Flight 12 to Rome: A Nick Bracco Novella

by Gary Ponzo

  “And the coastline?”

  “Homeland Security has it under control. Nothing unannounced can get within fifty miles of shore without a fighter pilot on scene.”

  Schaffer walked over to the window again and tried to put it together. The Department of Justice would have access to the naval ships and Coast Guard, and as the head of the FBI’s counterterrorism program, Walt could use all of his assets on this search.

  “Walt, are we getting assistance from Interpol?”

  “Absolutely. They’ve given us full range of compliance from Iceland all the way to Italy.”

  For some reason Schaffer decided to lower his voice for the next question. “And you’re handling everything yourself?”

  “We’ve got the command center right here in my office.”

  Schaffer turned to see his staff busy tracking information on their devices.

  “All right,” Schaffer said. “Please keep me updated.”

  “How long until the press conference?”

  Schaffer looked at the digital clock on the wall. “Twelve minutes.”

  “Good. Tell them everything you know.”

  Schaffer blinked. “Walt, I don’t know anything.”

  “Exactly. You tell them the model of the plane, when it was manufactured, how many flight hours it had. Anything you can conjure up that’ll keep the press talking through the next news cycle. We’ll have something within twenty-four hours.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’m not, but it’s my job to be confident and to lead with conviction. Times like this someone has to be the lightning rod and take the hits.”

  “Are you suggesting I be the lightning rod?”

  “No, no,” Walt said with a soft tone. “Hank, I have good people on this. I have an entire team of agents who are specialists in predictive analytics. You give them your name, age, place of birth and they’ll tell you what type of coffee you drink.”

  Schaffer looked down at his ice-cold cup sitting there on his desk. “I could use someone who can tell me where this damn plane is.”

  “Just keep your composure. You need to look concerned, but not frantic. Make sure you have an ample supply of grief counselors available to any family members.”

  “Walt, are you coaching me?”

  “I’m trying to help. Right now you’re the face of the event. Once it heads in another direction, I’ll gladly take your place.”

  “And you know we’re heading that way, don’t you?”

  There was silence.

  “Which means,” Schaffer deduced, “that I can’t deny what I haven’t been told.”

  More silence.

  Schaffer sighed. “All right, Walt. I’ll keep this investigation open and I’ll update you every hour.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When Schaffer hung up, he realized he’d agreed to keep the FBI updated during the conversation, but not once did Walt agree to update the FAA.

  “Isn’t that about right?” Schaffer murmured to himself.

  Chapter 11

  With the plane door open and the humidity seeping into the cabin, Nick had to pull the sticky shirt from his torso. They were somewhere tropical for sure. Even the soldiers Bennett employed to meet them at the island wore sombreros to keep the sun from their neck and face.

  Bennett had everyone getting off the plane without explanation. It was the lack of explanation that concerned Nick. A guy like Bennett loved to document his every move and now there was a conspicuous silence to the deplaning process. The passengers were told to descend the ladder onto the tarmac and move into a fenced-in area off to the side of the runway.

  As they were ushered single file down the aisle toward the door, Bennett monitored the proceedings with his arms folded across his chest. Part of Bennett’s plan seemed to involve splitting up Nick and Weston, who was already on the tarmac, while Nick sat next to Jess in the front row. Even Jess had a suspicious tenor to her note-taking, occasionally looking outside the window while jotting down her thoughts.

  Kyle Church stood behind Bennett with his gun at his side, but appearing eager to do something with it.

  “The world is a much safer place now,” Bennett said while staring out the open door.

  “You keep saying that,” Nick said. “I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince—me or you.”

  Bennett said nothing. He kept his attention strictly on the tarmac, as if something unforeseen might ruin his precious plans.

  “Why not allow the FBI to secure this device and make sure no one ever has the ability to use it?”

  “I never told you what government is purchasing the device,” Bennett said. “Don’t assume I’m a rogue vendor selling this to the highest bidder. I have a very specific strategy in place that would force rival nations to negotiate for peace.”

  Nick recognized the expression on the guy’s face. It was the same expression he’d seen from incoming senators and congressmen. They all seemed to have this naïve notion that diplomacy was such a simple structure once everyone saw things from their perspective. It was the flawed view of a narrow-minded CEO who spent his days surrounded by sycophants telling him what a genius he was.

  “Mr. Bennett,” Nick said, “I’m not trying to throw water on your plans to save the world, but as hard as it is to imagine, there are people out there who aren’t interested in peace. And threatening them with annihilation would not be a deterrent.”

  Bennett nodded slightly, the concept lingering just outside the range of his comprehension. A brilliant businessman with an inexperienced view of the world.

  “Would you like to know the truth about D.B Cooper?” Nick asked.

  This got Bennett’s attention. He glared at Nick with laser focus. “What about him?”

  “We eventually found the money,” Nick said bluntly. “Every single dollar.”

  Bennett waited, then finally asked, “And what about Cooper?”

  Nick shrugged. “Our specialists assumed he died out in the wilderness of the Northwest.”

  “But he could’ve survived.”

  “Possible.”

  “Then he got away with it.”

  “With what?”

  “He pulled it off. The greatest crime of the century.”’

  Nick wasn’t exactly dealing with a clearly thinking conscious. “He hijacked a plane for a couple of hours. That’s it. I wouldn’t exactly put that down as the crime of the century.”

  “Yes, but here’s the thing,” Bennett said, gaining momentum. “At the time, the banks were the enemy. He was a folk hero who stole from the establishment.”

  Nick couldn’t help himself. “I’m sorry, but you’re living in a fantasy world. A world where your employees rub your feet and whisper the exact words you want to hear on a daily basis.”

  The line to exit the plane was dwindling and Bennett seemed to gain a sense of urgency. He looked directly at Jess and said, “I want you to note that I made sure no one was injured during this operation.”

  “I’ll mention that at your hearing,” Nick quipped.

  “Now who’s living in a fantasy world, Agent Bracco?”

  The final passenger got to her knees and looked down at the distance to the tarmac. She was a well-dressed woman in her early fifties. Stylish and scared.

  “That’s a long way,” she said, tugging down on her skirt to gain a little dignity.

  “It’s quite all right, ma’am,” Bennett said, taking her hand and offering to guide her onto the ladder.

  “I’m quite capable,” she snapped, then turned and lowered her right leg onto one of the top rungs.

  Bennett watched her descend, then motioned for Jess to exit as well. He followed her down the ladder, but before his head was completely out of sight, he looked at Kyle and said, “Make it quick.”

  Once they were alone, Kyle Church stretched out his gun and aimed it directly at Nick’s face.

  Nick suddenly realized what Bennett’s last comment meant. His throat tigh
tened and instinctively he moved into survival mode. One moment at a time.

  “What are you doing?” Nick asked with a shaky voice.

  Kyle’s face matured into sinister blend of FBI agent and assassin. His hair was matted to his temples, and beads of sweat bubbled his forehead.

  “They gave me a name,” Kyle said in a monotone. “Guess who they said ordered the kill on Kristin?”

  Nick’s heart hammered the inside of his chest. His mouth was completely dry.

  “That’s . . . just brilliant,” Nick stammered. “Of course you know that’s a lie of convenience. Bennett keeps his hands clean while you do his dirty work.”

  There was a moment of hesitation so clear that Nick felt Kyle might’ve been pulling a fast one on Bennett. But that only lasted until he placed the tip of his pistol on Nick’s forehead.

  Nick shut his eyes and readied himself. “You can’t possibly believe him, Kyle. You just can’t.”

  The next two words out of Kyle’s mouth made Nick lightheaded.

  “I don’t,” Kyle said.

  Nick opened his eyes in time to see Kyle wave his gun toward the ladder. “I just thought I’d throw it out there in case you decided to confess.”

  Nick wiped the moisture from his face. “Don’t ever do that again, Kyle. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “That was the idea.”

  Nick leaned over, elbows on his knees, and took deep breaths.

  “It’s not so much fun when you don’t have Matt as your wing man, or Stevie furnishing you with toys to play with.”

  Nick realized just how much Kyle knew about Nick’s inner circle, referencing his partner Matt McColm and Stevie Gilpin, his top analyst.

  Nick got up and moved carefully toward the open door. “You’re putting your money on the wrong horse.”

  Kyle chuckled. “At least mine’s still in the race.”

  Nick latched onto the top of the ladder and twisted around to feel his foot catch on the third rung. As he climbed down, he saw the rest of the passengers being herded into the fenced-in area. A cyclone fence with leaves attached to bamboo poles across the top of the structure to hide it from satellite images.

  It was when Nick had reached the tarmac that he gained a full appreciation for the details of the operation. Long strands of rope were tossed over the fuselage with green plants and undergrowth attached to disguise it from any overhead observation.

  “Very nice,” Nick said to Bennett, who was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder. The sun was just coming over the horizon and the small island had a constant breeze flowing over the tiny protruding piece of land.

  The CEO tugged down on his cuffs again and ran a hand through his long stylish hair. “We did not overlook any detail.”

  There was a second aircraft sitting beside the 767, a smaller plane that looked like a Gulfstream. At the same time the soldiers were removing the ropes full of plants that were draped over the Gulfstream, the others were tossing the same ropes over the 767.

  Nick marveled at the synchronized manner in which men in camouflage gear moved around the tarmac with precise choreography.

  Bennett must’ve caught Nick’s fascination with his team.

  “They’ve been training for over a year, Agent Bracco. I wouldn’t expect anything less from them.”

  “Sure,” Nick said, glancing overhead at the empty skies above them.

  “There are no flights scheduled to cross these skies for the next five days,” Bennett added. “Satellites don’t cover this area for another fifteen hours. That’s probably twelve hours more than we need.”

  Bennett began walking to the open door of the fenced-in area. A large five-thousand-foot square of dirt surrounded by an extremely secure chain-link fence. The rest of the passengers looked at Nick impatiently, as if he was their hope to surviving the situation.

  Once inside the cage, Bennett shut the door and Nick spotted a black box attached to the lock. On the box was an LED with a countdown flashing across its screen starting from 3:00 hours and counting down by the second, 2:59:59, 2:59:58 . . .

  “What’s with the countdown?” Nick asked.

  “Not to worry,” Bennett assured him. “Once the timer counts down to zero, that lock will unlatch and you will be free to start up the jet and fly away. It will give us plenty of time for our escape.” He pointed to a stack of water bottles in the center of the facility next to a large cardboard box. “There’s also water and snacks to keep you nourished before you resume your flight to Rome.” Again Bennett looked at Jess as he said, “Just another consideration I’ve added to the mix.”

  Once again Jess furiously jotted down annotations into her notebook. Everything seemed normal. There were no guards with machine guns, ordering people around. It seemed as if the entire operation was designed to keep the passengers behaving in an orderly fashion, and therefore less time was wasted on the process of leaving.

  There was a loud whining noise coming from the Gulfstream as the engines came to life. The rest of Bennett’s team began boarding as Kyle Church remained behind Bennett, almost as his personal bodyguard.

  “Mr. Bennett,” Nick said, “you’re not D.B. Cooper. You will be found.”

  The CEO turned to Nick and smiled. He patted the inside pocket of his jacket presumably where he’d kept the device “Agent Bracco, you have my sincerest sympathy.”

  Nick didn’t like that comment. He turned to see the gathering of passengers all milling around him like a magnet. There were very few young children. Mostly older people and families. They stared at the timer and spewed a cacophony of ideas out there:

  “We need to kick at the poles until one of them gives.”

  “What if that thing’s really a bomb?”

  “We can dig a hole with our shoes and tunnel our way out.”

  Nick held up a hand. “Please, people,” he said loudly, “we’ll be fine.”

  A crowd of younger men were gathering along the side of the fence facing the tarmac, their hands gripping the metal wires to gauge its strength.

  “Relax,” Nick shouted over the noise. “Please, there’s no reason for panic.”

  “How do you know?” one of them yelled. “Who put you in charge?”

  That only started a larger shouting match.

  Kirk Weston emerged from the crowd and came up to Nick. “Things are not what they appear.”

  “How’s that?” Nick asked.

  “See those trees over there?” Weston pointed to a couple of lone palm trees just outside the perimeter of the fence. “Those pale marks on their trunks are water lines.”

  Jess seemed to understand even before Nick did. “Oh no,” she uttered, putting her notebook by her side for the first time since the takeover.

  “What?” Nick asked.

  Weston said, “We’re currently at low tide.”

  That’s when it hit Nick. He looked up and saw the height of the top of the fence. It was easily three feet below the water marks on the trees.”

  “Jeesh,” Nick said, then looked at the timer. “That thing is nothing but a timer.”

  “That’s all it is,” Weston said. “Once high tide comes in, we’ll all drown. That timer is just there to keep us pacified so we don’t take action.” Weston grabbed one of the poles holding up the fence. “Not that we could do anything about it.”

  The Gulfstream was now taxiing to the far end of the runway, needing to takeoff into the prevailing wind just the way the 767 had needed it to land.

  Among the crowd, Nick caught the eye of one of the pilots from the Flight 12 and waved him over.

  “Can you fly that 767 to Rome from here?” Nick asked.

  The pilot looked confused. “Um, I suppose. Depending on where we are, of course.”

  “You know where we are?” Jess asked Nick.

  Nick shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  “Then why are you asking questions like that? You’re going to get people’s hopes up for no reason.”

  The Gu
lfstream ramped up its engines and began heading down the tarmac. Slowly at first, then speeding up as it reached the tail end of the runway, the pilot pulling up the nose just thirty yards before they reached the camouflaged 767.

  Nick looked down at Jess and her idle hands. “How come you stopped writing?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “What?”

  “It seems like you’ve given up,” Nick said. “That’s not like you.”

  Jess just watched the Gulfstream taking off as if her favorite pet was abandoning her.

  Nick watched the jet as well, but he kept his attention on a different section of the horizon.

  “What are you looking at?” Jess asked.

  Nick spotted something and held out his hand. “Can I please have my pen back?”

  Jess seemed to hesitate, looking down at the pen with curiosity. “Why?”

  Nick finally turned to look at her. “I keep hearing that I’m at a loss without my gadgets or my partner,” he said, taking the pen from her hand and pulling up on the barrel until it telescoped up six inches. He pressed the lever on the side of the pen and spoke into the microphone embedded into the casing.

  “Are you there, partner?” he asked.

  “I’m here,” Matt McColm said. “We’re three miles out right now.”

  Nick squinted into the sky. “I see you.”

  “Anyone need medical attention?”

  “We’re okay.”

  When Nick was spotted talking into a pen, the crowd seemed to sense the line of communication and they all followed Nick’s gaze into the morning sky.

  “I see a plane!” a young man shouted.

  Screams of joy and excitement filled the island.

  The fence began to pulsate from passengers pushing and pulling with excitement. Out of the northwest came a low-flying 747 banking around the island with the Department of Justice logo attached to the side.

  “You see the Gulfstream taking off?” Nick asked his partner.

  “I see it.”

  “Why don’t you stay with him and send someone else to come get us?”

  “No need,” Matt said. “I’ve brought some friends along to help with an escort.”

  Just then a loud rumble exploded overhead as two F-16 fighter jets blasted past the island, causing the passengers to duck in surprise. The F-16s were heading in the exact direction the Gulfstream was headed. It took only a few seconds before the crowd began to chant, “USA, USA . . .”