He tried to shove these thoughts out of his mind as he reached toward the end table and grabbed his ringing phone. It wouldn’t do any good to let doubt take over. They had a credible threat, and normal operating procedure dictated that they deal with it in the necessary manner. If it turned out to be a hoax…well, no harm, no foul.
Except it won’t be that easy. If I’m wrong…shit rolls downhill, and it runs fast. The guys that get the big paychecks don’t stand for embarrassment.
It was Lucy calling. As he answered it, he remembered that she had asked him to call her after he landed so that she would know that he was safe. The request had completely slipped his mind. He had been on the go ever since his plane had landed at LaGuardia.
Alan said, “I’m sorry,” when he answered the phone.
“I was worried,” Lucy said. “When you didn’t call…”
“I got wrapped up in things.”
“How are things going?”
“I feel like a man walking on thin ice that could break at any moment. I’m out of my element. What about you?”
“We’ve all got our fingers crossed. When I was leaving the office today, I’m pretty sure I saw Gant praying. I can’t say for sure, but that’s what it looked like.”
“We all deal with it in our own way, I guess,” Alan said.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Lucy said. “I thought about consulting my psychic friend. Sometimes, he can tap into the higher energies and get a feel for things. He can sense if something bad is going to happen. I thought maybe it was worth a shot. Even though I know you don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”
“If it’ll help you sleep tonight, I say go for it. I need all the luck I can get.”
“I always wanted to work in the field, but things like this…I don’t know, Alan. I’m not sure I’d be cut out for it. I don’t know how you do it. Excuse my language, but I’d be scared shitless.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Just be safe. Okay?”
“I will.”
“Part of me wishes I was there with you. I probably wouldn’t be any help, but at least you wouldn’t be out there alone.”
“How’s Marvin?”
“Nice change of subject.”
“I get bored talking about myself.”
“He’s good, I guess. We’re supposed to go out tomorrow night.”
“Nervous?”
“Not really.”
“Something else to ask your psychic friend about,” Alan said. “You could kill two birds with one stone.”
“You laugh about it, but he’s saved me from a bad situation more than once.”
“I’m not laughing. Let me know what he says. Night, Lucy.”
“Goodnight, Alan.”
After he hung up the phone, Alan thought about Lucy and her psychic friend. He thought about how comforting it would be to be able to predict the future, and how maybe then he would have been able rest easy knowing his fate.
Chapter 22
5:30 A.M.
Alan woke to the sound of his phone ringing. It should have been his alarm clock waking him at this hour, but it hadn’t been set to go off for another fifteen minutes.
“Good morning, Agent Lamb.”
It was Guy Bernard’s voice that greeted him. The man sounded a little too jovial for this early in the morning. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was up,” Alan said, sitting upright in bed, trying to shake off the grogginess.
“Bullshit. I can always tell when I’ve jolted someone out of their slumber.”
“You got me. Did you find anything?”
“Nada. I ran a check on every name on the manifest. Nobody stands out. A few passengers with priors, but nothing to write home about. Possession, disorderly conduct, a handful of DUIs. Otherwise, they’re all clean as a whistle.”
“It’s not what I was hoping for,” Alan said as he gathered his clothes with his free hand.
“Of course not. That would be too easy. I’ve got a guy out there I could send your way if you need the help?”
“That’s okay. It’s crowded enough. Already shaping up to be a royal clusterfuck.”
“Understood. It’s probably for the best, considering you’re already deeply indebted to me. I can only save your neck so many times.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Don’t go too far out of your way playing the hero today,” Guy said.
“Me?”
Guy chuckled. “You know what I’m saying. Watch yourself. Sounds like this guy might have it in for you.”
“I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Now you’re talking. I’ll be watching the news. I’ll even DVR it in case your ugly mug makes it on the tube. This could be your fifteen minutes.”
“If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be staying invisible.”
“This story is too full of ghosts as it is. Take care.”
There was something ominous about Guy’s parting words, but Alan couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Ghosts, spooks, psychics, oh my! Alan thought and finished getting dressed.
Alan could still see the security checkpoint from where he stood leaning against a marbled support beam not far from the Rome Airways departure gate. From his vantage point, he could see incoming passengers after they had gotten their shoes back on, collected their belongings, and were making their way to the gate’s waiting area. A dozen passengers were already seated in the connected chairs, and Alan scanned their faces, their clothes, and their carry-on luggage, searching for anything that might stand out. It was a useless exercise. Morrie Arti would be much too clever to reveal his hand.
One of these things is not like the other, Alan thought as his eyes swept over the faces.
Or…
How many clones does it take to blow up an airplane?
Outside the window-walls, he could see the Rome Airways Airbus A330 taxiing up to the terminal gate.
It was 9:05 A.M.
There were 152 passengers scheduled to be on that days’ Rome Airways flight. According to Guy Bernard, he had run a background check on all 152 of them and had turned up nothing besides a handful of simple misdemeanors. Nothing that would cause them to scrutinize any of the passengers more closely. That had been another dead end in a seemingly never ending series of them.
Alan watched the faces as they passed through the security checkpoint. Not all of them were headed for the Rome Airways terminal gate, but he watched them anyway, searching for the slightest clue that one of them might be the person they were looking for.
Wiens’s words from the day before echoed through his brain like an omen. Needle in a haystack, Alan thought.
He glanced around at the passengers that were already seated in the gate’s waiting area. Among them, he saw Air Marshall Tetrault, who had busied himself with ostensibly skimming through a magazine, but Alan caught the man stealing glances every so often, keeping an eye on the other passengers as they arrived at the gate.
Where are you? Alan thought. Better yet, who are you?
He shifted his weight to his other foot as he leaned against the pillar.
How long had he been standing there? Forty-five minutes? An hour?
At least that.
When he had first arrived, the waiting area had been entirely empty. Now there were over a dozen souls occupying the seats. Several teenagers were sitting at one of the tables, their tablets plugged into the outlets, earbuds poking out of their ears as they moved their heads to whatever music they were listening to.
Alan had spent a good deal of this time questioning his own judgment. Maybe Orin Wiens had been right; maybe they should have canceled the flight altogether. Whether the threat turned out to be credible or not, it would have been the safest play.
But Alan had had his own reason for wanting to keep it business as usual. He wanted Morrie Arti and he wanted him badly. And not only because he wanted to see justice done, but also bec
ause he wanted answers. He wanted to know why the man had singled him out; why he had addressed a letter to Alan personally and provided them clues on where to find it.
Why wouldn’t he single you out? You’re the lead investigator in the case. Who else would he leave a letter for?
While it was true that he was the lead investigator, he was most definitely not the man in charge. If he wanted to ruffle feathers, he could have addressed the letter to Gant, or, better yet, Deputy Director Strickland. Those were the men in charge; the actual decision makers. If your intent was to make waves, you started at the top of the totem pole.
But he chose you…
Alan was all too aware of that fact.
Maybe he’s looking for his next fall guy, a soft voice whispered in Alan’s head. He’s got McKay by the twig and berries, maybe you’re next.
When things went sideways, shit tended to roll downhill. Strickland would know how to squirm out of a tight spot. Gant might be in the line of fire, but all eyes would be on Alan. The mastermind behind all of this had left a letter for him specifically. If he successfully completed his endgame, Alan had a feeling that most of the tough questions would be directed at him. And he wouldn’t have any answers.
9:20.
The waiting area seats had started to fill up. Alan hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. His eyes flicked over luggage, backpacks, laptop cases, electronic devices.
Who was it? Who would Morrie Arti choose?
152 passengers. 152 potential suspects.
Which one?
Who are you?
It would have been easier to cancel the flight. It was senseless to take risks with innocent lives.
There’s still time, Alan thought. If they get everyone on board and we’ve still come up empty, I can still give the order to cancel the flight. There’ll be some pissed off folks, but pissed off is better than dead.
All of this rested on the belief that the attack would be carried out that day; that Morrie Arti wasn’t pulling a bait-and-switch, and instead of a day, maybe the attack would come at some point in the future. Tomorrow, the next day, or next week. Or, worse yet, maybe he had targeted another flight altogether.
Alan didn’t believe it. The man had always been one step ahead, but he had always played fair. The man wasn’t a cheater. Somehow, Alan was sure of that. As sure of it as he was that the attack would happen today and not tomorrow or at some random point in the future.
Alan glanced in Tetrault’s direction. Tetrault was staring at him. When he saw Alan, he gave him a little nod of his head. Almost imperceptible, but Alan caught it nonetheless. The gesture said, All’s quiet on the western front.
He went back to watching the faces as they passed him.
Where are you?
It’s was now 9:40.
Chapter 23
A woman’s voice came over the intercom letting them know that the Rome Airways flight to Rome was now boarding. Some of the passengers had already gotten out of their seats and formed a line in front of the door.
Tetrault was at the front of the line. He glanced at Alan briefly before he disappeared through the door that led to the skybridge.
Alvin Harper and Fred Hegge were both posted somewhere outside the security checkpoint. Marshall Evans was on the other side of it, surreptitiously monitoring things as passengers were subjected to the screening process.
Evans’s voice came through over the earpiece Alan wore in his right ear. “Status check.”
Both Hegge and Harper reported Code 4, and Alan did the same, being as discreet as possible. Evans’s said, “Late arrivals are coming through now. All clear here as well.”
Another uneventful ten minutes passed, and the last of the passengers passed through, showing their boarding passes as they stepped through the doors and made their way down the ramp and toward the waiting plane.
“The last of them are boarding. What’s the play?”
Alan didn’t respond. What had they missed? He almost hoped that a clue would arrive out of nowhere; that Morrie Arti would feed them one final breadcrumb, pointing them in the right direction.
“Lamb? I repeat, what’s the play?”
Alan came away from the pillar he had been leaning against and took in his surroundings.
What was the play indeed.
Into his hidden mic, he said, “I’m getting on the plane.”
Chapter 24
Alan flashed his badge at the woman standing next to the door and hurried past her as he made his way through the skybridge.
In his ear, Evan’s voice said, “Wait!”
Alan stopped. Up ahead, he could see the entrance to the plane, several of the flight attendants were greeting the last of the boarding passengers.
“I’ve got something,” Evans said. “They just found Jimenez tied up in the security locker room.”
“Who?”
“Edgar Jimenez. One of my screeners.”
Alan’s mind raced, trying to put it together.
It was just like the others. Howard Sitka…Susan Carville…Teresa Baier…Sean Hammond…Gerard Wilson…and the list went one.
Now it was Edgar Jimenez, a TSA security screener.
I should have known.
It was the first place they should have looked. How else would someone be able to board a plane with dangerous cargo unless they were given safe passage through airport security?
“Where was your man posted?” Alan asked. His head was cocked as he awaited a response.
Silence for a moment.
“We’re running out of time,” Alan said.
“Got it,” Evans said in his ear. “He was posted at the quick passage entrance. It’s where we do expedited screening of the flight crew. Pilots and flight attendants. I already sent some guys to check it out. And that’s what’s got me thinking I just entered The Twilight Zone. Because Jimenez is exactly where he was supposed to be. My guys swear to it, but I’m looking at a man in a t-shirt and boxers right now that sure as hell looks like the real Edgar Jimenez to me.”
“I’ll explain later,” Alan said and continued down the ramp at a run. “It isn’t a passenger. It’s one of the crew.”
Chapter 25
Captain Henry Torrance had arrived at JFK shortly before eight o’clock that morning, had passed through security screening uneventfully (the screener hadn’t bothered checking the contents of his briefcase), and had proceeded to the pilot’s lounge. He had consulted the computerized checkin system, which provided him flight details, a weather report, the number of passengers that would be on the flight, and the names and titles of the flight crew. For today’s flight, which was set to depart at 10:00 A.M., he would have both first and second officers. The co-pilot was a man by the name of Gregory Peck, just like the actor. The flight engineer (sometimes known as the second officer) was Sam Carrigan.
Torrance spent forty-five minutes in the lounge, drinking coffee from a mug he had taken out of the cupboard above the sink. His briefcase rested on the floor between his feet. For breakfast, he ate a cold danish with raspberry and cream cheese filling. The flat panel TV mounted to the wall opposite the kitchenette was tuned to CNN.
Both Peck and Carrigan arrived at nine o’clock sharp, as Torrance was finishing his cup of coffee. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, but Peck, who had worked with Torrance on several occasions in the past, thought the senior pilot wasn’t acting like his usual self. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly caused him to feel this way, but there was something a little off about the man that morning. The Henry Torrance he had come to know was a loquacious man that normally had a joke handy. His jokes weren’t always politically correct, either, but they sat fine with his fellow brothers of the sky. A little bathroom humor could go a long way in soothing the nerves.
“You feeling okay today?” Peck asked. “You don’t seem like your usual self, Henry.”
“Yeah?” Torrance said. “I didn’t get a whole lot’ve sleep last night.”
Peck nodded
, but wasn’t entirely convinced. For some reason, a small flower of anxiety blossomed in the pit of his stomach. But he chose to ignore it. He always got a mild case of the nerves before the longer flights. As for Henry Torrance, well, everybody was entitled to the occasional off day.
Peck said, “I can do the heavy lifting if you need me to. Or Sam here. He’s gotten too accustomed to doing nothing.”
“Eat me,” Carrigan said without glancing up from the newspaper he was reading.
“Won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine.” He lifted his empty coffee mug and said, “Just needed the morning dose of wakey-wakey juice.”
“Suit yourself.”
Torrance checked his watch. “We should get going.”
They walked together to the waiting plane, an Airbus A330, and upon entering the cockpit, they checked the various instruments and made certain all the controls were in proper working order.
They met with the rest of the flight crew, and Torrance signed the flight release. After all the passengers had boarded, Torrance received a weather update and an updated passenger count. He also received the pre-flight departure form. After filling out the form, he gave the order for the flight attendants to secure all the doors.
Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller Page 16