Brown, Dale - Independent 04 by Storming Heaven (v1.1) Page B

the fighters would have a clear shot—and flying along the Califomia-
Nevada border, the area was desolate enough so as not to threaten citizens on
the ground. They could simply pick their moment, and shoot.
                 ‘They
will not open fire on us,” Cazaux
decided. “This is America , and they are the military—the military is forbidden to actively get
involved in law-enforcement activities, except to assist in surveillance and to
provide transportation. They cannot act as judge, jury, and executioner.
Period.”
                 “I
sure hope you’re right, Captain,” Jones said, sitting back into the spot he had
picked out in a comer of the cockpit. “And if you ain’t, I don’t want to know
about it. I just hope it’s over fast.”
                 When
the target’s altitude dipped below the hemispheric altitude for his direction
of flight, Vincenti became concerned. When his altitude dipped below the IFR
(Instrument Flight Rules) minimum safe altitude in this area, he was more
concerned—and when it drifted to within a few hundred feet of the rapidly
rising terrain ahead, Vincenti was positive that they had been discovered. A
quick S-tum to McKenzie’s portside confirmed it: her big ID light was on full
bright. The target must’ve seen the light and was attempting to descend into
the mountainous terrain ahead.

            Their Special-9 covert intercept was
blown. Well, no use in embarrassing McKenzie. Vincenti keyed his mike button:
“Foxtrot Romeo, station check.”
                 “I’ll
make the call when I’m ready, Two, just stand by.”
                 “Foxtrot
Romeo lead, I recommend a station check. I’m complete.”
                 “Later,
Al. Stand by.”
                 She
wasn’t taking the hint. He had no choice: “Lead, I’m on your left wing. Check your damn switches!”
                 The
ID light went out immediately this time—Vincenti could almost feel her
exasperation at her mistake, now that she realized what the target was doing
and why. A few moments later, just as Vincenti was worrying about whether or
not she was going to do something about the new development, he heard McKenzie
on the command radio. “SIERRA PETE, this is Foxtrot Romeo. I believe the target
aircraft got a visual on us. He has descended very close to the terrain in this
area. Request further instructions.” The weapons controller replied with a simple
“Stand by, Foxtrot Romeo,” and McKenzie and Vincenti were left with their
thoughts and doubts as they closed in on the target.
                 “How in hell did they see the fighters
closing in on them in the middle of the night?” Charles Lofstrom, Deputy
Director and Chief of Operations for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and
Firearms, thundered over the phone. In the fifteen minutes since the F-16
fighters had been scrambled against Cazaux, the BATF, the Marshals Service, the
Air Force, and the FAA were on a conference call, and Colonel Berrell had just
finished briefing the conference members on the status of the chase. “I’ve
worked with night intercepts before—done properly, the pursuer can close to
within a few dozen yards without the suspect realizing a thing.”
                 “It
doesn’t matter how it happened—it happened,” U.S. Marshal Collins Baxter of the
Eastern District of California interjected. “The problem is, the possibility
exists that Cazaux knows he’s being tailed.”
                 “Let’s
shoot the bastard down, then,” Agent Lofstrom said irritably. “I can get a
warrant.”
                 “We can't shoot him down, and that’s
that,” Captain Tellman said. “I thought this was explained to you, Lofstrom.”
                 “I
know what you said, Captain, but I also know that I got a federal judge that
will give me a warrant ordering you to take all