Day Zero

by Marc Cameron

  Tang had read the statistics on the airplane while he’d waited for their connection in Vegas. Seven stories tall at the tail, the Airbus was three quarters of a football field in length and had an interior almost seven meters wide. Most airports placed an eighty-meter wingspan limit in order for a plane to use their runways. The A380 made it under that with just inches to spare. Promotional literature said the wings were so large that seventy passenger cars could be parked on each one. Each of the four Rolls-Royce turbofan engines weighed more than six tons, providing a combined total of over a quarter million pounds of thrust.

  Tang had never read the Christian Bible, but he knew enough of the stories to recognize this airplane as a potential Goliath that would, despite its enormous size, be brought down by something extremely small.

  With the plane’s capacity at nearly 600 people, the boarding area was packed with passengers and carry-on baggage. Lin found one of the only empty seats along the windows looking out at the runway and fell into it, shutting her eyes. Her boarding pass slipped out of her jacket pocket and fluttered to the carpet. Tang moved to pick it up, but a small girl with dark hair and a broad smile rushed forward, beating him to it.

  “Ni chi fan le ma?” The little girl asked, handing the ticket back to Lin. It literally meant have you eaten?, but was colloquial for hello.

  Lin opened her eyes. She took the boarding pass and shoved it back in her pocket. Even Tang was dumbfounded by the child’s grasp of Chinese.

  “Wo chi le.” Lin nodded. I have eaten.

  “Ni okay ma?” The little girl said. “Nide lianse weishenme bu gaoxing?” Are you okay? You seem sad—literally, Why is your face color not excited?

  Lin sat up straighter in the chair. Tang was horrified when he saw a smile perk the corners of his wife’s lips.

  “You are a cute little thing,” Lin said in heavily accented English. “How did you learn to speak Mandarin so well?”

  “My school,” the little girl said, beaming at having been understood. “We can start in kindergarten.”

  Ma Zhen began to glare over the top of his glasses. A dark man with a thick beard stood behind the girl, close enough that he was obviously her father—or some kind of protector. The man smiled at the little girl’s skill but his eyes challenged everyone around him. Tang had been a police officer himself for eleven years. Either this man was a policeman or something very close to it. He tried to shrug off the worry. It would not matter. A policeman could do nothing to stop them once they were in the air. Tang touched his wife on the shoulder. “Come,” he said. “We should prepare to board.”

  Lin ignored him. She smiled openly now—something he hadn’t seen her do in a very long time.

  The little girl put a hand to her chest, introducing herself. “Wo jiao Mattie,” she said.

  “We need to get in line.” Tang mustered a tight smile of his own. It felt like he was squinting at the sun.

  “It is so nice to meet you, Mattie,” his wife cooed. She grudgingly got to her feet, and then turned back to the child. “My name is Lin. Maybe I will see you on the plane.”

  The dark man with the beard called the little girl to him, praising her Mandarin. He acted as though he spoke the language himself, which made sense considering his daughter was so fluent. Tang made a mental note to remember that when speaking around him.

  Ma Zhen came up to stand beside them when they got to the other side of the room. Arms folded, he looked sternly at Lin, then back at Tang, frowning. He’d been close enough to hear the exchange.

  “It would be best if you avoided conversations with other passengers,” he whispered so they could both hear. “It will only complicate matters at this stage of the affair.”

  “The child spoke to her,” Tang said through clenched teeth. He was put out with Lin, but furious that this boy would doubt their commitment. “Everything will be fine.” But when he looked at Lin, the remnants of a smile on the corners of her mouth told everyone he was a liar.

  Ma Zhen stalked away and flopped down next to Gao, sulking like an angry teenager. When he wasn’t making bombs, he rarely did anything but sulk. Fate had dealt him that sort of life. Tang supposed such a look was to be expected from a man who had resolved to kill himself—even for a greater good.

  Any evidence of Lin’s smile vanished by the time the gate agent called for them to board. Tang calmed some as they walked down the Jetway, considering what lay ahead.

  British Airways, Lufthansa, Emirates, and several other airlines had Airbus A380s in their fleets, but Global was the first American carrier brave enough to snub venerable US-made Boeing. Most of these passengers had never flown on this type of aircraft and they stood in nothing short of awe when they first boarded, clogging the aisles when Tang and his wife finally made it down the Jetway. It took time to find their seats and get their carry-on luggage situated. Tang inched ahead slowly, memorizing the surroundings in case he needed them later. Years as a policeman had taught him nothing ever went as planned.

  The interior was double the size of any plane he’d ever seen. Highly polished walls of marbled teak rose up on bulkheads at either side of the boarding door to form a wide and welcoming foyer. Three well-groomed flight attendants, wearing Global Airline’s red pencil skirts and white blouses, stood under an ornate glass light fixture that hung down like a palace chandelier. Rather than the musty smells of old carpet and recirculated sweat common to commercial aircraft, the pleasant odor of fresh espresso wafted up from a plush galley. Leather stools ran along a rolled leather bar just inside the entrance. It looked more like a fancy nightclub than something found on a commercial airliner.

  Tang could picture the diagrams he’d seen on the Internet and knew the exact location of their seats. Still, it wasn’t good to appear too self-assured, so he showed his ticket to an overly helpful bald man wearing a red vest. The man directed him to his left, forward and through the luxurious first-class cabin and up a flight of teak stairs located across from the cockpit door, which for the moment was open, revealing a crew of at least three as they prepped the plane for takeoff. Tang knew the crew could be completely self-contained once in the air, with their own rest quarters and lavatory facilities. He sighed to himself. It wouldn’t matter. Hiding behind a reinforced door would do little to keep their precious airplane in the sky.

  Once at the top of the stairs, Tang worked his way back, through the forward business-class seats, past another galley with yet another coffee bar, this one only slightly smaller and no less elegant than the one in first class. A Global flight attendant with brunette hair piled on top of her head like an urn approached as he helped Lin get situated next to the window. She was wearing a barista’s apron and offered freshly ground espressos and scones before takeoff.

  Tang thanked her and stuffed their camera bags into the cubbies under each footrest so they’d be able to access them without having to drag everything out of an overhead bin when the time came. Each seat sank down inside its surrounding plastic walls when it reclined to meet its footrest, forming a plush bed and a good semblance of privacy. Lin’s seat was located one row back from the forward emergency exit door, closest to the wall. On the flight from Las Vegas to LA, she’d planned to wedge the bomb between her armrest and the skin of the airplane. Business class on the A380 provided a small storage bin along the outer wall, next to her armrest, much like a lazarette on a boat—a perfect place for the device.

  The flight attendant brought two cups of espresso for them before their flight. Lin waved hers away, but Tang accepted his in order to appear compliant.

  “That little girl was amazing, don’t you think?” Lin said, once the attendant had moved on with her tray.

  Tang gave a thoughtful nod. His stomach began to knot again. Now? After a nearly two years, Lin had chosen this moment to display some hint of emotion—all because a filthy guizi child had picked up her boarding pass? His hand shook when he tried to sip the espresso. He took a deep breath, screwing his face into a calm smile.<
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  “She spoke passable Chinese,” he said. “In any case, her father looks dangerous. We will have to be careful of him.”

  Lin ignored the last, thinking only of the child. “She was so . . . I cannot even say it . . . so alive.” She turned away, the refection of another smile clearly visible in the aircraft window.

  She didn’t say the words, but Tang knew what she was thinking. The child named Mattie made her think of their daughter—happy thoughts of better times that threatened to ruin everything.

  Chapter 40

  Not ready to relax until the plane was in the air, Quinn herded Mattie down the aisle in front of him. Their seats were on the main deck, in the far back section of the aircraft that Thibodaux would have called “steerage.” Out of habit, Quinn studied the faces and moods of the other passengers as he passed, watching for people who seemed out of place or more interested in him than they should have been. So far, no one seemed to care about anything but grabbing the overhead bin space before it was all gone.

  They walked nearly the full length of the plane to get to their seats so Quinn got a pretty good look at the passengers who’d boarded before him. Of course, there were still plenty who came in later, and an entire second floor of potential threats that Quinn knew he had to consider. This “unseen threat” way of thinking had driven Kim crazy during the years they’d been married. Stupidly, he’d tried to explain to her that just because she wasn’t paranoid didn’t mean someone wasn’t out to get her. They’d shared all too many silent dinners, with her staring daggers across her Greek salad, because he’d observed someone who looked suspicious in the restaurant.

  One thing they had always been able to agree on was the need to be overprotective of their daughter. Mattie negotiated her way down the aisle with her bagful of books and electronics like a miniature adult. It killed Quinn inside that he had to cart her off to Russia in order to ensure her safety. Once she was seated, he made a mental note to go for a short walk upstairs after they got airborne, just to ease his mind. The thought of over five thousand square feet of floor space was a little overwhelming.

  An Alaska girl from birth, Mattie had been used to flying from the time she was still in diapers, but even she’d stared open-mouthed at the luxury of the upper-crust seating when they’d walked through first class. The rest of the main, or lower deck, was coach, with three-four-three seating and an aisle down either side. The forward two-thirds of the second deck was reserved for business class, not quite as fancy as first, but still relatively spacious—and expensive at around eight grand a seat. The rear of the upper deck contained more economy seating, cramped and ordinary like the seats Quinn had been able to afford.

  Mattie stopped in mid row and compared her ticket to the number above the seat. They were about as far from the ritzy real estate up front as they could get.

  “Here they are, Dad,” Mattie said. Quinn was amazed at how much the tone and lilt of her voice sounded like Kim’s.

  Seats were scarce with their last-minute booking, but Quinn was able to get theirs on the left side of the plane. Years of flying armed had ingrained the habit of choosing a seat where his gun hand could be next to the aisle—as much to keep from having to explain the bulge between himself and another passenger as to get access to any problem that sprang up during flight.

  The guy in the window seat, on the other side of Mattie, looked to be in his late forties. His graying hair was buzzed short over a high forehead. Slightly built, he had a perpetual squint and a prominent chin that reminded Quinn of Popeye the Sailor. Slouching back with the big chin against his chest, the man’s head bobbed to the tune on his headphones. A sweater and a paperback spy novel lay beside him in Mattie’s seat.

  She stood politely, waiting for him to move his belongings while Quinn stowed their bags in the overhead. The guy looked up, still nodding to his music, and grudgingly picked up his stuff.

  Mattie flopped down beside him, exploring what was to be her new home for the next twelve hours. She brushed the man’s arm when she fished her seat belt out from the space in between their seats. He recoiled as if she’d slapped him, yanking off the headphones.

  “Lucky me,” he groaned. “An entire day of flying and I get stuck by some kid who’s all elbows.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mattie flinched, shooting a glance at her dad. “I was just trying to get my seat belt.”

  “How about that.” He mocked her high voice. “Let’s just try and keep our bony little selves in our own seats. Okay?”

  Quinn gave Mattie a wink, nodding her back out into the aisle.

  “I think you’re in my seat, Sweet Pea,” he said. “I’ll take the middle.”

  The guy groaned again when Quinn moved in beside him.

  It was amazing how quickly the airline got so many people to board and buckle up. A few minutes later, the screens on the back of each seat in front of them flickered to life and the Global safety video began to play as the gigantic aircraft began the lumbering taxi toward the runway.

  Quinn settled in, letting his arm and shoulders spill over into Popeye’s space, forcing him to readjust with a sidelong glare. He started to say something, but the pilot came over the intercom, introducing the crew.

  “Dobroye utro,” the pilot said, showing off his Russian good morning. “I’m Captain Rob Szymanski. Captain Rob, to make it easier on everybody. Welcome aboard Global Airlines Flight 105 from Anchorage to Petropavlovsk, Vladivostok, and continuing on to Moscow. They want to get us out of here quickly this morning so they’ll have room for three more normal-size airplanes. They didn’t quite take the size of our bird into account, so they need to move some things before we can push back and get in line for departure. We’ll be underway shortly, so sit back and let our capable flight attendants see to your comfort—but more importantly, your safety. . . .”

  An attendant named Carly stopped her walkthrough beside Mattie. She was tall with broad shoulders and thick curls of bourbon blond hair that was heavy enough to stay put over one shoulder where it played peekaboo with her eye like a 1940s starlet. The ID card hanging around her neck said her last name was Shakhov and Quinn wondered if she might speak Russian. Smiling, she leaned in to remind the man with the Popeye chin to take his headphones off during the safety briefing.

  The man threw his head back, like a teenager who was angry at being told to clean his room, and stared up at the attendant. He left the headphones in place, forcing her to ask him again.

  She did, smiling as she’d been trained to do when dealing with turds.

  “As you wish, my queen,” Popeye said. He gave a flourish of his hand, mocking her with a theatrical bow.

  Carly chuckled as if she’d seen it all before. She was dressed in Global’s trim red skirt and white blouse. Quinn guessed her to be in her early thirties, but she carried herself like she’d been in the business for some time.

  She caught Quinn’s eye, shaking her head as if to apologize, before looking back to the passenger with the Popeye chin. “You can put them back on as soon as the briefing is over,” she said. “Believe me, if anything were to happen, you’ll be glad you paid attention.”

  Satisfied her orders were being obeyed, Carly gave Quinn one more nod—identifying him as an ally—and continued down the aisle.

  Mattie leaned forward looking up and down the aisle. “Four back, three forward, Dad—in case the lights go out.”

  “Good deal, Sweet Pea.” Quinn gave her a thumbs-up for remembering. When she was only three years old, he’d taught her to count the number of seats between her and the exits in case she had to find her way out in the dark.

  Her eyes sparkled as she focused on the safety video playing in front of her, sucking in the information the way Quinn took in languages.

  She glanced up at her dad. “My teacher told us why they have you bend forward in case of a crash,” she said, putting herself in brace position. “This way you’re only thrown backward into your seat if the pilot has to land hard and won’t get
whipped forward and then back, like this.” She demonstrated the movement in her seat.

  “That’s exactly right,” Quinn said, genuinely proud.

  Popeye threw up his hands. “Seriously,” he said. “Do I have to listen to two safety briefings at once?”

  Quinn turned to look the man in the eye. That prominent chin was an awfully tempting target.

  “What is it that you do?” Quinn said. He kept his voice low, just above a whisper.

  “What?” Popeye sneered, leaning backwards as far as he could, creating as much distance as possible before the window stopped him. “What do you mean?”

  “For a living?” Quinn nodded slowly. “What is it you do for your job?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, “but I’m in the crab industry.”

  “A crab fisherman?” Quinn mused. This guy was far too flighty to survive on board any crab boat he’d ever been around. Quinn’s father would have thrown him out for chum ten minutes after his shoes hit the deck.

  “No, not a fisherman,” the guy said, pursing his lips as if the very word was distasteful. “Fishermen are shit for brains stupid. I’m a buyer. I buy Russian crab for the US market.”

  “My dad’s a crab fisherman,” Quinn said. “He fishes Alaska crab for the US market.”

  “Yeah, well, too bad for your dad.” The man shrugged.

  Quinn folded his arms across his chest and then leaned sideways so his face was close to Popeye’s ear. His head was almost on the other man’s shoulder. “I want you to consider something.” Quinn’s voice was coarse, a quiet growl. “As a buyer of crab, I want you to think of all the things you would do to protect someone you cared about.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Quinn ignored the question and continued his thought.

  “So, now that you’re thinking of all the things you, as a man who buys crab, might do to protect his wife, or girlfriend or even, say . . . his daughter, you might be interested to know what it is I do for a living.”