By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

I

SPRING 2005

[ONE]

Quatro de Fevereiro Aeroporto Internacional Luanda, Angola 1445 23 May 2005

As he climbed the somewhat unsteady roll-up stairs and ducked his head to get through the door of Lease-Aire LA- 9021—a Boeing 727—Captain Alex MacIlhenny, who was fifty-two, ruddy-faced, had a full head of just starting to gray red hair, and was getting just a little jowly, had sort of a premonition that something was wrong—or that something bad was about to happen—but he wasn’t prepared for the dark-skinned man standing inside the fuselage against the far wall. The man was holding an Uzi submachine gun in both hands, and it was aimed at MacIlhenny’s stomach.

Oh, shit!

MacIlhenny stopped and held both hands up, palm outward, at shoulder level.

“Get out of the door, Captain,” the man ordered, gesturing with the Uzi’s muzzle that he wanted MacIlhenny to enter the flight deck.

That’s not an American accent. Or Brit, either. And this guy’s skin is dark, not black. What is he, Portuguese maybe?

Oh come on! Portuguese don’t steal airplanes. This guy is some kind of an Arab.

The man holding the Uzi was dressed almost exactly like MacIlhenny, in dark trousers, black shoes, and an open-collared white shirt with epaulets. There were wings pinned above one breast pocket, and the epaulets held the four-gold-stripe shoulder boards of a captain. He even had, clipped to his other breast pocket, the local Transient Air Crew identification tag issued to flight crews who had passed through customs and would be around the airport for twenty-four hours or more.

MacIlhenny started to turn to go into the cockpit.

“Backwards,” the man ordered. “And stand there.”

MacIlhenny complied.

“We don’t want anyone to see you with your hands up, do we?” the man asked, almost conversationally.

MacIlhenny nodded but didn’t say anything.

Something like this, I suppose, was bound to happen. The thing to do is keep my cool, do exactly what they tell me to do and nothing stupid.

“Your aircraft has been requisitioned,” the man said, “by the Jihad Legion.”

What the hell is the “Jihad Legion”?

What does it matter?

Some nutcake, rag-head Arab outfit, English-speaking and clever enough to get dressed up in a pilot’s uniform, is about to grab this airplane. Has grabbed this airplane. And me.

MacIlhenny nodded, didn’t say anything for a moment, but then took a chance.

“I understand, but if you’re a . . .”

Someone behind him grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. He started to struggle—a reflex action—but then saw out of the corner of his eye what looked like a fish- filleting knife, then felt it against his Adam’s apple, and forced himself not to move.

Jesus Christ!

“You will speak only with permission, and you will seek that permission by raising your hand, as a child does in school. You understand?”

MacIlhenny tried to nod, but the way his head was being pulled back and with the knife at his throat he doubted the movement he was able to make was very visible. He thought a moment and then raised his right hand slightly higher.

“You may speak,” the man with the Uzi said.

“Since you are a pilot, why do you need me?” he asked.

“The first answer should be self-evident: So that you cannot report the requisitioning of your aircraft immediately. Additionally, we would prefer that when the authorities start looking for the aircraft they first start looking for you and not us. Does that answer your question?”

MacIlhenny nodded as well as he could and said, “Yes, sir.”

What the hell are they going to do with this airplane?

Are they going to fly it into the American embassy here?

With me in it?

In Angola? That doesn’t make much sense. It’s a small embassy, and most people have never heard of Angola much less know where it is.

What’s within range?

South Africa, of course. It’s about fifteen hundred miles to Johannesburg, and a little more to Capetown. Where’s our embassy in South Africa?

“As you surmised, I am a pilot qualified to fly this model Boeing,” the man said. “As is the officer behind you. Therefore, you are convenient for this operation but not essential. At any suspicion that you are not d

oing exactly as you are told, or are attempting in any way to interfere with this operation, you will be eliminated. Do you understand?”