Ted sat in a plain conference room inside the tiny Brown Field terminal. A cup of vending machine coffee in a paper cup covered with pictures of playing cards sat untouched in front of him. I wouldn’t drink that swill if my life depended on it.
“I don’t know that for a fact, but it makes sense to me.”
“How so?” The tall man with closely cropped gray hair asked.
“I’ll bet you anything that you find that the planes computers were hacked. I’m an expert in this field. I can smell it. Give me some time and I’ll figure out how they did it.”
The black man with a shaved head leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Higuera leave the solving of crimes to us. Just answer the questions.”
Ted stared at the picture of a P-51 Mustang in flight on the opposite wall for a moment. “All right, here it is. First of all, there’s the CryBaby virus. I found the fix to disable it. Then there was a time bomb left in the Windows operating system to shut down Wall Street. I gave the cure to Microsoft. Kinda a coincidence, don’t you think? There have been a series of hacks on cars, killing and injuring people. My car was one of those hacked. Then I’m on an airplane that loses its electrical systems. You startin’ to see the pattern?”
“Umm …” the gray-haired man mumbled.
“Think about it. I find a cure for CryBaby, then the Wall Street Virus, and suddenly I’m attacked. This smells to me. I’m guessing someone somewhere is cooking up a major attack on the U.S. and they think I’m in their way. What do you think?”
The questioning lasted two hours before the Homeland Security agents released Ted. What did those babosos want with me? I sure as hell didn’t hack a plane I was on.
Madre de Dios. Ted made his way to the boarding gate and listened to the announcement. The Department of Homeland Security shut down all flights in the United States. This hadn’t happened since 9/11. He was stuck in San Diego.
What do I do? Rent a car and drive home? Drive to La Paz? No, they don’t let rentals cross the border. What if I cross the border and try to catch a flight from Tijuana?
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. He brought up the web page for Volaris Airlines, a Mexican commuter airline that had flights to La Paz.
Ted almost lost his lunch, if he’d eaten lunch, at the thought of getting on another airplane. Then he thought of Maria and his son. In a few moments, he had a ticket on the next flight. But he had to get to the Tijuana airport.
Ted hustled across the Brown Field facility to the bus station and took the 992 to the City College trolley station, then took the blue line to the border crossing.
Paying the twelve bucks for the new foot bridge across the frontier looked like the best option. After clearing customs, Ted caught a taxi to the airport and touched down in La Paz a couple of hours later, still pale and shaking.
He took the EcoTourBaja bus from the San Jose del Cabo airport to La Paz. After a two-hour ride, he walked from the terminal to El Dolfin, his favorite hotel. It was right on the Malecón, the wide sidewalk along the water front.
He walked a couple of blocks to the rental car agency and left in a red Jeep Wrangler. The vehicle had a surrey top to shield him from the sun, but it couldn’t protect Ted from the hundred degree plus heat. He headed out of town to the Los Santos Ranch.
What do I say? Will they even let me in?
Ted drove the familiar highway, turned off on a dirt road and continued through the scorched countryside. After about an hour, he came to a locked gate.
When he got out of the Jeep, two campesinos carrying AK-47s appeared from nowhere.
“What is your business here?” the taller one asked in Spanish.
“I’m Ted Higuera.” Ted thought he recognized the man. He may have fought with him against El Pozolero’s narcos. “You’re Santos, sí?”
“I remember you, Señor Higuera, but you cannot come in. The señora forbids it.”
“But I’ve …”
“The señora forbids it.” Santos waved the barrel of his gun at Ted.
Ted sized up the two men. Could he take them? If he did, what would it accomplish? Either he or one or both of them might get hurt, even killed. For what? So he could talk to Maria? The equation didn’t add up.
Ted got into his Jeep without another word and turned back to the city.
****
The open-air bar in El Dolfin looked out over the Malecon to La Paz Bay. A white sandy beach stretched for miles in either direction. To his right, a couple dozen blue-and-white pangas, the boat of choice for local fishermen, lay beached in the sand.
Ted nursed a Margarita and glanced at his watch. What is it about this country? Can’t anyone ever be on time?
It was early evening and a ranchero band tuned up in the back of the restaurant. Dressed like cowboys, in jeans and plaid shirts with white cowboy hats, the band would soon belt out their raucous rancheros.
A lean man, about Ted’s height, with dark hair, a bushy mustache and a scar on his cheek walked in from the street. He looked around for an instant, then made a straight line to Ted.
“Señor Higuera, I presume,” he said in accented English.
“Sí,” Ted replied in Spanish. “They call me Ted Higuera.”
The man extended his hand, Ted appreciated his firm grip.
The man sat on the stool next to Ted. “Negro Modelo, por favor,” he called to the bartender.
Turning his attention back to Ted, he reached in his pocket and produced a business card. “They call me Hector Rodriquez. You called me?”
Ted looked at the private investigator for a moment. He seems competent. Looks pretty tough to me. “I need help. My fiancée left me, came to Mexico, and is hiding on her family’s rancho. She won’t talk to me; refuses to see me.”
Hector smiled a knowing smile. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”
Ted laughed. “A PI who quotes Shakespeare. What’s next?”
“You know, Señor Higuera, yours is an old story.”
The bartender set a bottle at Hector’s hand.
Ted raised his glass and said, “Salut, dinero y amor.”
“Health, money, and love,” Hector snickered. “Some things never change.” He took a sip of his beer. “Now, tell me how I may be of service to you.”
Ted looked around the bar and thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s the thing. She’s pregnant. It’s my kid. I know it is. She insists it isn’t and won’t talk to me. I know it isn’t anyone else’s; it couldn’t be.” He sighed. “I can handle losing her. I don’t like it, but I can handle it. But never seeing, never knowing my son. That I can’t handle. I need you to get proof for me that it’s my boy. I can confront her and convince her to let me be part of the boy’s life.”
Hector pulled a notebook from his pocket. “And what is the young lady’s name?”
“Maria Gonzales.”
Hector folded up his notebook, put it back in his pocket, and whistled. “You are serious? La Reina? The queen of the drug cartels in Baja?” He stared at Ted for a moment. When Ted didn’t respond, he continued, “You’re out of your mind. Get back on a plane and return north. There’s nothing for you here.”
Ted swirled the remains of his drink in its glass. “Do you have children, Hector?”
“Sí, two boys.”
“Would you go off and abandon them? Would you walk out of their lives and never see them again?”
“I see what you mean.” Hector raised two fingers and motioned to the bartender. “But what can I do for you? And what good will it do if I can provide the documentation you seek?”
The brass thundered the opening of the band’s first set. The sounds of Rancho Grande blasted through the bar.
“I don’t know, but I need something. I have to find some way to get in touch with her. She’s due soon. See if you can find proof. See what she puts on the birth certificate. Get hospital or doctor’s records. Find a way to get the baby’s DNA. Put your ear to the ground; see what peop
le are saying. Find anything you can. I need to get a leg up. I’m desperate.”
Hector leaned over and put a hand on Ted’s shoulder. “I will do what I can, my friend. It’s not going to be easy, it’s not going to be cheap, and it will be dangerous.”
“Look, do whatever it takes. I have money. Just let me know what you need.”
Hector shook his head. “Money isn’t the problem. Who will be the father to my children, the husband to my wife, if this goes badly?”
Half an hour later, Ted sat on the edge of the hotel bed and stared at his cell phone. He hated to lean on Chris again, but he had to make the call.
He pushed the speed-dial buttons on the phone and listened to the ring.
“Ted. Where are you?” his friend answered. “What’s going on?”
“Hey, amigo. I’m in La Paz.” He heard a little intake of air on Chris’s side. “I’m trying to get in contact with Maria.”
“Ted …”
“I know. I know.” Ted let out a breath. “I’m not going to try to get back together with her. I’ve given up on that. I need to work out some kind of arrangement so I can see my son.” He could picture Chris rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Can you help me?”
“Ted, how the hell do you think I’m going to help you? You’re a couple thousand miles away in a foreign country. What can I do?”
“You can find me a Mexican lawyer. Someone I can trust. I know that you can’t practice law in Mexico. I need to start some kind of proceedings to allow me visitation with my son.”
Chapter 16
The safe-house buzzed with excitement. This was it. Assad al Allah and his minions stood ready to test their full-scale assault on the Great Satan.
Twenty men sat at computer workstations throughout the five rooms in the house. Soft voices filled with anticipation floated throughout the building.
“My brothers.” Assad stood and shouted loud enough to be heard in all the rooms. “This is it. Today is the first day of the beginning of the Caliphate. Today, we bring The Great Satan to its knees.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”
Nods and murmurs of assent were his reply.
“Muhammed, we start with you. Take down the sewage plants.”
A man at a workstation began typing furiously on his keyboard.
“Caleb, kill Air Traffic Control.”
“Emir, take down the power grid.”
One by one, Assad dictated to his minions to launch the attack.
****
Morning was Mary Beth’s favorite part of the day. Every day started with new promise, new challenges to conquer. Coffee was her top priority. Then came fixing breakfast for the kids.
Her daughter, Dorothy, wandered into the kitchen half asleep.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Mary Beth said.
“Uhnnn …” Dorothy replied.
Mary Beth stood at the sink in her Kent home. The house was located at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by urban sprawl.
She never complained, but it was all she could do to pay the rent. Then came the big promotion. She finally had the chance to save for the kids’ college and maybe even do the remodel she wanted.
A gurgling sound rumbled in the bathroom. She hurried to the door and watched as a spray of brown water erupted from the toilet.
“Aeeeek …” She screamed as the sewage spilled over the edge.
She reached in the cupboard and pulled out a handful of towels. She built a dam at the door to keep the disgusting water from spreading.
She dashed to the bedroom, grabbed her cell phone, and dialed her cousin, the plumber.
“Tommy, you have to come over here,” she shrieked. “The toilet’s backing up all over the floor.”
“I can’t.” Tommy seemed more panicked than Mary Beth. “My toilets are overflowing; the neighbors just came over with the same problem. Anita says the drains and man-hole covers in the street are backing up with sewage.”
“What do I do?” Mary Beth screamed into her phone. “How do I stop this?”
“I don’t know. The shit is hitting the fan all over the city. Get out of your apartment. Get to high ground; you don’t want to be stuck in this shit. The kids are in school, right? The school’ll take care of them.”
The phone went silent.
****
Candace loved Seattle. After growing up in rural Idaho, she loved the hustle and bustle of the city. She loved the cosmopolitan atmosphere. She loved the diversity.
However driving in the city was a suicide mission. Like most Seattleites, she drove to work each day. It took anywhere from a half hour to two hours, depending on traffic. Fortunately, she could afford a nice car. The sound system on her Escalade was amazing.
She was supposed to pick up her parents at the airport after work. They had tickets on an Alaska Airlines flight from Boise, but the flight had been canceled. They had to drive the twelve hours to reach Seattle. She looked forward to seeing her parents. She hadn’t seen them since the previous Thanksgiving and was anxious to hear how her sisters and nieces and nephews were doing.
The traffic signal ahead of her turned yellow. The car in the other lane sped up to beat the red, but Candace slowed and stopped.
The light was red for an instant before it turned green. She started into the intersection when she noticed a car speeding at her on the left. She slammed on her brakes.
The other car blew its horn and tried to stop, but it was too late. It T-boned Candace’s Cadillac and pushed her into the other lane. The car in the next lane swerved to miss Candace and slammed into a cargo van.
Horns blared from the three collisions in the intersection. Cars backed up. Police sirens wailed.
****
Annie Lindberg sat in her beat-up Chevy waiting for traffic to move. The radio switched from soft rock to a news announcement.
“We bring you a special traffic report now from Chopper 7. Dianne, what’s going on?”
Annie listened to the broadcast over the thump-thump-thump of the helicopter’s blades.
“Well, Jodie, traffic is at a standstill throughout the city. It seems that the traffic control system has gone down, putting all traffic signals on green. There have been multiple crashes around the city. Most intersections are blocked, and traffic is not moving.”
Annie looked at her watch. 3:00 pm. She was stuck. Nothing moved in any direction. A blue bank bag sat on the floor on the passenger side. What do I do? She was on the way to the bank with yesterday’s deposit from her restaurant, Aunt Annie’s Pancake House.
Obviously she was going nowhere. Should she leave her car and walk back to the restaurant? Could she make it back in time for the dinner rush? Would there even be a dinner rush with the streets clogged? And how about the money? Did she dare walk around carrying three thousand dollars?
****
“Asiana flight one-three-four-one, this is SFX Approach Control.”
Huang Hua, a Chinese man with short cropped black hair and a tiny mustache picked up the microphone and replied. “Approach Control, Asiana thirteen-forty-one.”
“Thirteen-forty-one, maintain flight level thirty-five and come to a heading of …”
“Approach Control, thirteen-forty-one. Please repeat.” Huang held the microphone in his hand, close to his lips.
There was no reply.
He waited a few seconds.
“San Francisco Approach Control, this is Asiana flight thirteen-forty-one. Do you read me?”
Silence.
He turned to his co-pilot. “Padma, check the backup radio.”
“Already done. No response from ATC.”
“Could they be off the air?”
Moments before, Huang was the happiest man in China. His first trans-Pacific flight in a new Boeing 747. What could go wrong?
“All aircraft on San Francisco Approach Control, this is Asiana flight thirteen-forty-one. Can you make contact with Approach Control?”
More silence.
/>
“What’s going on?” Padma asked. “Maybe we should try another frequency.”
“Good idea.” Huang switched the radio frequency to the San Francisco Tower.
“San Francisco Tower, this is Asiana flight thirteen-forty-one. I’ve lost contact with Approach Control. Do you read me?”
Silence.
“What the hell’s going on?” Huang turned to his co-pilot. He felt a herd of butterflies attacking his stomach.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But we can’t monkey around here for long. With those headwinds, we’re running short on fuel.”
Huang tried San Francisco Ground Control and got no response. He tried the channels for other nearby airports with the same results.
“Okay, here’s what I know.” He felt the moistness in the palms of his hands. “We have no radio contact anywhere. We’re low on fuel and have to land. I’m thinking we need to continue our approach to San Francisco.”
Padma closed her eyes and said a prayer to her ancestors. “I concur. I’ll plot a course that brings us in on downwind for runway 10R.”
Huang began the big plane’s descent and informed the flight crew of the issue.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Huang spoke into the intercom. “We are beginning our descent into San Francisco International Airport. Please return to your seats and follow the fight crew’s instructions.
Both Huang and Padma’s heads were on swivels, looking out their cockpit windows for other traffic.
“I’ve got a 737 on the starboard side,” Padma said. “He’s slightly above us on a parallel course.”
“Thank you. Keep an eye on him.”
The altimeter showed them descending through twenty-thousand feet. The coastline was clear in their windshield.
Huang took a deep breath. It’s beautiful. Will this be the last time I see it?
“This takes me back to primary flight training,” Padma said. “We’ll enter downwind at twelve hundred feet.”
“Roger that. Maintain speed of one-six-oh knots.”
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