“What’s happening?” Montero steadied herself and looked around.
“It feels like we’re turning.” Donovan quickly looked out the window and made sure the Airbus was still above them, the strobe light confirmed that they were. He reached under the blanket and retrieved the computer from under the blanket.
“Is it starting?”
“It’s part of the normal arrival into Dulles,” Donovan said, having flown this route a hundred times. “The south arrival gate takes us over Norfolk, then a turn to the west toward Richmond, then straight north into Dulles.”
“If we wait any longer, some fighter pilot is going to fire a missile and eliminate all of our options. Ask them how much time we have.” Montero nodded toward the computer. “We need to know if they’ve bought us a reprieve from the fighters. If they haven’t, I say we make our move.”
Donovan started typing when he saw the red X on the connection icon. His eyes shot to the signal strength indicator and lowered his head. “We lost the link.”
“Reboot it or something.”
Donovan tried to reconnect, but there was no signal to be found. “I don’t think it’s the computer. That last turn may have put the Airbus between us and the satellite, so it’s blocking the signal.”
“We’re cut off from the outside? Do you have any idea what their plan might be?”
“No, and without the satellite link, we’re not going to know until it happens.”
“We’re on our own then?” Montero asked.
“Yeah.” Donovan locked eyes with Montero. “It won’t be long now. Get ready.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Tires squealing in protest, Buck accelerated the SUV around the ramp that led from Highway 50 onto Route 28. Lauren was pinned against the door as they whipped around the cloverleaf and then shot north on the major thoroughfare. Traffic was light, and Lauren watched as the speedometer hit one hundred twenty.
Buck disconnected the call. “General Porter says the fighters will shoot when the airliner reaches the thirty-mile no-fly zone around the White House. No exceptions.”
“We’re running out of time,” Lauren said. “How do you think we should handle this when we get to the terminal?”
“You’re the DIA agent,” Michael said. “Throw your credentials around and get us inside.”
“Whoa.” Buck let up off the accelerator.
Lauren looked up to find that the windshield had misted over. “What happened?” Visibility had gone to nearly zero, causing Buck to hit the brakes.
Wiper blades swept back and forth, clearing the windshield. Once Buck could see, he put the accelerator to the floor. “The guy in front of us blew through a puddle of water.”
“That’s it!” Michael sat bolt upright in his seat. “That’s how we do it!”
“Do what?” Lauren turned and could see the inspiration etched on Michaels’s face.
“We get the Airbus to dump fuel. Airliners dump fuel in an emergency, right? It’s how they reduce their weight so they can come back and land. The fuel vaporizes as it leaves the tank and creates a mist, almost like a contrail. What it should do is force these guys out of position long enough for Donovan to storm the cockpit. The guys flying the da Vinci will never see it coming.”
Buck handed his cell phone to Lauren. “The last number I dialed was General Porter. He needs to hear about this.”
“I have another idea.” Lauren reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Guys, I’ve always heard that there’s one airline in the world that has the best security. Is that true?”
“El Al,” Michael replied. “Everyone in the aviation business knows that. Do you have connections within Israel’s national airline?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Buck said.
Lauren entered the number and waited—each precious second ticking off in her head. A man answered the phone. Lauren recognized his voice.
“Mr. Keller, this is Lauren McKenna. I need you to listen carefully. Nathan Strauss is about to make a biological attack on Washington D.C. He’s in a Gulfstream jet shadowing a Liberty Airways commercial airliner. Liberty Airways Operations is in the B Concourse at Dulles Airport. I need access. Yes or no, can you help me?”
“How soon?” Keller asked without hesitation.
“Ten minutes.”
“I’ll call you back in five.”
Lauren looked at the screen and found that Keller had disconnected the call.
“Call Porter,” Buck urged. “He needs to know what we’re trying to do.”
Lauren took Buck’s phone, and as the call went through, she slipped into the mind-set she used at work to deal with the military.
“General Porter here.”
“General, this is Dr. Lauren McKenna, Defense Intelligence Agency. I’m with your nephew, we’re headed to Dulles Airport and we need your help.”
“I’m listening, Dr. McKenna.”
“Sir, we now have credible intelligence that the anthrax aboard the Eco-Watch Gulfstream is from Saddam’s prewar stockpile.”
“You’ve got my attention. Go on.”
“My team and I have devised a way to take control of the Gulfstream and keep the anthrax from being released. General, if you shoot down the Gulfstream, you run the risk of releasing some, if not all, of the anthrax. Tonight, with the light breeze out of the west, you’ll easily expose all of the population centers downwind, which adds up to millions of people. Our plan can perhaps preserve the evidence as well as possibly capture the terrorists, but we could use your help in opening a few doors.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. McKenna. The FBI as well as Homeland Security is running this show, not me.”
Lauren took a carefully measured breath. “Get us past security at Dulles, and we’ll do the rest.”
“Dr. McKenna,” General Porter continued, “if you think about the situation, you’ll find there aren’t really any options here. We have protocols—”
Lauren heard her own phone ring. “General Porter. If you fire on those planes, you’ll not only kill the passengers and crew, but the fallout from the anthrax will kill thousands more. That’s on you.”
“Dr. McKenna, I won’t—”
She cut Porter off midsentence and answered her phone.
“Yes or no?” she said to Keller.
“West side of the B Concourse. A man will be waiting for you at door seventeen. His name is David.”
Lauren ended the call and turned to Buck. “North side of B Concourse—door seventeen. Keller says someone named David will be waiting for us.”
“Who in the hell is Keller?” Michael asked.
“A Mossad agent we met last night.”
Buck swung around a taxicab as if it were standing still. “We can either breach the fence, or we go through the terminal. I say breach the fence and apologize later.”
“How about we go through the gate at the Eco-Watch hangar, drive across the perimeter of the airport, and get to Concourse B without committing major felonies,” Michael offered.
“The gate at Eco-Watch,” Lauren replied. “Going through the terminal puts us at the mercy of the TSA. I think we all know that’s not a solution to anything.”
“Send a message to Donovan,” Michael said. “Tell him to be ready. We’re going to get the Airbus to dump fuel.”
Lauren nodded. She could feel the tips of her fingers buzzing from the adrenaline and her heart was pounding feverishly in her chest. When she looked up, Buck was roaring down a frontage road toward Eco-Watch. To the side of the hangar was the gate that led to the ramp.
“Pull up to the left side. I’ve got my key card.” Michael lowered a rear window, swiped his card, and punched in a code. Moments later the gate sprang to life and began to trundle open.
The instant the gate permitted, Buck slammed down on the accelerator and they powered across the open tarmac, lights flashing, leaving Eco-Watch far behind. The tires squealed as he turned and joined up with a vehicle service roa
d and raced toward the distant terminal.
Lauren kept looking at her watch. Buck slowed as they became visible to the control tower. He crossed part of the open tarmac and swung parallel to Concourse B.
“That’s door twenty,” Lauren pointed. “Straight ahead. Seventeen, I can see it!”
Lauren threw off her seatbelt and was opening the door before Buck slammed to a complete stop. As the three of them ran toward the door, it opened from the inside.
“You must be David.” Lauren said as she slipped her DIA credentials out of her pocket and clipped them to her belt.
The man nodded, and then put his finger to his lips so they’d remain quiet. He whisked them through a series of hallways and open entryways beneath the passenger concourse until they came to a steel door marked “Liberty Airways Operations.” David swiped his badge once and a resounding click resonated down the quiet hallway.
Inside, David waved at a man across the room who motioned them toward a door at the far side of the room.
“David, who are you?” Lauren asked.
“I’m with Shin Bet, Israel Security Agency. Liberty Airways code shares with the Israeli airline, El Al. I oversee security for connecting passengers, I’m usually here early, which is why Mr. Keller was able to find me.”
“We need to hurry.”
David led them down a hallway to a door that he quickly swiped with a card and punched in a code. He silently shook hands with a man waiting on the other side, then introduced him to the small group. “This is Trent Foster, senior man in charge at Liberty Airways.”
“Trent, thank you.” Lauren said as they were ushered directly to a medium-sized room that held a computer workstation that filled half the office. One person was seated at the keyboard.
Lauren saw that Trent was sweating, his cherubic face flushed red.
“Did David tell you why we’re here?” Lauren asked.
Trent nodded.
Three large LCD monitors glowed in front of the single individual seated at the computer. One monitor displayed the national radar picture and the screen next to it was all text. The last one had the familiar coastlines and borders of the Eastern seaboard depicted on the screen. Scattered across the map were small, green airplane symbols.
“This is Kirk, senior dispatcher on duty,” Trent explained “We maintain a separate work area away from the rank and file to deal with emergencies. We can do anything from here.”
Kirk turned and looked up at Lauren, his fingers never leaving his keyboard.
Buck’s phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. “It’s General Porter. I’m going to talk to him.”
Lauren leaned over Kirk’s shoulder. “Which one is Flight 401?”
“That’s him,” Kirk used a pencil to point to the solitary target.
“General Porter says nothing has changed. Neither one of those jets is going to be allowed within the thirty-mile no-fly zone,” Buck said. “He also says the fighters are in position and have confirmed the presence of the Gulfstream.”
“Damn it!” Lauren turned back to Kirk. “Exactly where is the thirty-mile arc? How close are they?”
“See this line that cuts just north of Fredericksburg? That’s the boundary.”
“How long until 401 reaches that point?” Lauren asked.
“At their current speed, three minutes from now.”
“Kirk,” Michael began, “we need you to send a secure data link message to the crew aboard Flight 401. Tell them they’re in the middle of a Homeland Security red alert. They are to say nothing on the open frequencies and await further instructions from you and you only.”
“They’re the only ones that will see the message—right?” Lauren added.
“Yeah. It’s totally protected. Only the crew on 401 will see this,” Trent said. “Though shouldn’t we tell them more than that?”
“Let’s get their attention first,” Michael said. “We’ll work our way up from there.”
“Michael,” Lauren warned, “the clock is ticking.”
“Send the message,” Michael said.
Lauren watched as Kirk typed out exactly what Michael had instructed. She placed her hand reassuringly on his shoulder.
“Message sent,” Kirk confirmed, as he exhaled a sigh of relief.
“Anything from Donovan?” Michael asked. He and Lauren exchanged worried glances then they both looked up at the big clock on the wall.
Lauren looked at her phone. “Nothing.”
“Something just came in from 401.” Kirk began typing. “They’re asking for the action code.”
“What’s that?” Lauren said as she turned toward Trent.
“It’s a code to prevent unknown persons from implementing nonstandard instructions to flight crews.”
“Send it!” David urged.
“It’s Hotel, Sierra, Delta, Eight, Seven,” Trent said.
“Give them the code, and then I want you to explain to them that there’s a Gulfstream IV flying in close formation with them.” Michael leaned closer to Kirk. “They need to create some separation by dumping fuel.”
Kirk began typing.
“Michael, we’re down to two minutes!” Lauren felt like screaming at everyone to hurry.
Michael turned to Trent. “Where exactly are the fuel dump nozzles on an A330?”
“There are two of them, one on the trailing edge of each wing. They’re positioned just outboard of the engines.”
“Good.” Michael closed his eyes and squinted against a sudden wave of pain. “How much time do we have left?”
“Ninety seconds,” Buck said, cupping his phone with one hand. “The Air Force is asking for some definitive sign that Donovan has control of the airplane—if it happens.”
“Like a code word?” Lauren said.
“What’s your daughter’s middle name?” Buck asked. “The Pentagon is real nervous about being able to confirm who’s actually flying the Gulfstream.”
“She has two actually. Elizabeth, Sarah.” Lauren turned toward Kirk. “Have we received a reply from Donovan yet?”
Lauren looked at her phone. Nothing. She shook her head.
“I’ve got a reply from Flight 401,” Kirk said without looking away from his screen. “They say they’ve confirmed the code and are standing by to dump fuel.”
“Do it! We’re out of time! He knows we wouldn’t desert him,” Lauren said. “He knows we’re here. He’ll be waiting for something. He’ll figure it out faster than the terrorists do.”
“Tell them to dump,” Michael said. “They need to give it a good, solid, thirty seconds. If it hasn’t worked by then, it’s not going to.”
Lauren moved beside Michael and grasped his hand. She was tempted to ask him what he thought Donovan’s chances were, but she remained silent. This was all they had, and in a matter of minutes everything was going to happen even if Donovan’s chances were zero. As Lauren waited, she discovered she was terrified on a level she didn’t know existed.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Donovan felt the blood thumping from his chest to his head. His breathing was shallow and rapid. On the horizon, peeking through the clouds, he could see the glow of Washington D.C. Coming up below them was Fredericksburg, Virginia, the White House no-fly zone began there. He knew they had to go soon. He studied the wing that loomed large ahead and above the da Vinci. His eyes were drawn to the steady flash of the strobe light that seemed to hover in space. An instant later, the strobe light vanished. Donovan looked closer, not sure what had happened. In the near darkness out the window, he saw the opaque vapor trail streaming back from a nozzle in the wing. The da Vinci shuddered beneath their feet.
“Go!” Donovan whispered in a rush. In a haze of misting jet fuel, the da Vinci again rocked hard. Donovan felt the negative g-force as Strauss instinctively dove away from the airliner.
Montero reached the cockpit, and with one quick jab, ran the length of the screwdriver deep into Rafael’s ear straight into his brain. The man was dead bef
ore his chin hit his chest. Montero pulled out the shaft, swung to her left and drove the screwdriver deep into Strauss’s thigh and threw three quick elbow jabs into his face. As anticipated, Strauss’s hands flew off the controls to the wound in his leg and then up to try to protect himself from Montero’s blows.
Donovan went to the right, reached over Montero, past Rafael’s corpse, and pushed the controls down violently, forcing the da Vinci away from the Airbus. Strauss and Montero were struggling, arms flailing, and Strauss pulled back on the controls. Donovan felt the Gulfstream rocket upward. Out the windshield, Donovan spotted the A330, just above them—fuel still billowing from each wing. Donovan strained against the g’s and grabbed the controls. The Airbus filled the windshield and he had no choice but to haul farther back on the control column and force the da Vinci nearly vertical. A second later, the Airbus flashed past as they narrowly missed the tail and flew back through the plume of jet fuel. The Gulfstream shuddered violently as it cut through the Airbus’s powerful slipstream. They were running out of airspeed. Using all the strength he had, he forced the controls to the right and allowed the nose to drop while trying to roll the da Vinci’s wings level.
In the near-darkness, Donovan saw that Montero had lost her footing, and Strauss had somehow gotten his right arm around her neck. He pulled her into him, tying her up like a boxer, only he was trying to choke off her air. Rafael’s lifeless body had slid sideways and obstructed Donovan’s ability to fly the plane. He shoved him aside with his shoulder and fought to level the wings as the da Vinci nosed down into a steep dive.
Strauss let out a cry as he pulled the screwdriver out from his thigh, and in one fluid motion he raised it above his head to stab Montero’s exposed back. Donovan released the controls and put his hand out to deflect the blow only to watch in horror as the blade of the screwdriver punched cleanly through his palm, jutting out of the back of his hand. The blade stopped inches from Montero’s spine.
Donovan didn’t feel any pain as he locked eyes with Strauss, but in that one moment, he saw the look of an enraged animal—one that was fighting for its life. Donovan made a fist and as hard as he could hit Strauss below the eye. Strauss had no way to protect himself and the next blow hit the same spot, and the next crushed the bridge of Strauss’s nose. Donovan took three more swings before he stopped. Strauss had gone slack, blood coursed from his nose down the front of his shirt.
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