Executive Intent

The temperature was comfortable enough, but a light fog was beginning to roll in. Patrick powered up the plane’s avionics and started downloading flight-planning information. Weather was good for the route of flight back to Henderson, Nevada, except for the weather at San Jose. Flying direct, the flight would only take an hour and fifteen minutes, but to avoid the Navy’s China Lake restricted military airspace, the FAA’s air-traffic control computers recommended flying southeast to Fresno, south to Bakersfield, and east to Palmdale before heading direct to Henderson, which added another forty-five minutes. He accepted the proffered flight plan, got an acknowledgment, then shut down the system to do a preflight inspection.

The plane had a computerized preflight system, but this was Patrick’s only opportunity to do a personal, visual check of his machine before takeoff, so he grabbed his little preflight kit-flashlight, rag, windshield cleaning kit, and fuel strainer-and got to work. The biggest areas of concern were the tires, landing-gear struts, fluid levels, and freedom of the flight controls. He had to sample a few ounces of the smelly fuel from nine different sumps-not a very pleasant task, but essential to be sure there was no water or contamination in the fuel. Because he personally supervised the fueling of the plane’s four fuel tanks, he knew how much biodiesel had been pumped-more than enough for the flight home, including reserves-but he visually checked the fuel level in each tank anyway. He had to wash his own windows because fixed-base operators, afraid of costly repairs if a linesman accidentally scratched a ten-thousand-dollar heated-glass windshield, didn’t do it anymore.

After completing the walk-around and satisfied that the plane was ready to go, Patrick climbed inside, strapped in, closed and locked both of the clamshell doors, and powered up the plane again. He started engines, checked the engines, flight controls, electrical, autopilot, and hydraulic systems, then tuned in the Automatic Terminal Information System frequency, which instantly datalinked local weather, active runway, and hazard notices to his multifunction display. He then tuned in the clearance delivery channel, which downloaded his air-traffic control clearance-it had changed slightly since filing it, but that was not unusual. He made sure the updated routing was in the flight-data computer, then tuned in the ground control frequency and uplinked a “Ready to Taxi” message.

At that moment he saw a commotion back at the fixed-base operator office…and he noticed none other than Kai Raydon, waving his arms like crazy, and Hunter Noble running out toward him, followed by a security guard and an FBO employee obviously trying to stop them from going out onto the ramp! Patrick immediately shut down the left engine-the one nearest the entry door-sent a “Cancel Taxi” message to ground control, then shut down the avionics power and right engine.

Kai reached the plane just as the left propeller stopped spinning, and Patrick popped the upper half of the clamshell door open. “What the hell are you doing, Kai?” he asked.

“I remembered something, Patrick,” Kai shouted over the spooling-down right engine. He put his hands behind his back and braced for the security guard to grab him from behind. “Something did happen. Dammit, General, you might be right.”

SEVEN

Nothing is so simple that it cannot be misunderstood.

– GYPSEY TEAGUE

THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE

THAT EVENING

President Joseph Gardner had his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened-to the photographers with their long lenses able to peer through the windows of the Oval Office from across the South Lawn, he looked like he was hard at work late in the evening, an image Gardner never tired of projecting. But he still had his Navy coffee mug, with Puerto Rican rum over ice instead of coffee, handy.

“Chinese forces in Somalia number about five thousand now, sir,” White House Chief of Staff Walter Kordus said, reading from the late edition of “The President’s Daily Brief,” which Gardner liked to have read to him before he retired for the day. “They’ve solidified their position at Mogadishu Airport out beyond mortar range of anything except very large emplacements, which are easier to spot from the air and take out with gunships. They’ve brought in more fighter jets and have begun attacking other towns farther north that are known pirate bases.”

“Premier Zhou’s starting to look like a real badass now, isn’t he?” Gardner asked, taking a sip of rum. “He’s doing the dirty job no one else wanted to do, and he’s kicking butt.”