by Rick Mofina
He couldn’t lie and couldn’t bear to tell the commercial captain the truth.
“For purposes of national security, I cannot reveal my orders, sir.”
“Major, we have five hundred and nine souls aboard. We deserve an answer!”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Major!”
Garland had been assigned command of the engagement operation on Flight 2230. He instructed his partner, Captain Ryan Taft, in the fighter on the jetliner’s right side, to throttle back. The fighters were now a quarter-mile behind the jetliner. The pilots switched to a frequency that allowed them to speak freely.
“Our assignment’s clear, Ryan.”
“Yes, sir. I’m ready to carry it out.”
Each fighter was armed with four heat-seeking air-to-air missiles and a 20 mm cannon. Garland eyed the controls used to fire a missile. Technologically speaking, taking down the jetliner would be as easy as pressing a button.
But morally...
Garland was hit suddenly with a crisis of conscience. He’d gone to work that morning like any other morning. He’d left his suburban Denver home, had kissed Angie, his wife, before she’d gone to her manager’s job at the bank. Tonight they were supposed to be taking Troy, their son, out for burgers for his eleventh birthday. Garland grew furious that some deranged individuals had created a situation that would force him to kill five hundred and nine innocent people.
How will I face Angie and Troy after this?
“Ready to launch, sir,” Taft said.
It was now fourteen minutes to impact.
Is this the only option?
Eighty-One
Weld County, Colorado
Sirens from the ambulances rushing Seth and Veyda to the hospital faded in the distance.
At the scene, the two NTSB investigators began examining the laptops.
Chet Meyer had established an open line to NTSB headquarters in Washington while Jill LaRose studied the damaged computers with the aid of the FBI, who’d quickly taken video records of the aftermath. Both devices were blood-splattered, cracked and chipped from the takedown.
But both were still in contact with the satellite connection.
“They’re both functioning,” LaRose said.
“Is there anything you guys can do to undo what they’ve done?” Varner asked.
“Depends,” Meyer said, then, to LaRose, “Jill, can you read what’s running?”
“It’s— I don’t—” She began looking at the open files and online links, struggling to decipher the complexities of the content and codes. “It’s there, but it’s so complex, Chet, I think it’s beyond me.”
Eighty-Two
Colorado
At fourteen minutes to impact, a serene calm washed over Major Tom Garland as his life blazed before his eyes.
From his dream to be a pilot while growing up in Toledo, to his marriage to Angie, then having Troy; then to enlistment, training and combat missions over Libya and Syria, to his time flying some of the most dangerous maneuvers ever with the aerobatic demonstration team.
It all passed before him in a heartbeat, culminating in a single, crystalline revelation: all that he’d learned, all that he’d done, all that he’d become, had been in preparation for this defining moment.
Garland knew what they had to do.
“Ryan, you know I flew with the Thunderbirds?”
“Yes, sir, but what’s that got to do with—”
“We’ve got one god-awful, long-shot chance to save this plane.”
“Our orders are to engage, sir.”
“I know our orders, but we’re going to get under each of his wings and lift him.”
“Sir, with all due respect, that’s crazy! With the upward flow, the weight, the speed, we just can’t lift him! It’s impossible and it’s too dangerous!”
“Ryan, we have to try. Together we can do it. Look at our data. Both jetliners are at thirty-six thousand two hundred, exactly. Our opposing jet’s tail height is sixty-three feet, and allow twenty feet for us. We’ve got nothing on our wingtip rail launchers. If we can get our guy up one hundred and twenty feet that should clear him and us.”
“That’s a big ‘if,’ sir, and a shave close enough to draw blood. We’d be disobeying orders. We’d face a court-martial if this went bad.”
“That’s the least of our worries. If this goes bad we pull back at the five-minute mark and engage. If it really goes bad, Ryan, we can eject. Look ahead. There are five hundred and nine people who can’t. They’re going to die in about thirteen minutes. We have to do what we can to save them.”
Garland looked at his instruments and timer.
“Are you with me?”
Garland could hear Taft swallow hard.
“Yes, sir.”
The F-16s throttled ahead to Flight 2230.
Eighty-Three
Cheyenne Wells, Colorado
Seattle-bound NorthSun Airlines Flight 118 was flying over the Cheyenne Wells region when a cockpit advisory activated.
The jetliner’s traffic collision avoidance system issued a “Descend, Descend,” warning, indicating that an aircraft was intruding into NorthSun’s airspace and the crew should be prepared to maneuver.
Captain Miller again attempted to control the plane and descend while First Officer Sam Zhang tried to get a visual on the opposing flight. Miller’s efforts were futile, and the jetliner maintained its hijacked course.
“There’s nothing we can do, damn it! We’re locked at thirty-six two hundred!” Captain Miller dragged his hand across his brow and glanced at the jet fighters escorting him.
“NorthSun One Eighteen. Major Brennan, our TCAS has been activated. We can’t pull out of our position to descend. Is there anything you can do to help us?”
“One Twenty Tactical to NorthSun One Eighteen. Negative, sir. An operation has been launched.”
“What does that mean, Major?”
“I can’t disclose details for reasons of national security, sir.”
“Dammit, Major, you’ve got to be straight with us!”
“The operation will be completed shortly, sir.”
The TCAS advisory continued telling Captain Miller and First Officer Zhang to descend. But it was futile. Frustrated and terrified, Captain Miller came to a decision and made an announcement to the passengers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you know we’ve been dealing with a situation with national security implications. Efforts to resolve it are ongoing and we’re confident we’ll have you safe on the ground in Seattle as scheduled. However, at this time, I would invite those passengers who are religious to consider prayers. For passengers who are not, you may want to collect your thoughts.”
Shock, confusion and disbelief rolled in waves through the cabin.
It was now eleven minutes to impact with the oncoming flight.
* * *
The TCAS advisory had also activated in the New York–bound flight, just as First Officer Shawn Krenski glimpsed activity on his right.
“He’s back, Lloyd! The fighter’s back on my side and under us!”
“Mine’s back, too!” Captain Quinn said. “What the—”
Quinn’s radio crackled.
“One Twenty Tactical to Trans Peak Twenty-two Thirty. Captain Quinn, we’re going to try to give you a little lift to get us all up over that speed bump ahead.”
“Major Garland, that’s noble but it’s impossible.”
“Doing the impossible is in my job description, sir. We have no other options and we’ve got very little time to do this. Please button everyone tight. It’s going to get bumpy.”
Garland and Taft very carefully began moving their jets up closer to the wingtips of the big
Ultra Supreme 880.
* * *
“What’s going on out there? Can anybody see?” one man shouted from the rows behind Kate.
Throughout the cabin, people began explaining what they saw, while others aimed their phones to record the jet fighters positioning under the wings of the jetliner. Some passengers made the sign of the cross as overhead storage bins began to rattle.
* * *
With an eye on instruments and the time, Garland and Taft inched their fighters meticulously into position.
“How’s it looking, Ryan?” Garland asked.
“Doing all I can to break through the air flowing around his wing.”
“I know it’s going to take everything you got to keep it steady. You’ve got to massage it like a baby.”
“Roger, sir.”
“How’s it going?”
“A yard out from contact, sir.” Taft’s voice was vibrating as he watched the gap of blue sky between his wing and the jetliner’s close like a curtain. Then, a sudden scrape and a thud put Taft’s left wing under and touching the Ultra’s wing.
“Got it, sir!”
“Hold your position.”
Garland drew on all his experience and strength to smoothly position his right wing under the jetliner’s left wing.
“Okay, Ryan, we’re set. On my count we’ll lift, slowly and carefully. Too hard and too fast, something could snap. Ready?”
“Roger, sir.”
“Okay, in five, four, three, two, one, lift!”
Using their elevators and throttle, Garland and Taft powered up gradually. Garland watched his altimeter and his heart sank.
“Well, we got five feet. More power, another five percent.”
The fighters roared and the big jet climbed by another forty feet.
“It’s working,” Garland said. “We got forty-five.”
* * *
In the Ultra’s cockpit, a resolution advisory had activated, issuing the warning to “Climb now! Climb now!”
Captain Quinn and First Officer Krenski were helpless to do anything as another audio alert activated. “Increase climb now! Increase climb now!”
They were eight minutes from impact.
* * *
“Come on! Come on!” Garland said, knowing he and Taft were straining the elevators of their tail sections.
Seven minutes from impact, and they had the jetliner up by sixty feet when his F-16 began shaking.
“Dammit!”
Garland’s ride was getting rough.
“How are you doing, Ryan?”
“It’s getting pretty bad, sir.”
“I know.” Garland swallowed drily. “We’re now at seventy-five and we’ve got just under two minutes until we need to engage. Increase throttle by another ten percent.”
“Ten percent? But, sir!”
“Let’s do it. We’ve got two minutes before we have to abort and engage, so let’s do it. This is it, Ryan!”
Both jets throttled up.
As the fighter pilots continued the lift, something flashed in the distance.
The looming speck in the sky was the Seattle-bound flight.
“One Twenty Tactical. This is Major Garland to Major Brennan. Heads up, we’re giving Flight Twenty-two Thirty a lift up, please descend.”
“One Twenty Tactical, Brennan to Garland. Say again.”
Garland repeated his message.
“Roger, but I don’t believe it, Major! You’re orders are to engage now!” Brennan’s fighter team dropped under the Seattle flight.
Garland ignored Brennan and concentrated on his instruments, which were telling him that they’d raised the jetliner one hundred feet.
“Ryan, we can’t pull out now! We’ve passed the point of no return. We’ve got to do this! Give it another five percent!”
“Roger.”
“Major Garland!” His commander came on the air. “Your orders are to engage! Fire on the aircraft now!”
Garland disregarded his orders.
Their aircraft growled, and all three aircraft shook wildly as the two fighters muscled the big jetliner higher. Thirty seconds to impact and they pushed it higher a few more feet at a time as the seconds ticked down.
“Come on!” Garland gritted his teeth as the big Seattle plane shot at them, growing larger with every second. “Come on!” One hundred ten feet, one hundred seventeen. “Come on!”
Four seconds to impact and Garland’s instruments read one hundred twenty-one feet. His stomach heaved into his mouth as the massive Seattle-bound jetliner and two accompanying fighters streaked under them with a bullet’s velocity.
Oh God! Thank you! Thank you! Garland sighed to himself.
“Break away, Ryan! Break away!”
The two F-16s dropped and pulled clear of the Ultra.
At that moment warnings began sounding in Garland’s cockpit.
The stress the operation had put on his aircraft, especially his right wing, had taken a toll. A chunk was missing. Then another broke off as Garland’s wing began tearing apart in small pieces, then bigger ones, before his wing was gone.
“Eject, Major! Eject!” Captain Taft, whose jet was undamaged, called. “Get out, Tom!”
Suddenly, violently, Garland’s jet rolled, disorienting him as he reached for his ejection seat handles and pulled.
* * *
NorthSun Airlines Flight 118 continued, unscathed, on its locked position with its fighter escort.
Shaken, Captain Miller found his composure as he and First Officer Zhang resumed their struggle to regain control of the Startrail AV600.
* * *
In the cockpit of Trans Peak Airlines Flight 2230 to New York, a spectrum of alarms was sounding.
The big jetliner had not recovered from the vibrations encountered during the rescue operation, and its situation was rapidly deteriorating.
In the cabin, passengers, in shock over the near collision with another plane, began protesting and pleading.
“Please land this plane now! Get us down now!”
The jet bumped and jolted. Overhead storage-bin doors shook open, spilling luggage onto passengers as the plane shimmied and rocked.
Kate squeezed Willa’s hand in one of hers while gripping the armrest with the other.
Suddenly the plane rolled hard, the left wing tipping upward. People screamed. The jet reversed its position, rolling right with the wings in a twelve-and-six-o’clock position.
Then the plane lunged violently to the left, dropping and banking.
In the cockpit, Captain Quinn and First Officer Krenski battled for control of their plane as it entered a steep dive.
Eighty-Four
Washington, DC
A live radar tracking map filled the big screen at one end of the NTSB meeting room where security had brought Robert Cole.
In the screen’s bottom-right quarter, a live video feed showed Jill LaRose and Chet Meyer working on Seth and Veyda’s laptops in Colorado.
They were linked in real time to Reed Devlin, Jake Hooper and other top NTSB investigators, along with national security experts and air industry engineers, on teleconference. They’d been feeding calculations to Colorado in a frantic bid to unlock the cyber grip on the two flights.
One by one, each attempt had failed.
Robert Cole was handcuffed and under guard in a corner chair, but he was indicating that he needed his briefcase.
At that moment, four men in FBI Windbreakers entered the large room. One of the building’s security people approached them.
At the same time, the joy over the miracle that the two airliners had not collided died as NORAD’s situational update was patched to the group. While Flight 118 and its e
scort were intact, one of Flight 2230’s escorts had sustained damage in the crossover maneuver, forcing the pilot to eject.
And more alarmingly, in the wake of the near collision, Flight 2230 had begun to experience excessive pitching and banking before entering into an uncontrolled vertical descent.
“With this angle of descent, terminal impact is in three minutes!” a voice warned through the teleconference speakers.
“Jake!” Cole called out. “The codes you need to regain control of the planes are in my briefcase!”
Hooper seized the case from one of the guards.
The FBI, while being briefed by the security supervisor, watched coldly.
“The blue pages will undo the hack, Jake,” Cole guided him.
“I’ve got them!”
“Tell your people in Colorado to submit my codes into—into my—” Cole choked on his emotion. “Did they find my daughter? Is Veyda okay?”
“Robert, I don’t know—please, how do we submit the codes?”
“Focus on the decision logic of the Omega Protection system and mind the variables. Veyda found a back door into the kill switch network.”
“Jill—” Hooper turned to the big screen “—did you get that?”
“Yes, we’ll do it! Give us the coding!”
Hooper began entering the lines of code.
“Stop!” The lead FBI agent pointed at Cole. “That man’s wanted for threatening national security! The two planes missed each other, but he could be giving you information to sabotage your rescue! Everyone take your hands off your computers and end your calls, now!”
Hooper kept going, entering the last line of code before hitting Send. He lifted his hands from the keyboard when Jill LaRose in Colorado said, “Got them, Jake!”
Eighty-Five
Colorado
The jetliner’s nose-down drop continued with increasing speed.
Kate gripped her armrests, the plane’s momentum crushing against her as yellow oxygen masks dropped.
Passengers shrieked. Tears streamed from Willa Neal’s clenched eyes.
One of the flight attendants suddenly smashed down the aisle. Passengers reached in vain to catch him before he hit a counter in the galley.