Total Control (62 page)

"I can't friggin' believe this," Sawyer roared.

Jackson looked at him with clear frustration. "What can I tell you, Lee, it's a blizzard out there. National, Dulles and BWI are all shut down. Kennedy, La Guardia and Logan are closed too. So are Newark and Philly. It's tied up flights all across the country. The whole East Coast looks like Siberia. And the bureau won't release a plane to fly in this weather."

"Ray, we have got to get to Bell Harbor. We should've been there by now. How about the train?"

"Amtrak's still clearing track. Besides, I checked--the train doesn't go all the way through. We'd have to take a bus the last leg. And in this weather sections of the Interstate are bound to be down. Plus it's not all highway. We'd have to take some back roads. We're talking fifteen hours at least."

Sawyer looked as if he were about to explode. "They could all be dead in one hour, much less fifteen."

"You don't have to tell me that. If I could spread my arms and fly, I would, but dammit, I can't," Jackson angrily retorted.

Sawyer calmed down rapidly. "Okay, I'm sorry, Ray." He sat down. "Any luck getting the locals rounded up?"

"I made calls. The closest field office is Boston. Well over five hours away. And in this weather? Who knows? There are small resident agencies in Portland and Augusta. I've left messages, but I haven't heard back yet. The state police might be a possibility, although they've probably got their hands full with traffic accidents."

"Shit!" Sawyer shook his head in despair and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. "A plane's the only way. There's got to be someone willing to fly in this crap."

Ray shook his head. "Maybe a fighter pilot. Know any?" he asked sarcastically.

Sawyer jumped up. "! sure as hell do."

The black van pulled to a stop near a small hangar at the Manassas county airport. The snow was falling so hard that it was difficult to see more than a few inches ahead. A half dozen black-clad members of the heavily armed Hostage Rescue Team, each carrying assault rifles, followed by Sawyer and Jackson, filed out rapidly and ran toward the plane that awaited them on the tarmac, engines running.

The agents quickly boarded the Saab turboprop. Sawyer settled in next to the pilot while Jackson and the HRT members strapped themselves in the rear seats.

"I was hoping to see you again before this was over, Lee," George Kaplan shouted over the noise of the engines, and smiled at the big man.

"Hell, I don't forget my friends, George. Besides, you're the only sonofabitch I know crazy enough to fly in this." Sawyer looked out the windshield of the Saab. Staring back at him was a blanket of white. He looked over at Kaplan, who was working the controls as the plane taxied to the runway. A bulldozer had just finished clearing the short strip of tarmac, but the runway was rapidly being covered again. No other planes were operating because officially the airport was closed. All sane people had heeded that edict.

In the back, Ray Jackson rolled his eyes and gripped the seat as he stared through the window at the near-whiteout conditions. He looked at one of the HRT members. "We're all crazy; you know that, don't you?"

Sawyer turned around in his seat and grinned. "Hey, Ray, you know you can stay here. I can tell you about all the fun when I get back."

"Then who the hell would look after your sorry ass?" Jackson shot back.

Sawyer chuckled and turned back around to look at Kaplan. The agent's smile was replaced with a sudden look of apprehension. "You gonna be able to get this baby off the ground?" Sawyer asked.

Kaplan grinned. "Try flying through napalm for a living."

Sawyer managed a weak smile, but he also noted how focused Kaplan was on the controls, how he continually looked at the driving snow. Finally Sawyer's eyes came to rest on the throbbing vein located on the NTSB man's right temple. Sawyer let out a deep breath, hitched his safety belt as tight as he could and held on to his seat with both hands as Kaplan pushed the throttle forward. The plane rapidly gathered speed, bumping and swaying along the snowy runway. Sawyer stared ahead. The plane's headlights illuminated a dirt field that signaled the end of the airstrip; it hurtled toward them. As the plane struggled against the snow and wind, Sawyer again looked over at Kaplan. The pilot's eyes constantly scanned ahead and then skipped briefly across his instrument panel.

When Sawyer looked back ahead, his stomach went into his throat.

They were at the end of the runway. The Saab's twin engines were at their loudest pitch. It didn't look as if it was going to be enough.

In the back, Ray Jackson and all the HRT members simultaneously closed their eyes. A silent prayer escaped Ray Jackson's lips as he thought back to another dirt field where a plane had ended its existence along with that of everyone on board. Suddenly the nose of the plane jerked skyward and it lifted off the ground. A grinning Kaplan looked over at Sawyer, who was two shades paler than he had been a minute before. "See, I told you it would be easy."

As they rose steadily through the skies, Sawyer touched Kaplan's sleeve. "This question might seem a little premature, but when we get up to Maine, do we have a place to land this thing?"

Kaplan nodded. "There's a regional airport in Portsmouth but that's several hours from Bell Harbor by car. That's in good weather.

I checked the maps when I filed our flight plan. There's an abandoned military airfield ten minutes outside of Bell Harbor. I verified with the state police that transportation will be waiting for us."

"Did you say 'abandoned'?"

"It's still usable, Lee. The good thing is there's no air traffic to worry about because of the weather. We've got a pretty straight shot all the way."

"You mean nobody else is this crazy?"

Kaplan grinned. "Anyway, the bad news is there's no operating tower at the airstrip. We'll be on our own for landing purposes, although they're going to put lights out for us outlining the runway.

It's okay, I've gone solo like that plenty of times."

"In weather like this?"

"Hey, there's a first time for everything. Seriously, this plane is solid as a rock, and the instrumentation is first-rate. We'll be okay."

"If you say so."

Through several thousand feet the plane bumped and swayed sickeningly as the snow and high winds pummeled it. One sudden blow seemed to halt the Saab in its tracks. All on board gasped collectively as the plane shuddered from the assault and then suddenly dropped a few hundred feet before being hit by another gust. The aircraft turned sideways, almost stalled and then dropped again, this time even farther. Sawyer looked out the window. All he saw was white: snow and clouds, he really couldn't tell which was which. His senses of direction and elevation were completely gone. For all he knew, terra firma was about six feet away and coming at them way too fast. Kaplan looked over at Sawyer. "Okay, I admit, this is pretty bad. Hang on, guys, I'm going to take us up to ten thousand feet.

This storm system is really strong but not that deep. Let's see if I can get us a smoother ride."

The next few minutes were more of the same as the plane lurched up and down and occasionally to the side. Finally, they broke through the cloud cover and emerged into a rapidly darkening, clear sky. Within a minute the plane assumed a level, smooth flight pattern due north.

From a private airstrip in a rural area forty miles west of Washington, D.C., a private jet had rocketed into the sky about twenty minutes ahead of Sawyer and his men. Flying at thirty-two thousand feet and at over double the speed of the Saab, the jet would arrive in Bell Harbor in less than half the time it would take the FBI to get there.

At a few minutes past six Sidney and her father pulled in front of the Bell Harbor Post Office. Bill Patterson went in and this time he exited carrying a package. The Cadillac sped off. Patterson pulled open one end of the package and peered inside. He hit the interior light so he could see better.

Sidney looked over at him. "Well?"

"It's a computer disk, all right."

Sidney relaxed slightly. She reached her hand in her pocket to pull out the paper with the password on it. Her face turned pale as her finger probed through the large hole in her pocket and, for the first time, she noted that the inside of her jacket, including the pocket, was slashed open. She stopped the car and frantically searched all of her other pockets. "Oh, my God! I don't believe this." She smashed her fists into the seat. "Dammit."

"What's wrong, Sid?" Her father grabbed one of her hands.

She slumped back in the seat. "I had the password in my jacket.

Now it's gone. I must've lost it back at the house, when that guy was doing his best to carve me up."

"Can't you remember it?"

"It's too long, Dad. All numbers."

"And nobody else has it?"

Sidney nervously licked her lips. "Lee Sawyer does." She automatically checked the rearview mirror as she put the car back in gear. "I can try him."

"Sawyer. Isn't he the big guy who came to the house?"

"But the FBI's looking for you. You can't contact him."

"Dad, it's okay. He's on our side. Hang on." She turned into a gas station and pulled up to a phone booth. While her father held sentinel in the car with his shotgun, Sidney dialed Sawyer's home. As she waited for Sawyer to answer, she watched as a white van pulled into the gas station. It bore Rhode Island license plates. She eyed the van suspiciously for a moment and then completely forgot about it as she watched a car carrying two Maine state troopers pull into the station. One got out of the car. She froze as he glanced in her direction.

Then he went inside the small gas station building, which also sold snacks and drinks. Sidney quickly turned away from the remaining trooper and put the collar of her coat up. A minute later she got back in the car.

"Jesus, I thought I was going to have a stroke when I saw the police pull in," Patterson said, his chest heaving.

Sidney put the car in gear and very slowly pulled out of the lot.

The trooper was still in the gas station. Going for coffee, she surmised.

"Did you reach Sawyer?"

Sidney shook her head. "God, I can't believe it. First I have the disk and no password. Then I get the password and I lose the disk.

Now I have the disk back and I've lost the password again. I'm losing my mind." She pulled at her hair.

"Where did you get the password in the first place?"

"From Jason's electronic mailbox on America Online. Omigod!"

She sat straight up in the seat.

"What?"

"I can access the message again from Jason's mailbox." Sidney slumped back down again. "No, I'd need a computer to do that."

A smile slid across her father's face. "We've got one."

She jerked her head in his direction. "What?"

"I brought my laptop up with me. You know how Jason got me hooked on computers. I've got my Rolodex, investment portfolio, games, recipes, even medical information on there. I also have an AOL account, software all loaded on. My laptop's equipped with a phone modern."

"Dad, you're beautiful." She kissed him on the cheek.

"There's only one problem."

"What's that?"

"It's back at the beach house with all our other stuff."

Sidney slapped her forehead. "Dammit!"

"Well, let's go get it."

She shook her head violently. "Uh-uh, Dad. That's way too risky."

"Why? We're armed to the teeth. We lost whoever was following you. They probably think we're long gone from the area. It'll take me one minute to get it and then we can drive back to the motel, plug it in and get the password."

Sidney was wavering. "I don't know, Dad."

"Look, I don't know about you, but I want to see what's on this sucker." He held up the package. "Don't you?"

Sidney looked over at the package, bit her lip. Finally she clicked on her turn signal and headed back to the beach house.

The jet broke through the low cloud cover and skidded to a stop on the private airstrip. The sprawling resort on the Maine shoreline had once been a robber baron's summer retreat. It was currently a popular destination for the well-heeled. Now, in December, it was deserted except for weekly maintenance checks by a local firm. Because there was nothing within several miles, its seclusion was one of its chief attributes.

Barely three hundred yards from the runway the Atlantic pitched and bellowed. A group of very grim-looking people alighted from the plane, were met by a waiting car and driven over to the resort located about a minute away. The jet turned around and taxied to the opposite end of the runway, where its door reopened and another man climbed off and walked quickly toward the resort building.

Sidney, struggling with the Cadillac, burrowed down the snowy road. The plows had made several passes over the hard surface but Mother Nature clearly had the upper hand. Even the big Cadillac pitched and swayed over the uneven surface. Sidney turned to her father.

"Dad, I don't like this. Let's just drive down to Boston. We can be there in four or five hours. We'll hook up with Mom and Amy and find another computer tomorrow morning."

Her father's face assumed a very stubborn look. "In this weather?

The highway's probably closed. Hell, most of the state of Maine closes down this time of year. We're almost there. You stay in the car, keep it running and I'll be back before you can count to ten."

"But Dad--"

"Sidney, there's nobody around. We're all alone. I'll take my shotgun.

You think somebody would try anything? Just wait by the side of the road. Don't pull in the driveway, you'll get stuck."

Sidney finally gave in and did as she was told. Her father got out of the car, leaned back in and, with a grin on his face, said, "Start counting to ten."

"Just hurry, Dad!"

She anxiously watched as he trudged through the snow, shotgun in hand. Then she began to scan the street. Her father was probably right. As she glanced down at the package containing the disk, she picked it up and put it in her purse. She wasn't going to lose it again. She jerked up suddenly as a light came on in the house. Then she caught her breath. Her father needed to see where he was going.