Not So Dead

by Charles Levin

  The reporters spilled into the press briefing room and there was a noticeable buzz as they speculated to each other. What could this be about? Marie Williams from CNN sat quietly staring at the small stage and the large Presidential Seal on the blue background wall. This never got old for her. She couldn’t believe a girl from the streets of Puerto Rico could be sitting here at the seat of power and actually doing something that mattered.

  Just then the press secretary, who usually gave the briefings, stepped to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”

  President Longford moved quickly to the podium. She was dressed in a smart-looking dark business pantsuit. Her signature look. She put on her reading glasses and glanced down at a piece of paper. This all looked strangely impromptu for this White House. She put down her glasses and the paper on the podium and looked out at all of them. “I have a brief statement to make. There is a rapidly developing situation. If I have time, I will take a few questions.”

  She cleared her throat, “At approximately 5:10 this afternoon, I ordered the FAA to immediately ground all commercial and private aircraft in the US.” There was a collective gasp in the room. Photo flashes seemed to spring about the room like mini fireworks. There was now silence except for the cameras clicking. Could this be another 9/11? She continued. “We have it, due to the intelligence work of the NSA, CIA and Cyber Command, that there has been a credible and significant terrorist threat targeting our commercial aviation infrastructure. We believe we have foiled this attempt and killed the mastermind behind it. We are grounding all aircraft for the next six hours merely as a precautionary measure. I’ve been told by the FAA that it may take up to two hours for all aircraft to land.” She glanced at her watch. “So that should mean all aircraft will be safely on the ground by around 7:00 PM Eastern Time.”

  A secret service agent approached the podium and whispered in the president’s ear. “As I said, this is still a rapidly developing situation, so I can only take one or two questions.” There was an overwhelming roar from the reporters in the room shouting their questions. Williams jumped to her feet and waved at the president. Longford raised both hands palms-down to calm the hungry throng. “Marie, what’s your question?”

  Marie couldn’t believe her luck to be singled out. For most of the reporters in the room, it was about being called upon and getting exposure for yourself. The question and answer almost didn’t matter. But Marie was ready with a real question, “Madame President, can you tell us any more about who was behind this planned attack and who the ‘mastermind’ is that you referred to?”

  Longford turned to face and answer Marie directly, like they were just having a casual conversation, but not really. “Marie, all we know at this point is that there were foreign nationals involved. They may have found a way to misdirect our aircraft, causing confusion and potential danger to our planes, their passengers and crew. We had been tracking this threat and the people behind it. About thirty minutes ago, the FBI and SFPD confronted the suspected leader. A shootout and explosion occurred. We lost two veteran agents and four more are in the hospital in critical condition. The FBI has positive identification on the dead body of the leader. We are grounding all aircraft and taking other defensive measures until we are 100% sure we have completely thwarted this assault on our national security.” The agent returned to the podium and again whispered in the president’s ear. “I’m sorry, I can’t take any more questions now. I’m needed in the Situation Room. I can assure you that there will be a briefing later today when we know more details.” She quickly exited stage left. The room again roared with questions that would go unanswered for now.

  Williams was beaming inside. It was quite a coup to get the one and only question in at a serious press conference like this. It might have been the greatest moment of her career. She knew her boss would be very pleased. But then her pride peeled away to doubt and worry. Why would the president be needed again in the Situation Room? What was really going on here?

  CHAPTER 46

  ATC

  Ralph Kinear had just gotten his lukewarm coffee from the lunch room and was back at his terminal. He had put a zarf on the cup out of habit. Maybe they’d have really hot coffee there someday. No matter, he’d been working for air traffic control for over twenty years and he still loved it. Who needed video games when you could play with real things and real people, he thought. That’s a question he would keep to himself. Just then he noticed a red alert in the crawl at the bottom of his screen. “ATC has been ordered, effective immediately, to ground all aircraft within our sectors of control. We ask all controllers to proceed in an orderly way, but with some haste, to direct all flights to their nearest landing areas.” Holy shit, he thought. Ralph had been at his console on September 11, 2001 and cleared one of the planes that turned out to be one of the two that hit the World Trade Towers. Shortly after, they had grounded all planes. Not again. The control commander, Jake Wakefield stepped to the front of the room. “Folks, this is not a drill. The president has ordered the FAA, and consequently us, to lead an orderly grounding of all planes. As you may recall, after 9/11, the ATC set up Protocol 62 for just this kind of situation. Please proceed accordingly, bringing down the big birds first. Ralph, can I have a minute?” Jake waved Ralph over to a small corridor off to the side of the large control room.

  “Ralph, I’m concerned. We have over 150 aircraft in our sectors and we have to bring them down in under two hours.”

  Ralph rubbed his bristly chin. “Why two hours? What aren’t we being told?”

  Jake took a deep breath. “I’ve been told that our ATC guidance systems may have been compromised. Since we have automated more and more of our systems, humans aren’t required to make personal contact with the pilots. So pilots, as you know, can be getting their flight path commands directly from computers. We tried warning them that they were creating a vulnerability to hackers, but nobody listened. Now look what’s happening. If some loonie has his fingers on the buttons, it could be chaos. I want you to be ready to lead our A-Team through a manual override if we need it. You’ve been through it before when we had that outage in December 2008, before they upgraded the equipment.”

  “How am I supposed to do that and bring planes in at the same time?”

  “Ever hear of multitasking?” Jake quipped. “No, seriously, get the planes down, but work the manual scenario in the back of your mind. I just didn’t want you to get caught off guard if I have to pull the trigger on that.”

  Ralph was resigned. Since many of his comrades had been replaced by the computer automated system, he doubted there were enough human controllers to bring down the planes safely in two hours. This was going to be a shit day anyway you sliced it. “OK, I understand.” He dropped his coffee into the waste bin. I need something stronger, he thought.

  CHAPTER 47

  VISITING MR. P

  The agent, aka Mr. Pimp, sat at the small kitchen table in his rundown, third-floor, walk-up apartment in the meatpacking district. There were two cute twin girls sitting opposite him—one in a puffy pink dress and the other in blue with white lace around the collar. They look delicious, he thought. “Eat your sandwiches, girls, and you can have ice cream for dessert.” Their faces both lit up. They looked at each other and giggled. Twins almost seemed to have their own secret way to communicate.

  Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Our visitor must be early,” Mr. P said.

  Mr. P went to the door. He left the chain on and opened the door the few inches it could go while the chain still held. “What the F –?” He pushed back on the door, but the visitor kicked it open and it fell off its hinges. “Girls, it’s OK. Go into the bedroom now and close the door.” The girls looked frightened but did as they were told.

  As soon as the bedroom door closed, the visitor pushed Mr. P twice in the chest until he fell backward into his chair. “You told somebody about our encounter yesterday. Didn’t you?” the visitor snarled.
<
br />   “No, no—I would never do that.” Mr. P raised his hands, palms forward, as if he could stop this menace.

  The visitor pulled his Glock pistol out of his inside coat pocket, removed a silencer from his side pocket and proceeded to screw it on. “Now you are going to tell me who you told and what you told them.”

  “Really, I didn’t tell anyone!”

  “Let me help your memory.” The visitor fired a muffled shot into Mr. P’s left knee. Mr. P grabbed his knee in agony, tears running down his face. “Is it coming back to you yet or do you need some more help?”

  “No, no. It was two Feds I think. They tortured me. I just mentioned the warehouse.”

  “And their names . . .?” Mr. P hesitated. “I think you need some more help.” The visitor fired another shot into Mr. P’s right knee. Mr. P groaned. The visitor moved closer and stuck the end of the silencer deep into Mr. P’s crotch.

  Mr. P wailed. “Stop. Stop. It was Smith and Wesson I think.”

  “Now you’re really, as you Americans say, ‘pissing me off.’ Which testicle would you like to keep?” The visitor jammed the gun harder into Mr. P’s groin.

  Mr. P made a ghostly moan. “No, really. Those were their names. Wait, wait and their boss was named ‘Little.’”

  “That’s better. I always like to get paid for my trouble. Some might call it a thirst for vengeance, but that would be petty. I believe in divine justice. I just seem to have a calling to carry it out.” The visitor removed the gun from Mr. P’s groin and held the pistol down at his side. Despite being in great pain, Mr. P breathed a sigh of relief. He would live. Except the visitor then raised the gun to Mr. P’s head and fired two quick thuds into his temple. Mr. P fell over onto the floor, his bowels letting go.

  The visitor then unscrewed the silencer and put it with the gun on the table. They were too hot to put back in his pocket. He walked over to the bedroom door and gently knocked. He opened the door slowly. “Hi girls. Let’s play. Would you like to meet my friend, Johnny?”

  CHAPTER 48

  BOSTON UA 226

  Ninety minutes had passed and Ralph had successfully “landed” all but five planes. They brought the big birds in at Logan. Fred Naismith, sitting next to him, brought the smaller aircraft down at Portland and Providence, nearby. It was going well, but Ralph kept wiping sweat from his brow. He could feel his shirt sticking to him and smell his failing deodorant despite the AC being on high.

  He was tracking the circling blips of a Boeing 747, an old Boeing 727 and an Airbus A330 on his monitor.

  Pilot 1: “UA 226: Approach, UA 226, with you, level 12000, B.”

  Ralph: “UA 226, Boston Approach, advise information D, expect the ILS 22L.”

  Pilot 1: “OK, ILS 22L, I’ll get D.”

  “UA 226, reduce speed 220, then descend and maintain 5500.”

  “220 on the speed first, then down to 5500, UA 226.”

  “UA 226, if I issued the QUABN ONE Arrival, 22L transition, are you still able to do that approach?”

  “Yeah, a yeah, for the QUABN ONE, 22L transition, we can still do that for you.”

  “UA 226, Roger, you can descend at your own discretion and maintain 5500 and proceed via runway 22L transition.”

  “Approach, UA 226, we thought we were looking good here for the QUABN transition—something up?”

  “No problem—so are you able to fly the route as published?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “UA 226, contact Final on 126.5, have a good day.”

  “126.5, UA 226.”

  Pilot 1: “Approach, UA 226, leveling at 4500, we’ve just lost a lot of our instruments, we’d like to go somewhere and hold. We’d like a vector please.”

  “UA 226, Boston Approach, Roger, fly heading 260, maintain 4500, and what’s your status?”

  “Yeah, we’re gonna check some things out. Just want to make sure we’re clear of traffic, so 4500, 260 heading and we’ll get back to you.”

  There was silence as Ralph stared at his screen. Fred heard what was going on, pulled off his headset and rolled his chair across the linoleum to look over Ralph’s shoulder. They both knew that whatever happened, they had to keep their voices calm and in control. That was something they had learned the hard way.

  “Yeah, we got some stuff back here. Looks like we have enough to shoot an ILS here, and we’re talking to dispatch for a Plan B, but yeah; we’re gonna try for this 22L.”

  “Roger 226. Say fuel and souls on board.”

  “UA 226, we have 1 hour 10, and 312 souls on board, UA 226.”

  Pilot 1: “Boston, UA 226, we’ve lost pressurization also, not a problem yet, but won’t want to go much higher if we go over to Providence. We are emergency now, pulling it right.”

  “UA 226, turn right heading 130.”

  “130 heading, UA 226.”

  Ralph and Fred waited silently, but Ralph couldn’t wait anymore. “226, what’s your status?”

  “226, do you read?”

  “226?” The blip that was 226 disappeared from the screen.

  CHAPTER 49

  WHAT’S NEXT?

  “What have we learned from this?” It’s something Frank always said when faced with a problem, failure, or in this case, a catastrophe. It was the kind of question that tended to focus the mind, while taking the emotion out of the situation.

  Al, Bart, Loretta, Julie and I sat mute in the computer lab at the office, staring up at Frank on the wall monitor. He looked a bit like the original Einstein. His wisdom always present like a twin brother.

  Al broke the silence. This was her kind of detective question. “We know the bad guys had some way of triggering the ATC hack, despite our downing their satellites.”

  “We also know 312 people lost their lives on Flight 226 and this all happened despite LaSalam being out of the picture,” I said.

  “Maybe he’s not out of the picture,” replied Frank. “I have a report here that the charming little slime-ball, Mr. P, was found dead in his apartment by a maid shortly after the explosion and tragic crash.”

  “What? They had positive ID,” Bart said, surprised.

  “I think he faked the positive ID,” Frank said. We all looked astonished. How was that possible?

  “We have a few known cases where a bad guy with the resources, and believe me you need money and expertise to do it, wasted an innocent and then had his mouth and teeth surgically changed to match the bad guy’s dental records. It’s so hard to do and uncommon that it still fools most investigators, even the FBI.” Al continued. “That misdirection gives the bad guy time to escape or in this case, carry out his plot.”

  Loretta looked genuinely shocked. “So it’s possible that this jerk pulled the trigger on 226 and he’s still out there. Is that right?”

  Frank said, “That’s our current theory. We just don’t know how he pulled the trigger or what he might do next. 226 was pretty bad. But as we all know, he had a much grander plot in mind. He might take some satisfaction in downing 226, but I’d bet he’d be more inclined to self-flagellation. You know—it’s a cultural thing. He failed the mission, he failed his father and he failed Allah.”

  Al said, “So he either has or will develop a new target. Hmm. What would you hit next if you were him?”

  I thought about this one. “This is obviously a very smart devil, literally. So my bet is he already had his next target picked out. His profile says he thinks too much of himself to expect failure. So, if you had brought down 100s of planes, what would have been a logical second punch?”

  Bart had been taking this all in. “Sounds like the right way to frame the question. But you know me, I’m always looking at the technology side. I think if we can figure out what device or network he used to trigger the 226 attack, we may have a way to thwart his follow up plan.”

  “Good point. Bart, why don’t you and Killer do some traces from your end, and I’ll do some inside exploration here,” Frank said.

  I wasn’t sure who was in cha
rge anymore, so I just let my inner control freak take over. “Al, why don’t you drop by the Mr. P crime scene and see if there are any clues there. Loretta, you know some street people. Can you do some asking around?”

  Loretta smirked. “Are you suggesting I have a shady background? Just kidding, I’ll get on it. There are a few people I can reach out to.”

  Bart got on my case again. “And what are you going to do boss?”

  “I’ve got to get with Little. I feel like we’re moving quickly downstream without a paddle and there’s a steep waterfall in our path. We’ve got to get this thing under control and fast.”

  CHAPTER 50

  30,000 SLEEP

  The Leopard walked up the steps of the private jet he had chartered. My business isn’t done, but I have to get out of this Allah forsaken city, he thought.

  He sunk into the soft leather seat and let out a deep breath. There was something so peaceful and relaxing about flying in a plane, especially a private one. At least for a few hours, you could be away from all the stresses and dangers of dealing with both your enemies and your friends. The Lear broke through the clouds into the clear blue and leveled off at 25,000 feet.

  Back to New York where I can regroup with Eskabar. He and his team had performed admirably despite the Great Satan’s efforts to thwart his plans. He could not fault him for losing the satellites or for the yellow dogs trying to ground all their aircraft. He may have only brought down one jumbo jet, but he had killed 312 animals and struck terror into the whole country. He could only imagine the meetings Longford and her generals were having. He relished the idea of their fear and panic, scrambling to keep up. But LaSalam was too fast for them. They had no idea what was coming next and he planned to keep it that way until he could strike his blow and bring them to their knees.

  He had planned to wipe out Eskabar and his New York operation after the first attack, but he changed his mind. They would be useful in this next operation and then he could deal with them. It did create a certain risk of exposure leaving them in place, but the Leopard had to be agile. His prey was a moving target and he had to adapt or even anticipate their moves until he could bring them down. It was worth the risk. Besides it seemed his enemy was miles, not steps, behind despite the need for the warehouse diversion.