air carriers that had entered his airspace, Traweek momentarily forgot about the Sabre-liner and gave his attention to the airliners.

Although Ken Kawachi had passed control of the two flights to Traweek, the final controller hadn't acknowledged the handoff. In essence, no one was providing positive separation for the two airliners. The jets were descending and rapidly closing on the preceding aircraft when Traweek remembered the Sabreliner.

"Sabreliner 324 Zulu Romeo," Traweek tersely radioed, "turn left to two-three-zero and maintain normal approach speed."

"Sabre Twenty-Four Zulu Romeo, two hundred on the heading and, ah, normal approach speed."

"Negative! Heading two-three-zero for Sabreliner Two-Four Zulu Romeo. Repeat--two-three-zero!"

"Copy, two-thirty on the heading--Twenty-Four-ZR."

Listening to the various approach frequencies and the tower frequencies, Khaliq Farkas and Named Yahyavi were ecstatic when they heard the copilot of Air Force One check in with the approach controller. The 747 was precisely on time, as the Iranians expected the crew of Air Force One would be. Determined to undermine public confidence in U
. S
. civil aviation, Farkas seized the moment to test his radio equipment and further exacerbate the already congested air traffic system.

A Delta Air Lines MD-88 arriving from Dallas-Fort Worth was descending out of the low clouds on an Instrument Landing System approach to Runway 9 Right. Farkas quickly scanned his notes and selected the radio tuned to th
e
tower frequency for the south runways and pressed the transmit switch.

"Delta One-Seventy-Six," he said in an urgent voice, "go around! I repeat--Delta One-Seventy-Six, go around! Fly heading three-six-zero, maintain five thousand."

"Delta One-Seventy-Six on the go," the surprised voice replied as the MD-88 captain abandoned the ILS approach. He rotated the airplane to a normal climb attitude and reentered the darkened clouds. While he initiated a smooth turn to a northerly heading, the first officer raised the landing gear and the flaps.

"Delta One-Seventy-Six, disregard the previous trans--" The frantic controller was cut off as Yahyavi quickly secured the transmit switch to the transmit position. The frequency was now unusable since no one could receive or transmit on it.

"This is going to be better than we anticipated," Farkas said excitedly as he looked at his scribbles and broadcast another pirate radio transmission on one of the approach frequencies.

"United 1147," he said in a bold, authoritative voice, "turn left heading zero-eight-zero and maintain five thousand." "Ah, 1147 heading zero-eight--"

The radio transmission was interrupted when Yahyavi repeated the same steps as before. Another blocked radio frequency meant fewer options for the pilots and air traffic controllers. At the most critical moments Farkas was taking away their ability to secure the safety of scores of airplanes and thousands of passengers.

Feeling the effects of a sudden surge of adrenaline, Farkas glanced at his sheet of paper and transmitted another order. "Air Force One," he barked in a taut voice, "descend and maintain five thousand, turn right to two-eight-zero. Now!" "Air Force One, five thou--"

Yahyavi interrupted the transmission and set all but one of the radios to transmit. No one would be able to use the majority of the normal frequencies used by the tower and air traffic controllers. Using the last available approach frequency, Farkas radioed an American flight inbound from Dallas-Fort Worth.

"American Eight-Sixty-Four," he said impatiently, "expedite your descent to five thousand and fly heading zero-onezero."

"Five thousand and zero-one--"

The first officer of Flight 864 tried to acknowledge their instructions as Yahyavi stowed the last radio in the transmit position and reached for the two police scanners. With a few pirate directives and twelve blocked radio frequencies, he and Farkas had created pandemonium in a dynamic and lethal environment.

Listening to the scanners, Yahyavi monitored the police-and fire-department communications while Farkas counted backward from sixty seconds. The longer Air Force One and the multitude of other aircraft groped around in the clouds without any directives, the more frantic everyone would become.

The pilots and flight engineers who had maintained their situational awareness to other aircraft would be even more concerned; there were a number of planes, including Air Force One, on a collision course at the same altitude.

A feeling of great satisfaction suddenly swept over Farkas. "The friendly skies aren't going to be so friendly this morning."

"Allahu is with us," Yahyavi declared in a soothing voice. "The infidels are going to get a taste of real terror."

Chapter
36

Atlanta
.

Captain Fred Oliver, commanding United Flight 1147, gave
his first officer a curious glance and then saw the concern written on the face of the flight engineer. Buffeted by light turbulence, they were flying in solid instrument conditions and suddenly couldn't communicate with anyone on their assigned frequency. Worse, they were headed straight for the northeast corridor of inbound traffic to Hartsfield/Atlanta International, one of the busiest airports in the country.