Free Fall

by Rick Mofina

  It telegraphed a problem.

  Cole saw that one of the other security guards was taking a longer look at him. Cole looked away for several seconds, but when he looked back the guard was still looking at him—directly at him.

  * * *

  A collision course! Dear God, they did it. They’ve breached the system.

  Jake Hooper rushed from the emergency meeting to his desk, stunned by the horror playing out over the sky, refusing to believe Robert Cole would engineer such devastation.

  How can we stop it?

  The nation’s best experts with the NTSB, the FAA, the military, the airlines, the planes’ makers, were all frantically searching for solutions that would release the cyber stranglehold that had locked the jets on a death course.

  Nothing was working.

  Jet fighters were getting into position to take whatever action the White House advised.

  Impact was less than forty minutes away.

  More than eleven hundred people would die.

  The FBI was on-site in Colorado, minutes from moving in on Seth Hagen and Cole’s daughter.

  Is there time to stop what’s been orchestrated?

  Hooper racked his brain for a solution. It was futile. Whatever he’d thought of had already been conveyed to the crews by the Air Route Traffic Control Centers, and nothing was working.

  Hooper glanced at the time: thirty-eight minutes to impact. His line rang and he seized it.

  “Hooper.”

  “Security, sir. I’ve got Robert Cole at the desk for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Robert Cole. He says it’s urgent.”

  Hooper’s pulse rocketed.

  “Don’t let him leave! I’ll be right down! Hold him there!”

  * * *

  “Sir,” Atley said to Cole upon hanging up, “your card’s expired.”

  “Expired?”

  “Yes, would you—”

  “Let me take a look.” The guard who’d been staring at Cole held out his hand for Cole’s ID. He studied it, then the pages posted near the computer. His sharp blue eyes flicked to Cole, then to the pages, then to Cole.

  Both men knew.

  Cole’s stomach clenched and he took a step back from the desk.

  The guard very subtly shifted his weight while unsnapping the button strap of his holster.

  “Sir, get down on the floor, on your stomach,” the older guard said.

  Cole didn’t move.

  In one smooth motion the guard drew his gun from his holster and leveled it at Cole’s head.

  “Get on the floor now!”

  A woman screamed. People nearby backed away as Cole dropped to his knees, raising his open hands.

  “Please, I have to see Jake Hooper! It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Atley, move your ass! Cuff him!” the older guard said.

  “You don’t understand,” Cole said.

  Atley rose from her seat and moved behind Cole, pushing his stomach flat on the floor, and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. The older guard replaced his gun in his holster and spoke quickly into the shoulder microphone of his radio. Then he helped heft Cole to his feet and moved him around the security desk toward a small office, just as Hooper emerged.

  “Jake!” Cole called to him. “Jake, it’s my daughter and her boyfriend! They found a point of vulnerability! I can fix it!”

  “Shut up!” the older guard said as his radio crackled a response.

  “Hold on!” Hooper said. “I need to talk to this man!”

  “No,” the guard said. “He’s wanted by the FBI. We’ve just alerted them.”

  “Where’re you taking him?”

  The guard nodded to the small office.

  “Jake, please, let me help! I can fix it!”

  More security people arrived, along with Reed Devlin.

  “Reed,” Hooper said, “Robert says he has the solution!”

  Devlin’s face tensed as he assessed the scene.

  “This man’s wanted by the FBI,” the security supervisor said, “and we’re holding him here. They’re on their way.”

  “Reed,” Hooper said. “Cole can help us and we’re losing time!”

  “Listen to me,” Devlin told the guards. “We’ve got a crisis happening now and we need this man’s expertise immediately. Please hold him in our operations room so we can talk to him. Keep him in custody and watch over him. The NTSB will assume responsibility but we must do it now!”

  As the security supervisor shook his head Devlin stepped closer to him, enabling the security man to read the fear in Devlin’s eyes.

  “We have a thousand lives at stake! Do you want to be the guy history remembers as the one who stood in the way of saving them?” Devlin said.

  The security supervisor’s face whitened.

  “We’re in this together,” Devlin said. “Let’s do this now!”

  The supervisor turned to the guards and nodded.

  “Let’s go. Take him up to the sixth.”

  Seventy-Five

  Grand Junction, Colorado

  “It’s not working.”

  Beads of sweat grew on Lloyd Quinn’s brow as he looked at Shawn Krenski, who was shaking his head.

  Thirty-five minutes ago, they’d learned that their plane, Trans Peak Airlines Flight 2230 from LA to New York, was locked on a collision course with Seattle-bound NorthSun Airlines Flight 118. The time of impact was in thirty-one minutes.

  Both crews had now been alerted and advised not to tell passengers of the situation so as not to risk chaos on the flight. Since the alert, Quinn and Krenski had made countless attempts to regain control of their aircraft.

  “Anything happening with the autopilot?” Joe Brazak, the top engineer for the 880, said from Trans Peak’s headquarters in Seattle.

  “Nothing.”

  “Let’s try that override again.”

  “Roger.” Quinn nodded to Krenski, who issued a sequence of commands but to no avail.

  “Nothing,” Quinn reported, just as his headset beeped with a transmission from the ATCC.

  “TP Twenty-two Thirty, Denver Center. No change to your course.”

  “Twenty-two Thirty. Roger, Center. We’re working on it with engineering.”

  Quinn’s headset beeped again.

  “Try it again but with the reset,” Marty Chan, the systems chief, suggested from Seattle.

  Krenski wiped his sweating fingers on his shirt as he tried the reset without success.

  “Okay,” Brazak said, “try to reduce speed again.”

  “We tried again. Nothing.”

  “Try adjusting altitude.”

  Quinn made yet another effort, which failed, leaving him to curse under his breath and face the fact that they were trapped. Every command was shut out. He had no control of his aircraft as it cut across the sky thirty-six thousand feet above Grand Junction, Colorado.

  They were moving at more than five hundred miles an hour, locked into a course that would end in a midair collision with a Seattle-bound flight in about thirty minutes.

  Quinn looked to the corner of the console, where he’d placed a small photo of Maria, his wife, and Sophie and Ella, their two daughters. It was in keeping with a promise he’d made to himself long ago. If ever he faced something impossible on the job, their faces were the last thing he wanted to see.

  Quinn then looked at the sky ahead.

  God help us.

  Seventy-Six

  Garden City, Kansas

  Captain Will Miller’s jaw muscles spasmed as he gripped the handles of the control wheel and battled his anger with engineering.

  “We’ve run diagnostics three t
imes now!” Miller said. “It’s been futile! You guys have to give us something that works. We’re running out of time!”

  Seattle-bound NorthSun Airlines Flight 118 was high over Garden City, Kansas. Miller and First Officer Sam Zhang had worked in vain to recover control of the Startrail AV600. Engineers from the plane’s builder in São Paulo, Brazil, and US operations in Houston had provided a line of possible remedies over the radio. Each one had failed.

  “NorthSun One Eighteen, this is Kansas City Center. We see no change in your course.”

  “Kansas City Center, nothing’s working for us.”

  “One Eighteen, we’re handing off to NORAD. You’ll find them on the emergency frequency. Good luck, One Eighteen.”

  One minute later, an F-16 appeared on Zhang’s right side, while Miller saw one on his left side.

  The two jet fighters were with the 140th Wing, Colorado Air National Guard out of Buckley Air Force in Aurora.

  “One Twenty Tactical to NorthSun One Eighteen, this is Major Brennan. How do you read?”

  “NorthSun One Eighteen, this is Captain Will Miller. Loud and clear, Major.”

  Miller took a deep breath.

  It was now twenty-three minutes to impact with the New York–bound flight.

  Seventy-Seven

  White River National Forest, Colorado

  Kate’s plane was somewhere over Colorado.

  She had no internet access, of course, underscoring her apprehension that she was missing something. Once she got to New York, she’d track down Robert Cole. She’d already started outlining her story but Cole was the most critical aspect.

  I wish this jet could go faster.

  She looked from her notes to the window, still troubled by Varner’s cryptic response to her about Cole—that they were on the same track and things were unfolding.

  What’s unfolding down there?

  A chime sounded and the seat belt sign illuminated. The in-flight beverage-and-meals-for-purchase service was abruptly halted. Attendants returned service carts with a sense of urgency.

  Another chime sounded, and the captain’s voice rang through the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Quinn.” A long silence passed before the captain cleared his throat. “We request everyone remain in their seats with their belts fastened and refrain from using the washrooms. We have a situation with national security implications...”

  Murmurs rose throughout the cabin.

  “...and as a precaution, you may see military aircraft beside us momentarily. I’m sorry, but we have no further details that we can pass to you at this point.”

  An outcry of dismay, fear and anger erupted among the passengers.

  “What the hell’s going on?” one man shouted as attendants, with worry etched in their faces, patrolled the aisles to confirm all seat belts were fastened. One woman seized an attendant by the arm. “We have a right to know what’s happening!”

  “I’m sorry, but we only know what you know, ma’am.”

  “There they are!” a boy shouted.

  Necks craned as people turned to the windows to see F-16 fighters flying off the wings on either side of the plane. The sight of the military jets a few feet from the jetliner hammered home the gravity of the situation.

  “Oh my God!” One woman made the sign of the cross.

  Attendants pinballed between the emotional trouble spots, comforting passengers, and soon a heavy, silent dread settled over the cabin as families held hands. Some passengers wept softly and others prayed.

  Kate felt all the saliva dry in her mouth as she dropped her head back on her headrest and blinked several times.

  Oh dear God. She gripped her armrests. Is this tied to Zarathustra? Maybe they’ve taken control of the plane.

  Her stomach twisted at the surreal truth of her situation and she acted on the one clear thought she had. She took out her notepad, uncapped her pen and began writing.

  Dear Grace and Vanessa. Right now, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I want you to know you are both the lights of my life...

  Seventy-Eight

  Weld County, Colorado

  In the distance, the sun glinted off windshields and dust rose from the wake of approaching vehicles.

  “They’re coming fast,” Seth said.

  He was the first to spot the police convoys bearing down on them. They came in lines from the north, the south and the east, forming an armored horseshoe, for the west was a slope down to the river with no escape.

  It didn’t matter.

  Veyda and Seth had no need to run.

  “I’m surprised,” Seth said. “They’re faster than we expected.”

  “But not fast enough,” Veyda said.

  The armored trucks stopped within forty yards of them and spewed SWAT teams. Each member took up a shielded position and aimed at them in a C-ring of firepower.

  “FBI! Stand up slowly! Put your hands above your head with palms showing! Now!”

  Curtains of prairie dust floated over Seth and Veyda as they stood slowly and raised their hands.

  “You’re too late!” Seth called to them.

  “What’s done cannot be undone!” Veyda said.

  “Shut up and walk slowly toward us!”

  Seth turned to Veyda.

  “We did it, babe. Yours is the power and the glory at thirty-six thousand feet above us.”

  Tears streamed down Veyda’s face as she nodded and whispered, “We did it. We’ll be immortal.”

  “Start walking now!” an FBI agent shouted.

  “Are you ready?” Seth moved his hand slightly to touch Veyda’s fingers.

  “Yes, Seth. I’m ready.”

  Seth moved his hand quickly to his back, gripped the gun tucked in his waistband then shot Veyda, who dropped instantly, before he pointed the gun at the laptops, intending to destroy them before killing himself. But the law moved faster.

  Gunfire exploded in a rapid, deafening volley and Seth collapsed on the computers next to Veyda.

  In the peaceful silence, SWAT team members edged quickly to the scene. The paramedics were summoned and SWAT team leaders examined the aftermath.

  Varner joined them.

  The laptops were bloodied and one was chipped. Another had missing keys. Their last hope of undoing the midair disaster was gone.

  Seventy-Nine

  Washington, DC

  The president was in the Oval Office with a small group of advisors when the call came.

  The chief of staff took it.

  “It’s the defense secretary with an update on the jetliners.”

  The president got on the line, absorbing the full weight of the situation. Two suspects had been shot in Colorado and a third arrested in Washington, DC. All attempts to recover control of the aircraft had failed. The jets were locked in a collision course. Impact was in twenty-two minutes. One thousand one hundred twenty-five lives would be lost over Colorado.

  “However, if one aircraft is engaged—”

  “Engaged? Call it what it is,” the president said.

  “If one of the aircraft is shot down approximately half of the total would be spared, giving us time to seek other options,” the secretary said.

  The president swallowed hard.

  “The combat air patrols out of Buckley are in position,” the secretary said. “We must fire upon the airliner no later than five minutes before impact to allow the debris field to clear.”

  The president’s eyes closed at the thought of humanity and wreckage swirling in the sky... Moms, dads, children, babies...

  “We need an order now,” the secretary said.

  The president knew the numbers. Six hundred sixteen souls were aboard the Seattle-bound jet,
while five hundred and nine were on the flight headed to New York.

  “Take out the New York–bound flight. More lives will be saved.”

  “Affirmative. We’ll issue the order immediately.”

  The president ended the call, instructed the chief of staff to cancel the afternoon’s political event in Virginia, then turned and gazed, hollow-eyed, out the French windows at the Rose Garden.

  Eighty

  Colorado

  Tears stained the pages as Kate wrote her farewell note to Grace and Vanessa.

  Amid the anxiety that filled the cabin and her own anguish, she found the strength to convey what was in her heart.

  ...I’ve been blessed to have you in my life because you are and always will be my world. I love you more than you will ever know...

  Kate looked up to see that the woman in the seat next to her was offering her a tissue. The woman smiled weakly, and Kate saw that she’d been looking at family pictures on her phone.

  “My name is Willa Neal, from Santa Ana.”

  “Thanks for the tissue, Willa. My name’s Kate Page, from New York.”

  “You’re about the same age as my daughter,” Willa said. “May I hold your hand, Kate? Please?”

  Kate took Willa’s hand in hers and at that moment saw that the jet fighters were pulling back.

  “They’re moving away!” a man several rows ahead shouted. “What’s that mean?”

  “Maybe whatever’s happening is over?” another passenger said.

  Leaning forward and looking back, Kate watched the fighter vanish from view.

  Maybe it’s really over. God, please let it be over!

  * * *

  US Air Force Major Tom Garland shut his eyes for a second to block out the pleas from Captain Quinn of the doomed New York–bound jetliner.

  “Trans Peak Twenty-two Thirty. Why’re you pulling back, Major?”

  Garland didn’t respond. Captain Quinn repeated his query.

  “Twenty-two Thirty. Why’re you abandoning our escort? Please acknowledge, Major Garland!”