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"Affirmative," came out of the speaker of the little aviation scanner out in the Base Operations parking lot.
Will had been having a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach ever since they started listening to the tower traffic. That voice was too familiar – it couldn’t be! The sound from the tinny speaker of the little scanner was being uplinked live by the TV crews. A third reporter and camera had just arrived and were setting up. Will had broken away for a minute to bring the new crew up to speed, but got back to the scanner just in time to hear the last exchange.
"Miss Swift," Colonel Hadley’s voice followed in an instant. "I guess that takes care of any remaining questions about whether you can fly or not."
Oh, shit, Will thought in an instant. This was going to change a lot of things, and not necessarily for the better. Jennlynn was going to be the heroine of this piece, and he knew damn well that the one thing news people liked to do better than anything else was to find a heroine’s feet were made of clay. Jeez, Miz Swift, he thought, trying to project it at her in hopes she’d somehow catch it. I’m sorry, but hang in there!
"Sergeant, do you know what he meant by that?" one of the news people spoke up.
"Yeah, I do," he said, taking a deep breath. "Things are going to be all right. She’s one of the best pilots in the sky."
"Is that just reputation, or do you know her?" Bishop asked.
"She’s an old family friend," Will nodded. "She saved my life with her little airplane when I was sixteen. She’s a design engineer in Phoenix, and owns an air charter business called Skyhook Aviation." That was all he was going to say; he was not going to say that he thought of her as his woman, and certainly was not going to out her on her other sideline job. They’d find out, he thought, but not through him. Shit, Miz Swift, I’m sorry.
"How’d she save your life?" Bishop asked, feeling a story that might add some background color to what was already turning into a pretty big story. She’d heard over the hookup to the station that there was a report the hijackers had wanted to crash the Daytona 500 with the hijacked aircraft.
It wouldn’t put them off the scent but might delay things, Will thought, and slipped into Nevada cowboy. "I was out lookin’ for strays on the family ranch," he told her. "I got off my horse and got bit by a rattler. I blacked out, and I laid out there on the ground in the desert all night. The next morning, she and my gramma come lookin’ for me in her Cessna 150. They found me, and she flew me into the hospital. That had somethin’ to do with why I thought about joinin’ the Air Force in the first place."
* * *
It would be hard to say whether Jennlynn caught Will’s thought, or generated it on her own. She was busy enough with the Airbus and concentrating so much on what she was doing that she didn’t have time to think about it, other than realizing that sometime in the near future, assuming she walked away from the airplane, there were going to be new records set in being upfront. And to have Mallory involved up to her neck, too . . . hoo, boy! She did not need to have Will’s expertise to envision the upcoming feeding frenzy.
"Learjet Jenn?" she heard Jeff say, the question hanging in the air.
She let out a sigh. "I have a reputation in some places," she said. "Jeff, if we get through this, you might want to stand out of the line of fire, because you won’t exactly think my reputation is a good one."
"What’s this all about?"
"Let’s not go into it now," she shook her head. "You’ll find out soon enough. Let’s concentrate on walking away from this thing."
* * *
There were NASCAR fans watching NBC who were more than a little irritated when the network cut away from prerace activities to live breaking news out of Biloxi, Mississippi – but after they listened to WOXI’s Barbara Bishop for a moment, the irritation evaporated. They’d get to watch some of the race after all. Several other networks broke into Sunday afternoon programming as well, either using the uplinks from their own affiliates, or borrowed from other affiliates after hasty phone calls and called-in favors. Barbara Bishop was still a young reporter, not long out of college, but she knew this could be a huge boost to her career and tried to sound professional.
"We still can’t see Southern one-eleven from here," she said into the microphone, as a camera was pointed at her. We’ve been monitoring the progress of the hijacked jet over the emergency frequency, which is the radio traffic you hear in the background. To repeat, a little over half an hour ago, Southern one-eleven was hijacked while over the Gulf of Mexico. The hijackers reportedly were planning to steer for the Daytona 500, but they were averted when an uprising of the passengers retook control of the airplane. The flight crew was critically injured in the battle, and the plane is now being flown by Jennlynn Swift, a woman jet charter pilot who happened to be on board. We have been told that while she is a very experienced and competent pilot, she’s never flown anything as big as the Airbus 300. Southern one-eleven is now on a long final approach for the runway here at Keesler Air Force Base, still a few minutes out, and from what we can make out over the emergency channel things are proceeding normally. The base crash crews are on full alert and are located near the runway, along with many emergency medical crews, some from the city of Biloxi. Let’s listen to some of the traffic over the radio."
"Keesler, one-eleven," Jennlynn’s voice came through the little portable radio, and out through television speakers around the world. "Starting to pick up the localizer."
"Affirmative, one-eleven," Colonel Hadley’s voice said. "You will have to turn about five degrees left to intercept."
"Five degrees left, affirmative," she replied. "Turning now."
There was silence for a moment. Knowing that dead air was dead air, Bishop spoke up. "The man’s voice is Lieutenant Colonel Bruce Hadley, an Air Force Reserve pilot who regularly flies the Airbus 300 for Southern," she said. "He’s been providing assistance to Swift in flying the airplane, but you can’t say he’s talking her through it."
"One-eleven, say your speed," he called.
"Speed one four zero, localizer centered," the feminine voice came over the air. "Coming up on the glide slope."
"One-eleven, your speed is fine. Reduce throttle slightly to establish yourself on the glide slope."
"Roger, Keesler," she replied. "Rate of descent now seven five zero. Runway in sight."
"Could not be better," he said. "We now show you eight miles out."
"Roger, Keesler," she replied. "The steward just made a cabin PA to get everyone set, just in case."
"Roger, one-eleven."
There was several more seconds of silence. "They’re a little over three minutes out," the young newscaster said into the microphone. "It’s very hazy here today, we haven’t been able to pick the plane out . . . oh, there it is!" On TV sets around the world, the scene changed to a tiny silver dot that rapidly grew larger and closer. "If you didn’t know better you’d think that it was a normal landing," Bishop continued. "Neither Jennlynn Swift nor Colonel Hadley sound excited in the slightest. Just very smooth, very professional, but they are both professionals, even though Swift has never flown this large of an airplane before . . . "
* * *
Amazingly enough, calm professionalism pretty much described the scene up in the cockpit of Southern 111. Once she’d gotten even a little used to the Airbus, the approach was just about normal, even though the turns were made a little more gingerly than she would have done in the Learjet. For the last several minutes, Jennlynn’s main concern was that since she was sitting higher than she was used to that she might misjudge her flare onto the runway, and she’d warned both Colonel Hadley and Jeff about it – and had the steward have the passengers get set, just in case. But the airspeed held good, and she’d had the needles on the localizer and glide slope crossed dead in the center for miles, so really that was about all there was left to worry about. Over in the right seat, Jeff just sat and watched, knowing anything he might say could joggle her concentration.
"Inner marker," she reported to Colonel Hadley, not bothering with the call sign. They’d talked through this point before; it was here that she had to cut the power and start raising the nose, letting the airspeed fall off.
"Looking good," he said. "Looking good . . . almost there . . . "
Jennlynn thought that she was a little too high, but it turned out to be just about right. Nose high, the main gear felt for the runway, hit with a scrooch, and she started to let the nose down. At the same time, Jeff threw the lever for the thrust reversers as they had rehearsed, and she ran the power up hard. Southern one-eleven shook and shuddered – and slowed in a normal landing. She cut the throttles again, and Jeff retracted the thrust reversers. Just a dab on the brake, and the Airbus was just taxiing straight down the runway – but inside, the airplane was just about bursting from the cheers of the passengers. Jennlynn keyed the microphone, held it open for a second, then said, "Keesler tower, Southern one-eleven. I’m a stranger here. You’re going to have to tell me where to park this thing."
"Where you’re at will be just fine," Colonel Hadley said. "That thing is a bit of a bear to taxi, especially if you haven’t done it before."
"I have to say it flies as sweet as a Learjet," she replied. "You want to talk me through the shutdown checklist?"
"Roger," he replied. "Throttles to idle/shutdown . . .
* * *
Colonel Hadley was still talking Jennlynn and Jeff through shutdown when a mobile stairway was pushed up against the door of the Airbus. The steward opened the door, to be met by four Security Policemen carrying M-16s and wearing helmets and flak jackets. "Everything’s cool," he said, but the SPs had to check for themselves and quickly noticed the very professional, secure – and painful – way three of the four hijackers were tied up on the floor with strips of clothing. The fourth was tied a little less tightly, and breathing through an improvised tracheal tube.
"All clear," the leader said into his radio, and EMTs carrying stretchers and medkits stormed up the stairs and into the cabin.
Up in the front, both Jennlynn and Jeff just leaned back in their seats and let the tension drain off. "Well done, Jennlynn," he said finally. "I could never have done that. I just thank God you were along."
"You did pretty well yourself, Jeff," she said. "I’d be pleased to fly with you again any time. In fact, if you’d be interested in a little stick time in a Learjet, it could be arranged. That is, if you’re still up for it. Like I said, when my reputation comes out, you may want to stand aside, so I’m giving you fair warning."
"Jennlynn, you make it sound like it’s something bad."
"With you being a missionary, it is," she said. "Look, Jeff, I’m a design engineer, I’m well paid, and I run my little charter outfit on the side. But Jeff, the simple answer is that I’m a nymphomaniac and I know it. For over a decade, I’ve been able to keep it under control by working occasionally as a licensed legal prostitute in Nevada."
"A . . . you’re kidding!" he said, jaw agape.
"I wish I was," she said. "My friends know about it; it’s no secret where I work, and I mean that in more ways than one. But when it gets out, and it will after this . . . well, I can see what’s going to happen, and it isn’t going to be pretty."
"You think it’ll get out?" he frowned.
"It probably already has," she sighed. "I knew that when I heard Colonel Hadley call me ‘Learjet Jenn.’ The full title is ‘Learjet Jenn, the fastest woman in the state of Nevada.’ What’s going to make it worse is that Mallory, the woman who led the assault on the hijackers worked with me in the same house for a couple years. She’s a professional dominatrix."
"A dominatrix?" he said. "Oh, you mean . . . I never knew they really existed, I thought that was just old wives’ tales."
"It’s not. She’s one of the best, and you and I have God to thank for it. But like I said, considering that you’re a missionary, I won’t blame you if you fade into the shadows and let her and me take the heat that’s sure to come from this."
"Jennlynn, I sat beside you when you landed this thing, and I will stand beside you when they’re throwing heat at you. It’s the only honorable thing to do."
"Jeff, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to. I know what it’s like to take heat over this issue. There’s going to be a lot of it. It could spill over onto you, and badly."
"No, Jennlynn. What I said. No matter what else you may be, for the last hour you’ve been a thoroughgoing professional pilot who just saved the life of everybody on this plane, and I’ll say that to anyone who asks."
"Jeff, you’re cool," she smiled. "My parents always sort of wanted me to be a missionary, but I never thought I could cut it. I guess I was right, and I see why now."
* * *
"General Ronstadt?" Will said to the base commander.
"Yes, Sergeant?"
"Sir, I’m Sergeant Hoffman, the PIO NCO, and . . . "
"Where’s Lieutenant Maitland?"
"In New Orleans, I think, sir. I’ve been trying to ride herd on the press out there, and more keep coming. Sir, they want to get out closer to the plane, to interview the principals and some of the passengers. I told them they couldn’t go off the Base Ops parking lot without permission."
"Oh, you’re the one that’s been keeping the press off my ass," he smiled. "Good job, Sergeant. What do you think about letting them out there?"
"I’d be against it, sir. They’re just likely to get in the way, and it would take most of the SPs on base to keep them out of trouble. What I’d suggest is that the people getting off the plane be moved to the waiting room at base ops, and if I can be given a little help and a little head start, I may be able to keep things orderly."
"Good thinking, Sergeant," the general smiled. "What help do you need?"
"I’m going to need several SPs or at least uniformed people," he replied. "And if we could have Colonel Hadley meet with the press while things are getting organized, it would keep them happy for a while."
"We can do that," he agreed. "Sergeant, we need to get you in uniform, too."
"I realize that, sir. I came over here as soon as I got the call from WOXI, I didn’t want them to beat me and get in the way. I don’t really dare leave now."
"Good thinking," the general said again. "You live in the BEQ, right?"
"Yes sir."
"Lieutenant Mawson," the general said, motioning to his aide. "Take Sergeant Hoffman’s keys, drive to his BEQ and get a Class A uniform for him. Then swing by my quarters and get one for me also."
"Yes, sir," the aide said. "Sergeant, what BEQ, what room?"
"Arnold South BEQ, room 207," Will said, handing over his keys. "Everything you’ll need is in the closet. There’s a Class A uniform in there that’s all decked out. Shoes are in the same closet."
"Quickly, Jim," General Ronstadt said; the aide turned to leave immediately.
"Sir, I’ve got one other problem," Will told him. "You know the story about Learjet Jenn, right?"
"I know it, and I can’t believe Max . . . er, Colonel Hawkins could be that dumb. Is it true?"
"I can’t speak to the version of the story you may have heard, but the basic story is true," Will told him. "I don’t think the press has caught on yet, but they can’t help but do it pretty soon. The thing is, sir, I know Miss Swift pretty well, and I’ve known her for years. She’s an old friend of the family. I need to get a second with her to tell her to keep her head down before the press gets loose with it. As far as that goes, I’m going to have to meet with all the principals to work out how to do this."
"Make it happen, Sergeant," General Ronstadt said. "I’ll get them going on moving the passengers to the terminal."
"Thank you, sir."
Jennlynn, Jeff, Mallory, and Dr. Milligan, the veterinarian who had assaulted the cockpit behind Mallory and afterward saved three human lives, along with Hector Chunti, the cabin steward, were the last load brought to the terminal – mostly because the five had stood at the front of the cabin and thanked everyone on the plane for staying calm and then shook hands with everyone as they disembarked. They were brought to a side door and through the baggage terminal, where Will was waiting for them. He tried to be professional, but he couldn’t help but take her in his arms for a second, and whisper, "You done good, Miz Swift."
"Thanks, Will," she said, staring him in the eyes with a look that said there was a serious kiss and cry that needed to be held in abeyance.
"Miz Swift, they know," he said. "I’ve had half a dozen people ask, and all I could say was that they’d have to ask you."
"Doesn’t surprise me," she said. "I’ll handle it like I have in the past; it’s the only way to do it."
"That’s what I thought," he nodded.
"It’s worse," she said. "Has Mallory Fox’s name come out yet?"
"Not that I’m aware of," he shook his head.
"Mallory, come here a sec," Jennlynn said. "I don’t know if you’ve met Will, but he’s Shirley’s grandson."
"Oh, yeah," the big black woman said. "We met one time, there in Antelope Valley."
"I think I remember, now that you mention it," he said.
"Look, Will, Mallory is the real heroine of this story," Jennlynn said. "She’s the one who broke up the hijacking. Jeff and I just landed the damn plane after she gave us the chance to do it."
"Miss Fox, you’d better realize that if you go out there in front of the press, what you do is going to be all over the world in an instant," Will warned. "It’s not going to be pretty, and there’s no way you can cover it up in the long run."
"Who said I wanted to cover it up?" she smiled. "I’ve got no problem with it. It might be good for business."
"OK," Jennlynn said. "There’s nothing to do but be up front about it. We don’t volunteer anything about that part, but we don’t deny it, either. Sound fair to you, Mallory? Will?"
"About has to be," the big black woman agreed.
"That’s how I see it, unfortunately," he agreed. "All right, all of you. Colonel Hadley has been telling the story to the press from his point of view. What I’m going to have to do is take you out there and have you tell what happened, starting with the hijacking and retaking the aircraft. Now, who all was involved with that?"
"Mallory took point," Dr. Milligan said. "I just tried to keep up with her. There were a dozen other passengers who helped. Jennlynn was right behind me when we hit the cockpit. She’s the one who punched a hole in the hijacker’s throat with a high heel. I had a hell of a mess stopping the bleeding."
"A high heel?" Will smiled.
"Loused up a perfectly good Manolo Blahnik," she snorted. "Will, your grandmother taught me about using a high heel in a fight."
"Then you took over the cockpit, right?" he asked.
"Right," she nodded. "Jeff was back in coach. He didn’t get involved till later, but he rode right seat with me."
* * *
"OK, I wish I had time for a more thorough debrief but the news folks’re getting real antsy," he said. "Colonel Hadley has gone through the approach and landing phase pretty well, so Dr. Milligan, Miss Fox, I’m just going to let the two of you give a brief discussion of the recapture, and Miz Swift, you can join in if needed. Then Miz Swift, you and Mr. Waldemer can take them through the approach and landing. Then we’ll throw it open for questions, and after that, each of the TV stations is probably going to want individual interviews. I would not be surprised if you get questioned directly from the network anchors. I’ll do my best to keep order, and I’ll call in the SPs if it gets out of hand. If any of you don’t want to participate, this is your last chance. I had a hard time just keeping them from badgering you as you came down the stairs."
"Guess we’ll have to live with it, Will," Jennlynn said, just a little amazed, in spite of everything, at the professional control Will had kept of the proceedings. It was a side of him she’d never seen before.
"One more thing," he said. "They’ll go at you all night if we let them. After half an hour or so, less if it gets rowdy, I’m going to say that the FBI needs to talk to all of you, and get you out of there. Actually, the FBI probably will want to talk to you, but they’re not here yet. Anyway, when everything gets wrapped up, I want to be the first to invite you all out to dinner, and I get to beat General Ronstadt on that."
"We’ll take you up on that, Sergeant Hoffman," Jennlynn smiled. "Shall we get on with it?"
* * *
My God, I don’t believe it, Barbara Bishop thought. That’s even more incredible!
She was trying to pay attention to Colonel Hadley in his discussion of the approach and landing of the Airbus, but it was clear that he was just killing time, waiting for the people off the plane to arrive. But twenty minutes before, she’d been talking with some Air Force officers hanging around the terminal, and she happened to ask if any one of them knew what the business about "Learjet Jenn" was all about. The story they’d told was unbelievable! The Swift woman had taken her Learjet and tangled with one of the Air Force’s best pilots in a jet fighter and beaten him thoroughly. That was incredible enough – you go, girl! – but then, someone added that there had been a $24,000 night in bed riding on it! That floored her – "You mean twenty-four thousand against a night in bed?" she asked, barely able to find words.
"Not quite," the major who told her the story explained. "The night in bed was already a done deal. The question was how much Nighthawk was going to pay for it."
"Pay for it?" she asked. "What do you mean?"
"You mean you don’t know?" he replied with amusement. "They call Learjet Jenn the fastest woman in the state of Nevada. She’s probably the best known legal hooker in the state."
"HOOKER?"
"Yeah, hooker," the major smiled. "She works a day job as an engineer some place, makes good money, and makes more money chartering out her planes. But a couple times a month, she flies one of ’em into a place called the Redlite Ranch Bordello northwest of Las Vegas and spends the weekend taking on all comers. She isn’t cheap, either."
"My God! I don’t believe it! That woman is a prostitute?"
"Part time," the major shrugged. "It’s legal there, you know."
"My God, I never heard of such a thing! Thanks, Major, er, it is Major, isn’t it?"
"Major," he smiled.
Bishop quickly ran back to her cameraman, and picked up the hotline to the station. "Dan!" she said to the shift producer, "I just had some Air Force officers tell me that this Swift woman is the best known legal prostitute in Nevada!"
"You’re kidding!" he said in shock. "God, doesn’t that put the icing on the cake."
"I don’t want to say anything about it unless it’s confirmed," she said. "Is there any way you could call the station in Las Vegas for a quick check?"
"Good thinking, we wouldn’t want to say anything about that unless we were real sure," he agreed. "Stay on the line and give me a minute."
It took closer to five before he was back, five long minutes in which Barbara realized she was sitting on something that would blow a big story a whole lot bigger – if it were true. Finally, his voice came back over the hot line. "Dead on, Barbie," he said. "Jennlynn Swift, otherwise known as Learjet Jenn, the fastest woman in the state of Nevada, appearing by appointment only at the Redlite Ranch Bordello, Antelope Valley, Nevada. That’s the biggest legal cathouse in the south end of the state. Apparently she flies her Learjet in there every other weekend or so, and has done it for years. The guy was telling me a story about this Air Force officer with a Stealth fighter . . . "
"She kicked his butt with her Learjet," she finished for him. "It’s all true!"
"Be careful with it, Barbara," he said seriously. "If it’s not dead on, we’re talking real major libel charges. I mean real serious major, like eating bread and beans for the rest of our lives, and she’s got enough money to hire all the lawyers she wants. Drop some bait out there and act like you know all about it, then see if she takes it. If she doesn’t, let it go."
* * *
Will explained to General Ronstadt what he’d planned, and suggested that the general open the news conference. The general agreed and stepped up to the microphone in the terminal. He explained that the principals were going to each give brief statements about what had happened, and after everyone had spoken there might be time for open questions. He explained that the Base Public Information NCO would actually be in charge of the proceedings, then he got out of the line of fire. Will announced that the latest word from the hospital was that all three of the injured people were in stable condition and were expected to recover, then introduced the principals, with time out for handshakes between Jennlynn, Jeff, and Colonel Hadley, during which a lot of flashes were fired.
It really went pretty well. They spent ten minutes or so on the retaking of the airplane, first with Mallory, then Dr. Milligan, and finally Chunti explaining what went on. Not bad for off the cuff, Will thought, as he introduced Jennlynn and Jeff and asked them to explain the approach and landing of the aircraft. Jeff said that he really had little to do with it, except for a couple points that he and Jennlynn had rehearsed, like the business with the thrust reversers; mostly, he’d sat back and watched a thoroughly professional pilot at work. Jennlynn was more detailed, but very businesslike; there was little emotion, just a basic restating of the facts. "The real heroine of this story is not me," she said. "It’s Mallory Fox. She was the one who recognized the problem and dealt with it before things got too far out of hand. It would have been a real tragedy if she hadn’t thought quickly and moved even more quickly. She just gave Jeff and me the chance to land the plane after leading the recapture of the cockpit, doing much of it herself."
With her statement finished, Will threw the thing open for questions. The first few were tepid, and only revealed that reporter’s total ignorance about airplanes or anything else. Maybe she’s actually going to get away with it, Will dared to think – at least for tonight, but no bets about tomorrow.
His hopes were too soon; he saw that the Bishop woman had been standing for a while, trying to get in a question. Finally, she did. "Miss Swift," she said. "We’ve had word from one of our affiliates about a place called the Redlite Ranch. Would you have any comment?"
Jennlynn threw her a look that should have frozen her into a pillar of ice. "That really is not pertinent to the topic at hand," she said frigidly. "But since you must be one of those reporters who can only think about wallowing in the dirt, I will admit that for the last several years I have occasionally worked at the Redlite Ranch Bordello in Antelope Valley, Nevada as a legal, licensed prostitute. Next question."
"Ma’am," Bishop said, "Why would you do such a thing? It seems incredible!"
"For the same reason some people become sensationalistic, dirtbag reporters, namely money. But why is none of your business and not pertinent to the question at hand," Jennlynn said icily. "Does anyone else have a question?"
"Miss Swift," another reporter said. "I just want to make sure I heard you right. Did you say legal, licensed prostitute?"
"That is correct," she said harshly. "For your information, prostitution is legal in many counties in Nevada. But what I have done in that position has nothing to do with what happened today."
"But ma’am," he sputtered, "Could you . . . "
"No. I will have nothing more to say about it. I have freely admitted it for a number of years, but my policy is that I will do nothing to advertise the fact. Therefore, I will not say anything more on that subject."
"Sir," Mallory piped up, looking him straight in the eye with a look that made him very uncomfortable. "If it will help you, I will confirm Miss Swift’s statement. I happened to know her before today, because I worked with her at the Redlite Ranch for two years."