by Rick Mofina
Laptops, books, coffee cups, soda cans and bags pelted the passengers and bounced through the cabin.
The jet was pointed straight down, rocking and shaking while plummeting. G-forces had turned Kate’s body into a stone weight. Rivets came loose, popping like popcorn and hitting the cabin walls. The whining engines were deafening, mingling with the thudding against the fuselage as parts of it began tearing away.
Kate’s stomach felt like a giant hand was forcing it through her mouth. Turning her head against the pressure, she grabbed hold of her most important thoughts and calmly braced for her death.
I love you, Grace. I love you, Vanessa. Thank you for a good life.
The cabin lights began flickering and one passenger screamed.
“Jesus, please help us!”
* * *
It was futile.
Battling the g-forces, Captain Quinn and First Officer Krenski submitted commands for control, but nothing worked.
They’d managed to pull on their oxygen masks, remaining conscious and alert as alarms buzzed and horns blared warnings. The console ignited with flashing lights; counters and dials went haywire.
Quinn and Krenski strained against the intense g-forces as the earth raced toward them with frightening speed.
“Twenty thousand!” Krenski shouted as the plane shook. “The VSI and the altimeter are going crazy!”
Quinn reached for the throttles, shoving them all the way down.
“Respond! Get your nose up you son of a— Dammit! Respond!”
“Fifteen thousand!”
Quinn held tight to the yoke.
“Twelve thousand! Lloyd, we’re not going to make it!”
The immense Colorado plain loomed like a waiting graveyard as they rocketed toward the earth.
Quinn’s knuckles whitened on the yoke.
“Eleven thousand! Oh God, this is it, Lloyd... Our Father who art in heaven...”
Quinn’s arms vibrated against the bucking. He took one last glance at the photo of his wife and daughters, gritted his shaking teeth and begged God for mercy. That’s when the lights of the instrument panel blinked then lit up with a different pattern, and the big jet’s nose began inching up.
“Something’s happening!” Quinn shouted. “Something’s happening!”
“Ten thousand!”
The velocity shifted the g-forces, flattening Quinn and Krenski to their seats, quadrupling their body weight. Quinn summoned all of his strength, pulled back on the yoke and the nose continued inching up.
“We’ve got control, Shawn! We’ve got control!”
Quinn continued pulling the yoke back.
“Pull back on the throttles, Shawn. Easy!”
Slowly, smoothly, gracefully, the plane began leveling.
* * *
In the cabin screams gave way to gasps and sporadic cheers as the plane pulled out of its dive.
The speed decreased and once the jet leveled a funereal calm fell over the passengers.
Brushing tears from their eyes, Kate and Willa embraced. Most people were shaken, sobbing and trying to aid others when the public-address system was activated.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Quinn. I’m happy to report that we’ve regained control of the plane. We’ve been cleared for a priority landing in Denver. We’ll have you safe on the ground as soon as possible.”
His words were met with soft applause before he continued.
“Please report injuries to the attendants. We request that anyone aboard who has medical training provide assistance and that everyone else please remain seated and belted.”
A doctor and a nurse helped the injured attendant and the other passengers who were bleeding from being struck by falling items. Parents comforted terrified children, while strangers consoled each other. Observing the compassion of her fellow passengers, Kate acknowledged the palpable tension that was still in the cabin.
No one felt safe because they were still in the air.
Their trust had been shredded. The remedy was to be on the ground.
As the plane descended, Kate and Willa talked about their families while adrenaline coursed through them.
Only when Trans Peak Flight 2230 touched down safely in Denver did people cheer. Kate thrust her face into her trembling hands to cover her gasping sobs of relief. As the plane taxied she blinked at the ceiling, found a measure of composure, turned to the window and whispered her thanks.
Then she reached for her phone.
Grace would still be in school but Kate texted her.
I love you so much, sweetheart. So much! Can’t wait to see you!
Then she called Vanessa, not sure if she was at work, at a class. When she got her voice mail, Kate said, “I love you, little sister. So much. We’ll talk later.”
Red and blue lights splashed in the cabin’s interior. Kate leaned forward and saw ambulances, fire trucks and other emergency vehicles at the gate.
Pulling herself together she called the desk at Newslead.
“Laneer.”
“Chuck, its Kate.”
“Kate! All hell’s breaking loose! Where are you?”
Suddenly she was at a loss, not believing what she’d just experienced.
“Kate? Are you all right? Where are you?”
She blinked hard, briefly cupped her hand to her mouth and took a breath.
“Chuck, I’m in Denver and I’ve got a story coming.”
Epilogue
Once the crew of the Seattle-bound NorthSun Flight 118 regained control they were cleared to land in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Two passengers reported heart palpitations, while several others had nausea. That was the extent of the injuries on Flight 118.
In Denver, thirty-nine passengers and crew from Trans Peak Flight 2230 required medical attention. Most serious was the attendant who’d fallen through the cabin—he’d suffered a concussion and broken ribs. Injuries to other passengers ranged from cuts to fractured fingers, hands and arms, as well as mild head wounds.
For her part, Kate had harnessed her shock, working fast. She’d reached Nick Varner, NTSB and FAA officials, collecting facts on the terror that had played out in the skies over Colorado.
After finding a quiet spot in the airport, she’d written a breaking exclusive on the cyber hijacking and near-midair collision of two large passenger planes collectively carrying 1,125 people. The incident, which investigators had told her was linked to the Shikra crash in London and the troubled EastCloud flight in New York, proved that jetliners were vulnerable to hijacking by hackers. Had the cyber hackers, known as Zarathustra, succeeded, the Colorado event would have been the worst disaster in aviation history, she’d written, in what soon became one of the biggest stories in the world.
The events in Colorado, London and New York would become global news for days and weeks.
In that time, Kate had led a team of Newslead reporters in the United States and around the world to produce a multipart series that examined fly-by-wire systems, the secret Operation Overlord, Richlon-Titan, and Robert and Veyda Cole’s connection to it all.
Cole had been investigated by the FBI but faced no charges. He was cooperating with all national security agencies in their investigations.
The challenge Kate had faced with the series was that Robert Cole had refused all interview requests. He’d turned down the New York Times, CTNB, The Times of London, the Associated Press, everybody.
Kate was frustrated but she understood, given Cole’s tragic history.
Seth Hagen had died at the scene, but Cole’s daughter, Veyda, had survived her gunshot wound in a Denver hospital, the location of which was not made public because the FBI was keeping watch to question her.
Kate’s sources had
told her that Cole had flown to Denver to be at Veyda’s side, as her condition had been critical. On the third day of his bedside vigil she’d woken briefly, and as Cole had taken her hand, she’d said one word: “Daddy.”
Veyda had died an hour later.
The next day Robert Cole had issued a statement.
To all those who have suffered from my daughter’s actions, I offer my most profound apology. For the rest of my life, I will live with the irreparable damage and unending sorrow she has caused. Her evil actions are not those of the daughter I knew. I do not ask for understanding, nor do I seek forgiveness. Both are unconscionable in the face of the enormity of the crime. I pray that heaven helps you heal and find peace.
In the time that followed, reporters profiled Cole, Veyda and Seth based on public records and interviews with those who knew them. But nobody was going to get the whole story.
No journalist was going to get to Robert Cole.
The FAA had not ordered a national ground stop of all jetliners because, with the deaths of Seth and Veyda, the immediate threat had been considered neutralized. However, in the days that followed aviation authorities in the United States and around the world rolled out alerts and advisories to the industry for fleets to be grounded in a non-disruptive, scheduled manner to examine and safeguard their systems.
The world’s top engineers analyzed what Seth and Veyda had done, while building on the remedy designed by Robert Cole. Plane by plane, airline by airline, security was strengthened on all commercial jetliners.
A number of federal investigations were launched against Richlon-Titan for failing to correct, and concealing, the problem with its systems. Several lawsuits were launched by airlines that had purchased RT systems or aircraft. RT’s stock plunged and Hub Wolfeson was fired from his position with the board.
Sloane F. Parkman was disinherited from his wealthy family. Kate learned that he was supporting himself by working part-time at a clothing store in a mall in Albany, New York.
The NTSB and EastCloud had cleared Captain Raymond Matson of any suspected errors in the handling of the Buffalo–to–New York flight. Matson resumed flying with the airline in good standing.
At the NTSB, during Bill Cashill’s retirement party, Cashill took Hooper aside and advised him to “Never stop doing what you do, Jake. You do it right. You keep an open mind. You’re going to be one helluva IIC.”
Some two weeks later, Kate was in the newsroom when a burst of dispatches from the police scanners made her think of how it had all begun.
Something overheard on the lowly squawk box.
At that moment her cell phone rang with a call from Nick Varner.
“Hey, Nick.”
“Listen, Kate, we never had this conversation, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Robert Cole wants to talk to the press. Says he needs to get something out there because a lot of the stuff written about him and his daughter is inaccurate.”
Kate sat up.
“You’re not serious.”
“I told him he should talk to you and he’s willing to do it.”
“Exclusively?”
“Only to you.”
Kate alerted Chuck and while she was still uneasy about getting on a plane, she flew to North Dakota, rented a car at Minot and drove to Clear River, where she met Cole.
Kate shook his hand.
“Mr. Cole, I want to thank you for what you did at the NTSB in Washington. You helped save my life and the lives of more than a thousand people.”
Cole didn’t respond.
He was a haunted man; his eyes were pools of pain.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he said. “There’s something I need to do.”
They climbed into Cole’s pickup truck and drove across town, past the historic municipal buildings and storefronts that evoked another time.
“My wife, Elizabeth, grew up here,” was all he said as he guided his truck south over the eternal rolling rangeland.
After a few miles, they took the narrow, paved road that curved to a grove of trees near a creek and stopped at the Riverbend Meadow Cemetery.
He got out, opened the storage bin of the console between the seats and, with care, removed a beautiful wooden box.
“This way.” He motioned for Kate to walk with him through the burial grounds, stopping at the headstone that read “Elizabeth Marie Cole, Beloved Wife and Mother.”
Cole got on his knees.
“These are my daughter’s ashes. I want her to be with her mother.”
Cole very tenderly emptied the box’s contents, spreading them over his wife’s grave.
“I didn’t want to get a stone for her because I feared people would come and deface it, given what she did.”
Kate understood.
Cole stared at the ashes and they began to lift as the wind tumbled across the plain.
“I’m to blame for her actions because I was not the father she needed,” he said. “I’m going to tell you our story, the real story. I’m going to tell you everything the world needs to know.”
But Cole didn’t move.
The wind strengthened, lifting the ashes from the land, carrying them upward. Cole followed them, looking up just as the straight vapor trail of a passenger jet cut across the clear blue sky.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from EVERY SECOND by Rick Mofina.
Acknowledgments
&
A Personal Note
The first thing you should know is that I have no fear of flying.
In fact, I enjoy flying and I believe it is one of the safest ways to travel. In crafting Free Fall, I looked at several aspects of the commercial airline industry and consulted a number of texts and final reports on accidents made public by investigative agencies around the world.
Still, I make no claim to being an expert or coming close to possessing any knowledge of aeronautical engineering, air traffic control or any other area of the industry. I apologize to the experts among you for the eye-rolling errors that would cause you to say “Things just don’t work that way.”
Free Fall is a work of fiction drawn in my imagination, where I exercised creative license and took liberties with technical realities, jurisdiction and the investigative process to present a drama concerning flawed human beings in an extraordinary situation.
I did benefit from the help of Ric Gillespie, a former aviation accident investigator and founder of The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery. Ric, a world-renowned expert, generously and graciously suffered my questions. For parts of the story that ring true, thanks goes to Ric. For the parts that don’t, blame me for my transgressions as a fiction writer.
I’d like to thank Amy Moore-Benson, Brittany Lavery, Michelle Meade and the incredible editorial, marketing, sales and PR teams at Harlequin and MIRA Books.
Thanks to Wendy Dudley for making this a better story.
Very special thanks to Barbara, Laura and Michael.
It is important readers know that in getting this book to you, I benefitted from the hard work and generosity of many people, too many to thank individually.
This brings me to what I hold to be the most critical part of the entire enterprise: you, the reader. This aspect has become a credo for me, one that bears repeating with each book.
Thank you very much for your time, for without you, a book remains an untold tale. Thank you for setting your life on pause and taking the journey. I deeply appreciate my audience around the world and those who’ve been with me since the beginning who keep in touch. Thank you all for your very kind words. I hope you enjoyed the ride and will check out my earlier books while watching for my next one. I welcome your feedback. Drop by at www.rickmofina.com, subscribe to my newsletter and send me a
note. I love hearing from you.
Rick Mofina
“Rick Mofina’s tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
If you loved Every Second by international bestselling author Rick Mofina, be sure to catch each action-packed moment in the edge-of-your-seat thriller series starring reporter Kate Page.
Every Second
Terror claws into the lives of an American family…
A relentless reporter discovers an agonizing secret…
Time ticks down on a chilling plan.
Whirlwind
An anguished mother in a deadly storm…
A journalist under pressure breaks the story…
A vortex of life-and-death forces.
Full Tilt
Screams in the night…
A gut-wrenching phone call…
A life-and-death race against time.
Complete your collection!
“Moves like a tornado.”
—James Patterson, #1 New York Times bestselling author, on Six Seconds
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Every Second
by Rick Mofina
1
Roseoak Park, New York
Lori Fulton woke in the darkness of her bedroom to a strange pressure covering her mouth, forcing her head deep into her pillow.
A hideous face glared down at her.
Straining to breathe, Lori thought: I’m dreaming! Then her eyes flicked to her husband’s side of the bed. It was empty.
Where’s Dan? What’s happening? Wake up!
At the peel of duct tape and the guttural noises of a struggle nearby, Lori’s brain thundered awake with the horrible realization that the man above her was real. Again, she thought of her husband and her son.