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The first aircraft to arrive on the scene was not a screaming jet fighter but a Navy four-engined reconnaissance plane that had been diverted from weather patrol. The pilot, a boyish-faced man in his middle twenties, tapped his co-pilot on the arm and pointed down to his left.
"A towboat pushing one barge. She must be what all the fuss is about."
"What do we do now?" asked the co-pilot, a narrow-jawed slightly older man with bushy red hair.
"Notify base with the cheery news. Unless, of course, you want to keep it a secret."
Less than a minute after the sighting report was given, a gruff voice came over the radio. "Who is the aircraft commander?"
"I am."
"I am, who?"
"You go first."
"This is General Clayton Metcalf of the Joint Chiefs."
The pilot smiled and made a circular motion around the side of his head with an index finger. "Are you crazy or is this a gag?"
"My sanity is not an issue here, and no, this is not a gag. Your name and rank, please."
"You won't believe it?"
"I'll be the judge."
"Lieutenant Ulysses S. Grant."
"Why should I doubt you?" Metcalf laughed. "There was a great third baseman by that name."
"My father," Grant said in awe. "You remember him?"
"They don't hand out four stars for bad memories," said Metcalf.
"Do you have television equipment onboard, Lieutenant?"
"Yes . . . yes, sir,' Grant stammered as he realized who he was really talking to. "We tape storms close-on for the meteorologists."
"I'll have my communications officer give your vineo operator the frequency for satellite transmission to the Pentagon. Keep your camera trained on the towboat."
Grant turned to his co-pilot. "My God, what do you make of that?"
THE TOWBOAT SUIRGED PAST THE LOOKOUT at the South Pass pilot station, the last outpost of the muddy Mississippi, and swept into the open sea.
Captain Pujon said, "Thirty miles to deep water."
Lee Tong nodded as his eyes studied the circling weather plane.
Then he picked up his binoculars and scanned the sea. The only ship in sight was his counterfeit research vessel approaching from the east about eight miles off the port bow.
"We've beaten them," he said confidently.
"They can still blow us out of the water from the air."
"And risk sinking the barge? I don't think so. They want the Vice President alive."
"How can they know he's onboard?"
"They don't, at least not for certain. One more reason they won't attack what might be an innocent towboat unloading a trash barge at sea."
