Washington Power Play, page 34
“Amtrak confirmation,” Terry immediately said.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Can you get passenger details from Amtrak?”
“Stay on the line, I’ll have it for you in two minutes or less.”
Waiting for Terry to come back on, Kelly tried to think of where Cartwright could be going on Amtrak. One answer leapt into her mind: Montreal. It was the closest and easiest foreign destination to reach by train from New York. In Canada, he would be outside of the FBI’s jurisdiction. And from Montreal, he could fly to China or any other country.
Then Terry was back. “It’s a reservation for a first-class seat for Virgil MacMillan on Amtrak train 271—a train to Montreal that left Penn Station at 9:00 a.m. He’s a resident of Hong Kong traveling on a Chinese passport.”
Now that Kelly had the alias Cartwright was using, she asked Terry to check all flights to Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Beijing from Montreal to see if they had a reservation for Virgil MacMillan. If not, she would ask Terry to check other destinations. Meantime, Kelly frantically pulled up the Amtrak schedule on her iPad. The train should be crossing the border into Canada in about ten minutes. She couldn’t let that happen. The Canadians could be sticky in complying with US extradition requests, especially when China, now their biggest oil customer, was involved.
She used another phone to call Forester and give him a report. Before she had a chance to tell him what she wanted, he said, “I’ll get a hold of Amtrak and stop that train. Stand by.”
Terry was on the other phone. “Virgil MacMillan is on Air China this evening from Montreal to Hong Kong.”
Seconds later, Forester was back. “Amtrak will stop the train on the US side of the border. They’ll tell the passengers there’s a mechanical problem.”
“Perfect.”
“Are you still at Teterboro?”
“Yes, sir. And I have a chopper on hold.”
“I know you want to be there to arrest Cartwright,” Forester said. “Take that chopper up to the train along with Paul and as many agents as you can get inside. I’ll send up another chopper or two from the New York field office with more agents. We won’t let Cartwright get away.”
Walking to the chopper to explain the plan to the pilot, Kelly’s euphoria about catching Cartwright gave way to a sickly feeling. It was all too easy. The indentation on the notepad, the reservations on Amtrak and Air China. She was afraid Cartwright had left her a false trail. If this really was his escape plan, he was too smart to make it so obvious. He didn’t have to write down the Amtrak confirmation on the notepad. He didn’t even need an advance reservation a few hours ahead. He could have gotten his ticket in person at Penn Station. Even if he made it to Canada, he couldn’t be sure the Canadians wouldn’t extradite him to the US.
She tried to put herself into Cartwright’s mind. How best for him to escape the US and get to China? She pondered the question for a moment and recalled that Cartwright was a top Air Force pilot. He could fly a plane himself out of the US to China.
Once inside the chopper, she told the pilot to hold. “We’re not going anywhere yet.” Then she called Forester. “Cartwright won’t be on that train,” she said with confidence.
“What do you mean?”
She explained her analysis.
“Let’s confirm,” the FBI director said. “I’ll get the Amtrak conductor from the first-class car on the phone. You hold.”
While she waited for Forester to come back on, she tried to think of where Cartwright might get a plane. One of his Air Force buddies? Unlikely. A rental? Tough on short notice for long range. But Cartwright’s big supporter, Dickerson, no doubt had a fleet of long-range aircraft. Cartwright wouldn’t be flying commercial to Asia.
Forester was back. “You were right. Cartwright left the train at Poughkeepsie. I have somebody checking car rental companies near that station. Also, the conductor gave me a description of Virgil MacMillan.”
“Good. Can you have someone from our civil aviation branch check the status and location of Dickerson’s planes?”
“Good thinking. I’ll get back to you.”
Kelly pulled up a map of the Eastern United States on her iPad, focusing on cities close to Poughkeepsie. Her theory was that Cartwright would be driving to the airport he intended to use, and it would have to be large enough for a big plane to take off. He wouldn’t choose JFK, LaGuardia, or Newark, because he’d want to get out of the New York area and FBI surveillance. But it couldn’t be too far from the point at which he left the train, or the driving time would be too long.
Forester called to say Cartwright had rented from Hertz, but they had no way of tracking the car. She glanced at her watch. Time was her enemy in view of Cartwright’s head start. She quickly narrowed the possibilities to Hartford and Philadelphia. Hartford was closer and an easier drive. It was also a smaller airport, and less likely to have delays on flight takeoff.
Without waiting to hear back from Forester, she told the chopper pilot, “We’re going to Bradley Airport outside of Hartford. Right now.”
“Roger that.”
Fortunately, the day was crystal clear with a robin egg blue sky. When they were twenty miles from the airport, Forester called Kelly again.
“One of Dickerson’s planes, a Boeing 767, arrived at Bradley Airport at six this morning,” he said. “The plane was fueled a few minutes ago and is heading toward the runway right now. The pilot is General Cartwright. He must be confident we’ll never catch him.”
“He’s certainly sticking it to us by using his own name.”
“Cartwright filed a phony flight plan for Miami. I asked the tower to order him back to the gate.”
“He’ll never comply.”
“Agreed. I’ll have the Air Force scramble a couple of jets to bring him down once he’s airborne.”
“Good idea. But you may not need them. I’m only ten minutes out.”
“Way to go, Kelly. If Cartwright doesn’t return to the gate, you have my approval to stop him from getting airborne. Do whatever it takes.”
As she approached the airfield, Kelly immediately sized up the situation. Only one plane was near the runway. It was a sleek Boeing 767 with Dickerson Industries painted in large blue letters against a white background. All the other planes had moved to the side of the airfield. Fire trucks and emergency medical ambulances were on standby adjacent to the terminal.
Cartwright’s plane was taxiing toward the runway. He hadn’t complied with orders from the tower. She asked the tower to patch her through to the cockpit.
“General Cartwright,” she said, “this is Kelly Cameron with the FBI. I’m in a chopper closing in on the airfield. I’ve been ordered by FBI Director Forester to block your takeoff. Even if you manage to get airborne, two Air Force jets have been directed to bring you down. Your game is over. Stop now and turn yourself in.”
When he didn’t respond, she looked at the runway. Cartwright’s answer was there. His plane was positioned for takeoff. She directed the helicopter pilot to move in close to the runway and hold. One shot is all I’ll get, she told herself. It better be good. She heard the roar of the engines on Cartwright’s plane. As it thundered along the runway, she took aim at one of its engines. Yes. Now. Fire. She pulled the trigger and held her breath. It was a direct hit. The plane skidded off the runway and burst into flames.
Fire trucks and mechanics with movable stairs raced across the airfield to the plane. The door opened from the inside. Stairs were pulled up alongside the burning plane, and Kelly watched Cartwright stagger down them, disguised as Virgil MacMillan. She held a pair of handcuffs in her left hand and a Glock in her right. As soon as he reached the ground, Cartwright pulled a pistol from his pocket.
“You’re under arrest, General Cartwright,” Kelly called out. “Drop the gun.”
He looked at Kelly and raised the pistol in his right hand, aiming at her. Kelly’s finger was on the trigger. There was no way she would let him get off the first shot. And this time, she’d hit him in the right shoulder. She wouldn’t make the mistake she had at Walter Reed.
Suddenly, Cartwright rotated his arm and held the pistol against the side of his head. Kelly couldn’t let him shoot himself.
“Drop it,” she cried out. She aimed for his right hand, but before she had a chance to pull the trigger, he tossed the gun away.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I’m no traitor. Everything I did was in the best interests of the United States.”
“A court will decide that.”
EPILOGUE
Having been granted immunity, Andrew Martin represented Cartwright in negotiating a plea agreement with Arthur Larkin. Under its terms, Cartwright dropped out of the presidential race and agreed to a five-year jail term with the possibility of parole after two. Paul presented the agreement to Judge McCardle, who immediately signed it.
Wilkins was fired from his post as national security advisor, and the ten million dollars disappeared from the Trinidad bank. Alistair Singh claimed he had no idea where it went.
Once Cartwright’s plea agreement was accepted by the judge, Kelly knew she would not need Xiang as a witness. The next day, she drove to Charlottesville in an unmarked car with two US marshals. Their plan was to pick up Xiang at the FBI safe house and drive him to Dulles Airport, where he would be taking a plane to his place of resettlement under the witness protection program. The marshals had all of the papers, identification, and cash that Xiang would need to start a new life.
In the car, one of the marshals explained to Kelly, “Director Forester told us not to provide you with this man’s new name or his place of resettlement. He said that was for your protection. We will take Xiang to the airport, and Agent Rolfe will drive you back to Washington.”
Kelly understood. If Liu ever decided to find and kill Xiang, he might use Kelly to do so. It would be better if she didn’t know his name or location.
Xiang was standing on the porch in the bright sunlight with Rolfe when Kelly and the marshals arrived. She asked the marshals to remain in the house while she went out to talk with Xiang one final time. Rolfe nodded at Kelly as she approached and withdrew into the house.
“It’s all over,” she told Xiang. “They’re taking you to Dulles Airport to fly you to your resettlement location.”
“I was hoping we could be together from this point on,” Xiang said.
“That’s not possible.”
He nodded. “I understand. You should know that I’m extremely grateful to you. You’ve given me a new life and freedom.”
His words echoed what her father had tried and failed to do for Fritz Helfund.
“Return to being the person you were our junior year at CMU,” she said.
“I will, and I’ll never forget about the Kelly Cameron I fell in love with that year.”
One of the marshals stepped out onto the porch. “Ms. Cameron, we have to leave to make his plane.”
She looked at Xiang and said, “Go now.”
Xiang reached for her hand and squeezed it. Then he walked through the door and into his new life.
Watching him go, Kelly tried to imagine what her life might have been if Xiang had defected fifteen years ago.
About the Author
Allan Topol is the author of thirteen novels of international intrigue. Two of them, Spy Dance and Enemy of My Enemy, were national best sellers. His novels have been translated into Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, and Hebrew. One was optioned, and three are in development for movies.
In addition to his fiction writing, Allan Topol coauthored a two-volume legal treatise entitled Superfund Law and Procedure. He wrote a weekly column for Military.com, and has published articles in numerous newspapers and periodicals, including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Yale Law Journal.
He is a graduate of the Carnegie Institute of Technology who majored in chemistry, abandoned science, and obtained a law degree from Yale University. He became a partner in a major Washington law firm. An avid wine collector and connoisseur, he has traveled extensively researching dramatic locations for his novels.
Since his graduation from Yale Law School, Allan Topol has been a Washington lawyer observing the Washington power play.
For more information, visit www.allantopol.com.
Allan Topol, Washington Power Play
