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Sensing his apprehension, Kennedy grabbed his arm and said with sincere confidence, "Don't worry, sir. Mitch will not fail."
Slowly the President nodded. "I hope you're right."
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE.
Iraq, Monday night
The four helicopters knifed their way through the cooling desert air like a snake slithering across the sand. They were not flying a straight route to Scorpion I, the designation for the abandoned chemical weapons factory outside of Baghdad. Instead, a predetermined course had been plugged into the Chinooks' advanced navigation systems, allowing them to avoid all villages, major roads and Iraqi radar sites. Cruising at just 100 feet off the desert floor, with only three hundred feet between each chopper, and flying at speeds of over 120 mph, there was almost no room for error.
In the cargo area of the second Chinook Rapp tried to think of none of this. When they were in the air it was all out of his control. From his seat he looked up at the two door gunners. They mere both manning 7.62-mm miniguns capable of cutting a vehicle in half. When fired at night, the guns looked like they were spewing fire. Air rushed through the open hatches and down the fuselage creating a roar that battled the loud engines and thumping rotors. The Mercedes sedan was blocking his view of a third gunner at the rear ramp, but Rapp knew he was there wearing a safety harness and holding a sling mounted M60 machine gun to further bolster the helicopter's firepower. The car was secured to the floor of the chopper with four high-test tie-downs. One of the Delta operators was sitting behind the wheel ready to back it out as soon as they hit the ground. The three gunners were all wearing flight helmets, with night vision goggles and com links so they could tell the pilots and navigator what they saw. The gunners literally flew with their heads outside the airframe.
The big helicopter bucked, banked and dove its way through the air. There was nothing smooth and steady about the ride. Most people could handle it for a few minutes, like a ride at an amusement park, but to suffer through it for an hour or more could be incapacitating, throwing one's senses into such a jumble that the slightest touch or movement brought on nausea and vomiting. Rapp was used to it, as were the Delta operators.
One of the door gunners suddenly left his post and went to each man, grabbing their shoulder and holding up five fingers. They were almost there, and when they hit the ground, Rapp's chief responsibility would be to stay out of the way and let the Delta boys do their thing. Rapp went down his mental checklist one more time. He visualized how everything would go once they got to the hospital. He knew exactly what to do to get the team in, and it had nothing to do with firepower. A few minutes later Rapp felt the helicopter begin to slow. They were close. Suddenly, the big bird banked hard to port and flared out, dropping its ass end toward the ground. The harsh maneuver didn't worry Rapp. He couldn't see out the window, but he knew what was going on. It had all been covered in the briefing. The air force STS team had prepped the landing strip in the parking lot of the abandoned factory and set up four equally spaced infrared strobe lights that could not be seen by the naked eye, but through night vision goggles they were as bright as a lighthouses beacon. All four of the behemoths would touch down within seconds of each other directly on top of their strobes.
They hit with a thud and the Delta boys were instantly on their feet. The engine on the Mercedes purred to life, and the straps were snapped free. Less than five seconds after hitting the ground the car was backed down the ramp and clear of the helicopter. Rapp exited the chopper on the heels of the Delta boys and jumped into the front passenger seat.
The three cars sped away instantly into the pitch black night. Rapp didn't hesitate to put on his seat belt. The car's automatic headlights had been disabled and wouldn't be turned on until they reached the main road. Rapp could barely make out the car in front of them. Fortunately, the sergeant driving the vehicle was wearing night vision goggles.
The cars sped down the drive and forty-five seconds later they reached the main gate. As they motored through, Rapp glimpsed a man holding the gate open. He would be one of the air force guys sent to cut the lock and secure the perimeter. About a quarter mile down the road Major Berg's voice came over their secure radios.
"On my mark, turn on your headlights. Three two one mark."
All three drivers snatched their night vision goggles from their faces and turned on their headlights. It was crucial that they do this at the same time. If done while wearing the goggles it would cause temporary blindness. With the road now illuminated the team relaxed just a notch. Major Berg's voice came over the team's secure radios again and said, "Nice work, guys. Twenty minutes to Baghdad and then the real fun starts."
Capitol Hill, Monday afternoon
Hank Clark had his white shirt sleeves rolled up. His elbows were placed on his desk and his fingers kneaded his temples. He wished he were in his hide at the Capitol, but he would have never made it over there without being accosted by the media. As it was, his outer office was a complete zoo. There were at least three reporters with TV crews in tow demanding to speak to him, and there were another five or so print reporters just waiting for the chance to shove their damned Dictaphones in his face.
He should have been happy with the way things had gone, but something was bothering him. Clark couldn't figure out what he was missing, but he had the feeling that something was afoot. Kennedy's testimony, or lack thereof, had been a surprise, but nowhere as big a surprise as the FBI raiding Rudin's office and house. Clark hoped Steveken had the sense to make himself scarce. Rudin would not cooperate with the FBI, he hated them too much, but if the charges were real Rudin might give Steveken and Brown up to save his own skin. And then there was the President telling him that for his own good he should go easy on Kennedy. Then Kennedy shows up today and starts talking about national security. Something was going on, but he couldn't figure out what.
There was a sudden loud ruckus in the outer office, Clark was about to get up to investigate, when his door flew open and Rudin barged in. The bone-thin congressman slammed the door closed and stormed across the room gesturing wildly with his hands. "I knew you wouldn't answer your damn phone, so I came over here. What in the hell happened?"
Clark took a deep breath and stifled the urge to tell Rudin to shut up. "What did you want me to do, Albert?"
"I wanted you to tear her head off."
"I don't think that would have played too well on TV."
Rudin stopped in front of dark's desk. "I don't care how it would have played, Hank. The damn bitch admitted that she advised the President to raid my house. My fucking house!"
"I thought Jetland did just fine."
"Have you lost your mind? He came off looking like a pompous overbearing ass."
Clark was tempted to ask Rudin if he'd watched any tapes of himself lately, but instead said, "And that's exactly what I would have looked like if I'd gone after her."
Rudin's disagreement
was apparent on his twisted face. "You should have never let her walk out like that. I don't get it." He threw his arms up in the air. "I did my part yesterday, and you just sat there."
"Easy, Albert." Clark pointed to a chair and said, "Take a seat. You're way too worked up. Kennedy's done." The senator wasn't so sure, but he recognized the need to say something to mollify Rudin.
"Oh, there's no question about that. The President better start looking for a new nominee." Rudin sat. "You know, before all this started I would have been satisfied to just end her career, but not now. "The bags of loose skin under his jaw jiggled as he shook his head. "I want her in jail."
"I don't blame you," Clark lied. "If she'd advised the President to raid my house and office I'd be furious."
"Does that mean you're going to let me hold hearings?"
