“Whose name should I put on my lawsuit?” Gary sniffed.
“Burt Rogers. What are you? A lawyer?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Mr. Rogers,” said Mildred, “where are the terminals located?”
“To our left,” said Rogers.
“How do you know?” asked Gary. “You can’t see a thing in this pea soup.”
“I took a compass fix in the cockpit. Is that OK with you, counselor?”
An explosion ripped through the air to Halverson’s right. Halverson flinched, as did everybody else in the crowd. Reacting as he had been trained to in black ops, Halverson hit the ground.
Rogers followed suit, yelling, “Everybody down!”
Their plane was exploding. Metal chunks from its fuselage hurled through the air, whistling above the passengers. Twenty-foot jagged tongues of yellow and orange flames flicked skyward behind the scrim of smog.
“Where’s the airport emergency crew?” Tom asked in consternation, flat on his stomach on the tarmac.
Rogers shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t raise anyone in the control tower. Communications are out. We’ve got to find out what’s happening here.”
“It’s like this place is deserted.”
“It makes no sense,” said Halverson, still prostrate on the tarmac with the rest of the passengers. “Unless—”
“Unless what?” asked Tom.
Halverson said nothing. He didn’t want to panic anyone. In any case, it would have been speculation on his part. When all was said and done he had no clue as to what was happening here. It was best not to say anything, he decided.
“Maybe my girlfriend knows,” said Tom.
He withdrew his cell phone from his trouser pocket. He punched out her number. He looked frustrated.
“What’s wrong?” asked Halverson.
“I can’t get through.”
Halverson pulled out his cell phone. He attempted to call his brother. No soap. The call would not go through.
“What about you?” asked Tom, watching Halverson. “Any luck?”
Halverson shook his head.
“What’s wrong with this place?” asked Tom. “Doesn’t anything work around here?”
The rumbling from the blast was dying down.
Groaning, Rogers got to his feet. “My knees aren’t what they used to be.” With the back of his hands he brushed the dirt off the front of his shirt and the thighs of his black pant legs. He faced the passengers. “We need to be moving out. Let’s head for the terminals.”
The passengers grumbled. Anxiously, they stood up, wiping themselves off.
“Does anybody have any idea what’s going on here?” asked Tom in exasperation.
Nobody answered.
Instead, in the back of the crowd somebody screamed.
CHAPTER THREE
Halverson squinted through the smog to see who had screamed. He could not make out anyone who appeared to be in pain. Of the few nearby faces that he could distinguish, the expressions ranged from bewilderment to outright fear.
“Who screamed?” he asked nobody in particular.
“I don’t know,” said Tom. “I can’t see a thing through this smog junk. It sounded like somebody way in the back.”
“Are you sure it was a person?” asked Gary.
“What else would it be?” asked Tom.
“It could’ve been a gull calling. They cry out pretty loud. We’re near the coast, where they hang out.”
“I don’t see any gulls,” said Tom, looking up. “For that matter, I don’t see anything.”
“It sounded like a person to me,” said Halverson.
“It wasn’t any gull,” said Mildred. “I know a human voice when I hear it. What kind of gull would be flying in this stuff. They couldn’t see where they’re going.”
“Is everybody OK?” called out Rogers to the crowd.
“Yeah,” said somebody in the back.
Halverson could not make out who was speaking.
“Were you the one who screamed?” Rogers asked the man.
“No.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“No.”
“He’s a big help whoever he is,” Mildred told Rogers.
“Well, the screaming’s stopped,” said Rogers.
“Why not do a roll call and find out if anyone’s missing?”
“I don’t know everybody’s name. Besides, we don’t have the time.” Rogers raised his voice so the rest of the crowd could hear him. “Let’s shake a leg. I don’t want to stand out here all day.”
“Works for me,” said Tom.
Rogers set out for the terminals.
Halverson heard another ear-piercing shriek. And another. And another.
Halverson wheeled around at the screams, seeking their sources. He could not make out any kind of disturbance through the smog.
Halverson caught Rogers looking in the same direction.
“What’s going on back there?” Rogers yelled.
The only answer he got was another hair-raising scream.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Gary. “There’s no point in lollygagging here. We have no idea what’s happening back there. I, for one, don’t want to stand here and wait to find out.”
Rogers nodded. “Let’s get over to the terminals. Maybe the air is clearer there and we can see what’s happening.”
The crowd followed Rogers.
Fitful screams punctuated the passengers’ trek to the terminals.
“Those screams are getting on my nerves,” said Tom.
“Join the club,” said Mildred.
“Let’s get the lead out,” said Rogers, overhearing their conversation, as was Halverson. Rogers quickened his pace.
The passengers bustled after him.
Not wanting to lose sight of Rogers, Halverson strode after him.
The passengers bunched together so they would not get left behind, Halverson could see. They knew if they lost sight of the person next to them they would become disoriented and straggle behind in the smog. And willy-nilly they would no doubt find out what that screaming was all about. They were all on the same page, decided Halverson.
At last they reached a location where the visibility was marginally better.
Halverson could make out the air traffic control tower looming up ahead, it looked like. His probing eyes were greeted by a disturbing sight.
A middle-aged man crashed out the plate-glass window girdling the top floor of the twenty-two-story round building and plummeted to the tarmac, shrieking in agony. The man slammed into the tarmac. His glasses shattered against the pavement. Blood spilled out of his head and pooled beneath him.
At Halverson’s side, Mildred screamed and held her hands over her eyes.
“What in the hell?” muttered Rogers, taken aback.
“Is that an air traffic controller?” asked Tom, his face contorted with anxiety.
“Probably. That’s the control tower.”
“It looked like he ran through the plate-glass window,” said Halverson. He still could not believe his eyes.
“What in the name of all that’s holy would cause a man to run through a plate-glass window to certain death?” said Rogers.
Rooted to the spot, he gawked at the bleeding air traffic controller whose body sprawled at impossible angles on the tarmac.
“Maybe it’s the same thing that’s causing all those screams behind us,” said Mildred.
“I don’t want to find out,” said Gary. “Let’s beat it.”
“I thought you said nobody was in the control tower,” Tom told Rogers.
“No,” said Rogers. “That’s not what I said. I said we couldn’t raise them on the radio.”
“What difference does it make?” said Gary.
“There might be more people in there,” said Tom.
“So what? I don’t know about you, but I have no desire at all to find out what’s going on in that place.”
At that moment, a woman wearing her red hair in a bun and clad in a kelly green dress, crashed screaming through the control tower’s plate-glass window and plunged to the ground. Her back thudded against the tarmac not ten feet from where her presumed coworker lay. Blood spilled out of her broken skull, her mouth a rictus of horror.
“We need to go in there,” Halverson told Rogers. “This may be a terrorist attack of some kind.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” said Gary. “How can we fight terrorists? That’s the job of the police. We’re not a bunch of gun-slinging SWAT cops here.”
Halverson watched Rogers weighing his options. Rogers looked undecided.
Just then a sonorous explosion rocked the tarmac.
Halverson winced. The loudness of the blast deafened him. He could not hear. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He could see mouths moving. He read Gary’s lips.
“Now what?” said Gary’s mouth, it looked like to Halverson.
Halverson felt his hearing coming back. It felt like wads of balled-up cotton falling out of his ear canals, followed by a sucking sound.
He heard Rogers say, “I’m afraid to say this, but it might have been another plane crashing. That’s what I’ve been worrying about ever since we landed.”
“If it’s another plane crash, why aren’t the airport emergency personnel heading out there this very minute?” asked Tom.
Rogers gazed up at the control tower. “They may be busy doing something else.”
“You think they’re in the control tower?”
“We’re gonna find out.”
“You’re out of your mind!” cried Gary. “You’ll get us all killed.”
“We’re gonna need weapons,” said Rogers. “That’s for sure.”
“Where’s the sky marshal?” asked Halverson.
Rogers scanned the crowd. “Ray?” he called out. “Ray Purdy, where are you?”
A burly, dark-haired man with long wavy hair that trailed over his ears wended his way forward through the crowd. To Halverson, Ray Purdy looked to be in his thirties. Too, he looked like he could handle himself.
“Over here, Burt,” said Ray, approaching.
“You got a gun?” asked Rogers, knowing the answer in advance.
Ray nodded.
“We’ll need you up front then,” said Rogers.
“What’s this all about?”
“The control tower is under attack,” said Halverson. “Maybe terrorists.”
Ray looked at Rogers. “Is that right?”
“Something ugly is going on inside there,” answered Rogers. “We’re going inside to check it out. We’re gonna need firepower, though. How many guns you got?”
“Just one.”
Ray lifted the bottom of his jacket to display a pistol in a Velcro holster on his hip.
Rogers shook his head. “I have a feeling we’ll need a lot more than that.”
“Looks like a Sig Sauer P226,” said Halverson with admiration.
Ray nodded. “A lot of stopping power.”
“You sound like you’ve been around guns,” Rogers told Halverson.
“A little,” said Halverson.
“That’ll come in handy. We can use you. What’s your name?” Rogers held out his big paw.
It looked to Halverson big enough to be a quarterback’s hand.
“Chad,” said Halverson. He shook Rogers’s meaty hand. “Is there some place we can get guns at this airport?”
Rogers thought about it.
“What about the airport security personnel’s office?” suggested Ray. “They ought to have arms there.”
“Let’s go there first thing,” said Rogers.
“And there must an office for Homeland Security,” said Halverson. “Do you know where that’s located?”
“Yeah. We’ll hit both offices.”
“Hold your horses,” said Gary. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Rogers gave Gary a look.
“We’re not a bunch of commandos,” Gary explained. “We’re civilians. Most of us here probably haven’t ever fired a gun in our entire life.”
“Then it’s high time you learned.”
Rogers headed toward the nearest terminal.
“Maybe all of us don’t want to charge into that control tower with guns blazing!” yelled Gary after him.
Rogers pulled up. He turned toward Gary. “What if those terrorists or whoever they are decide to attack us? I’ll bet you learn how to fire a gun real fast when somebody comes at you trying to kill you.”
Grudgingly, Gary followed the rest of the passengers as they banded behind Rogers.
Mildred jogged up to Rogers’s side. “If that was a plane crashing behind us, shouldn’t we go over there and try to help the passengers?”
“If we don’t take back that control tower on the double, there could be a lot more plane crashes,” said Rogers. “First things first. We secure the tower. Then we help any injured passengers we can find.”
Detaching himself from her, Rogers strode at a brisk clip forward.
Gary came up to Mildred. “He’s going to get us all killed. We’re dead meat with him leading us.”
Mildred rolled her eyes at him. She hurried after Rogers.
“You’ll see,” said Gary. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. We’re dead men walking.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Halverson followed Rogers into the terminal. Warily, they entered on the ground floor. None of the passengers or crew knew what to expect after their experience at the air traffic control tower.
Halverson and Rogers walked by a motionless baggage carousel. Suitcases lay helter-skelter on the metal surface of the carousel as well as on the rubber conveyor belt that led to the center of the carousel. The overhead fluorescent strip lights were out. It was hard to make out much of anything on account of the dimness.
“The power must be out,” said Rogers.
“Why?” asked Halverson.
“Maybe it has something to do with this smog or whatever it is. It sure smells like smoke to me.”
“Where is everybody?”
The terminal looked like a ghost town.
“I’ve been thinking about that smog,” said Tom. He tried his cell phone again with the same lack of results as before. “What if that smog stuff is smoke from a nearby fire? Maybe they evacuated the airport on account of a fire.”
“And the fire could have burned down the local cell towers so we can’t place our calls,” said Halverson.
“Makes sense,” said Rogers. “I can’t think of any other reason why this place would be deserted. The airport’s never deserted. 24/7 there’s always somebody here.” He scoured the dusky terminal. “I don’t see a soul.”
“It’s giving me the creeps,” said Mildred.
“But a fire doesn’t explain what’s going on in the control tower,” said Halverson.
“Maybe it’s looters taking advantage of the fire,” said Tom.
“Why would people jump through plate-glass windows to certain death to escape looters?”
“I think we need to go on the assumption it’s some kind of terrorist assault,” said Rogers. “Somebody scared the bejesus out of those people in the tower.”
“For all we know, the terrorists could have started the fire that crippled the airport,” said Halverson. “They might also be jamming our cell phones.”
“Good point. It would be a smart defensive tactic to jam the enemy’s line of communications.”
Rogers made a beeline for the Homeland Security office.
“I thought we were going to the airport security office first,” said Tom.
“This place is closer,” said Rogers. “Let’s check it out now.”
He approached the black door of the Homeland Security office. He tried the doorknob. He was surprised to feel it turn in his hand.
“I thought it might be locked,” he said. He opened the door.
Halverson followed Roger
s into the office. There were loose papers strewn all over a metal desk that faced the door.
Halverson and Rogers inspected the deserted office. To the surprise of no one, they didn’t see any guns lying around.
Halverson walked up to a black door that led to another room. He tried to turn the metal doorknob. It didn’t budge.
“Maybe this is the storage room for their ordnance,” he said.
Rogers nodded.
Halverson stepped away from the door. He knew on TV they always showed actors crashing into a locked door with their shoulders and bursting it open. He knew better than that. You were just asking for a broken collarbone pulling a stunt like that.
Halverson spared his shoulder and used his foot. He launched a powerful kick with his right foot that connected with the door just below the knob. When his foot landed he realized the door wasn’t constructed of wood but of metal. The door shuddered on impact but didn’t give.
“Steel door,” he said. “This must be the place. You don’t happen to see any keys lying around.”
Rogers rummaged through the desk drawers. “Not offhand.”
Halverson prepared to unleash another kick. He gave it all he had. Hearing the doorjamb splinter, he saw the door rock in its wooden frame. He kicked again. The door flew open, as the doorjamb creaked with shivering wood.
Halverson and Rogers entered the storage room. There were plenty of guns as well as ammo for the picking.
“Bingo!” exclaimed Rogers. A smile cracked his rugged face. “Let’s hear it for Homeland Security.”
Gary squeezed his potbelly through the open doorway into the ordnance room.
“I think we’re overreacting,” he said.
“I don’t care what you think,” said Rogers, not even turning to look at Gary.
“Let’s think about this a minute,” said Gary.
Rogers glanced at him. “What do we need to think about? We got the firepower now to overpower the terrorists in the control tower.”
“How many passengers were on our plane?”
Rogers recalled the flight manifest. “Over two hundred.”
“Are there over two hundred guns here?”
Rogers scoured the room. “I doubt it.”
“Then we can’t all storm the control tower with guns blazing. Face the facts, man. Half of us might end up shooting ourselves in the process. We’d be more danger to ourselves than to the terrorists or whatever they are.”
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