“Unable, Tower. We’ve already taken Romeo.”
The Gulfstream was now impeding Damon’s access to the runway.
“The Yanks are about to catch hell,” Nico said.
“Islamabad Tower, this is Shogun One Five. I apologize. We have an issue with our nosewheel steering. Request permission to proceed south on taxiway Romeo so we can troubleshoot.”
“When pigs fly,” Damon muttered.
Damon’s Beechjet was holding on a secondary taxiway that branched to the southwest from Romeo, the taxiway the Americans were currently occupying. As long as Damon maintained his position, the Americans could taxi south, turn around at the semicircular cul-de-sac-like area to Damon’s right, and retake the active. But to do this, the American Gulfstream would need to further encroach into restricted territory.
“Shogun One Five, this is Islamabad Tower. Negative. Maintain current position.”
Nico started the auxiliary power unit, or APU, and pulled the jet’s engines back to idle. It was the correct decision from a fuel management perspective, as the smaller APU used far less jet fuel than the larger engines. Because of the Americans’ poor etiquette, Damon was not going anywhere until the Gulfstream moved, which meant they needed to conserve fuel. But as the Italian aviator seemed to forget from time to time, Nico was no longer flying a single-pilot aircraft.
They had passengers to consider.
As if reading Damon’s mind, the intercom linking the pilots to the cabin buzzed.
Normally, passenger communications were handled by the flight attendants.
Tonight, Damon had that duty.
“This is the pilot speaking,” Damon said.
“Why did the engines go to idle?”
The specificity of the question gave Damon pause. While he was accustomed to fielding inquiries about schedule delays both real and imagined, most passengers neither knew nor cared about the status of the aircraft’s engines. This was yet another indication that the men occupying the Beechjet’s cabin were not run-of-the-mill passengers.
“The plane ahead of us aborted its takeoff and diverted to our taxiway,” Damon said. “It’s blocking access to the runway.”
The detail was much greater than what Damon would have normally provided, but he thought that the level of specificity might head off further inquiries.
It did not.
“The jet can either taxi out of the way or the airport’s crash rescue team can push it into the grass. I don’t care which, but I expect to be airborne in five minutes.”
Damon saw Nico’s angry expression, but he raised his hand, forestalling the Italian’s outburst.
He was the captain.
This was his problem.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Damon said.
“I assure you it will,” the passenger said. “We have a priority clearance from the Pakistani government. If we aren’t rolling in the next thirty seconds, I will place a call to the director general of the Inter-Services Intelligence of Pakistan. He will then contact the airport directly. Either you coordinate with air traffic control, or I will.”
Nico reached for his seat belt’s release, but Damon grabbed the Italian’s hand.
“Look,” Damon said, pointing out the windshield.
A single airport security vehicle raced onto the tarmac with its red and blue lights flashing. The four-door sedan came to a stop between the American Gulfstream and Damon’s Beechjet. The car’s doors opened, and three figures exited—two men and a woman. One of the men angled toward the idling American jet while the second man and his woman companion headed for Damon’s aircraft. Stopping just off the Beechjet’s nose, the man pointed at the cockpit and motioned for the staircase to be let down.
“What do they want?” Nico said.
“Don’t know,” Damon said, unbuckling. “You have the jet. I’ll find out.”
“Are you sure?” Nico said. “You are the captain.”
“Precisely. The captain gets the hard jobs.”
“Be careful.”
Damon squeezed Nico’s shoulder as he stood. “Look on the bright side—maybe our customers will fire us.”
Damon didn’t put much stock in this outcome.
Judging by Nico’s look, his copilot didn’t either.
CHAPTER 80
“READY?” Rapp said.
Noreen nodded. This was partly because she didn’t think she’d be heard over the screaming of four jet engines.
But only partly.
Now that the moment of truth was upon her, Noreen wasn’t sure she could trust her voice. The plan Rapp had briefed had sounded ambitious even in the sterile confines of the ASF sedan. Now that she was face-to-face with their target, she might choose a different word to describe his concept of the operation.
