Code Black

by Donlay, Philip S.

  “This is the closest entrance to Wayfarer Operations.” Emmett pulled the truck up to a steel door near Wayfarer’s concourse.

  The phone in Donovan’s hand rang. He pushed the button and put the phone to his ear. “Donovan Nash.”

  “Donovan. This is Calvin Reynolds. Lauren gave me this number if I needed to reach you.”

  “What’s going on?” Donovan couldn’t imagine why Calvin would be calling.

  “Here’s the deal,” Calvin said. “Lauren explained a little of what’s going on there and asked me for a favor. It’s not something I can do legally and I’ll deny it came from this office. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lauren wanted me to recover a certain conversation that took place earlier today. Because this particular call was made from a cell phone, during what was believed at the time to be a terrorist attack, certain intelligence elements were activated. There exists classified technology that records virtually every broadcast communication in the world. Once a transmission is recorded, computers key in on certain words and phrases consistent to a given threat. In today’s case it was your flight number. The phone call in question has been retrieved.”

  A small smile crept across Donovan’s face. He eyed Emmett, who was watching him. “Very clever.”

  “It’s Lauren you have to thank for this,” Calvin said. “But before we go any further, I need you to understand a few important details. This information cannot be used in any legal process. You can do what you need to do, but again, I am not involved. If the information is used publicly, this office will never be mentioned.”

  “Of course. You have my word.”

  “Your phone is going to ring again. Let it go to voice mail.”

  “I don’t have any way to access the messages on this phone,” Donovan said. “Why don’t you leave it on our machine at home?”

  “I’d rather this information be on a random cell phone. It gives me another level of deniability. I don’t want what I’m sending you to be traced back to me, or this office. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I understand. Do you have the code I’ll need to listen to the message?”

  “We just tracked it down,” Calvin said, then paused. “It’s 5599.”

  Donovan ended the call. The moment he did the phone rang again and continued to ring until it went to voice mail.

  “Who was that?” Emmett said.

  Donovan held up the phone triumphantly. “I think we now have what we need to go in there and cause some serious trouble.” Donovan waited for the beep that would announce a new voice message had been received. He dialed the sequence to retrieve what Calvin had sent. What Donovan hadn’t been prepared for, was the emotional response he had at the sound of Patricia’s cheerful voice asking him to leave a message.

  Donovan tried to blot out the image of her lifeless body as he followed the prompts. He pushed in the code Calvin had given him and listened intently. He recognized Cyrus’ voice as the CEO clearly outlined his plan for flight 880—and his bigger plan for Leo and Wayfarer Airlines.

  Donovan was livid, he clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. He carefully saved the message, glanced at his watch, and looked over at Emmett.

  “Is it what you needed?” Emmett asked, his dark eyes smoldering.

  Before Donovan could answer, the door to the concourse burst open and six armed security men quickly encircled the vehicle, their automatic weapons pointed dangerously at the cab. The closest man yelled for Donovan and Emmett to raise their hands.

  Donovan did as he was told. Moments later, both doors flew open and he was pulled out of the warm truck and roughly forced against the side of the vehicle. Donovan was quickly searched and cuffed, his wallet unceremoniously yanked from his back pocket, as was the phone that held the crucial message. On the opposite side of the truck Emmett was subjected to an identical process.

  “Inside!” yelled one of the men.

  “Where are we going?” Donovan asked as he was propelled forward. They climbed a flight of stairs and proceeded out into the deserted concourse.

  “Where are you taking us?” Emmett said as the barrel of a gun pressed into his ribs.

  “Be quiet! Get in the cart,” the leader said and he pushed his gun in harder for emphasis.

  A guard ordered Donovan and Emmett to sit down on the bench seat of an electric cart. The security officers positioned themselves in front and behind them, then they sped down the empty concourse. Two minutes later, they were shepherded into an elevator. Once the door opened, they were marched toward double security doors. Following a quick exchange on the radio, the doors swung open from the inside. The entire entourage swept through the entryway, into a large room.

  “Stop here!”

  Donovan and Emmett stopped. Donovan studied his surroundings and deduced that they’d been brought to Wayfarer Operations. A man in a tie approached them, with TSA emblazoned on the front of his dark blue coat. He looked to be about Donovan’s age, though far smaller in build. He sported a familiar government-issue crew cut, and from the scowl on his face, Donovan could tell the man wasn’t at all happy.

  “Did you search them?” he asked as he drew close. One of the men nodded, and handed over Donovan’s and Emmett’s wallets. “My name’s Preston. I’m the head of Transportation Security Administration here at O’Hare.”

  Donovan watched patiently as Preston pulled out the driver’s license and studied Donovan’s picture. He repeated the process with Emmett, noting the airport identification around the large man’s neck.

  “You’re under arrest for conspiracy,” Preston said to Emmett, then turned to one of his men. “Read him his rights.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong,” Donovan said calmly.

  “Mr. Nash.” Preston snapped his attention toward Donovan. “If I were you I’d keep quiet.”

  Donovan’s eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at Preston. “This man did nothing more than bring me to you. In case you’re a little behind in your information—I’m one of the pilots of flight 880. As you no doubt already know, you’re in the middle of a very high-visibility event. If I were you, I’d be very careful where I got my information and whose toes I stepped on.”

  “You’re Nash?” a voice called out from behind Donovan.

  Donovan bristled as he recognized the voice. He maintained his composure as the speaker came into view, and answered the question. “I’m Donovan Nash. You must be Richtman.”

  “Mr. Preston,” Cyrus said, turning immediately to the TSA agent. “This is the pilot who just crash-landed flight 880.”

  Donovan glared at the man who had wanted him to crash-land the airplane in Lake Michigan, and had threatened his daughter to get what he wanted.

  “What about him?” Preston pointed at Emmett.

  “I don’t know who he is,” Cyrus said.

  “I work for the airport,” Emmett stated angrily. “I responded to the crash and was asked to drive this guy here. What in the hell is all this about?”

  “Release them both.” Preston sighed heavily. “I apologize. I’m in the process of locking this airport down tight. We’re in the middle of a full-blown terrorist alert.”

  Donovan massaged his wrists where the metal handcuffs had dug deep, and eyed Preston. “I take it you’re still under the assumption that there were terrorists?”

  “That’s right,” Preston said, nodding emphatically. “I’ve been working closely with Wayfarer management to try to contain the situation.”

  “What situation is that?” Donovan was growing impatient, but he understood he needed to get through this man to get to Leo Singer.

  “The attempted theft of one airliner, followed by the theft of another aircraft,” Preston replied, as if everyone knew what had taken place.

  “Who told you they were stolen?” Donovan asked.

  “I’m afraid you’ve been out of the loop,” Cyrus chimed in smoothly. “After what you’ve been through, I think it would be best
if you let us get you to the hospital.”

  Preston ignored Cyrus and addressed Donovan. “Of course they were stolen. I’ve been working with Mr. Richtman and the top management of Wayfarer Airlines. Airport security wounded one of the suspects in the first attempt. What do you know about all of this?”

  “Was this suspect, or terrorist as you call him, perhaps a Wayfarer pilot?” Donovan ignored the flash of anger that crossed Cyrus’ face.

  “My job right now is to lock this airport down,” Preston shot back. “We can sort out all the details later.”

  “Would you be interested in sorting out a great deal of it right now?” Donovan asked as calmly as he could. “I propose we go talk to Leo Singer. I have a feeling he’ll be able to straighten all of this out.”

  “That’s impossible,” Cyrus replied. “Mr. Singer is currently unavailable. I’m sure you understand the demands on him at a time like this.”

  “Mr. Preston!” a member of Preston’s security crew called out from across the room. “I have confirmation that the Air Force has intercepted the jet. They’re being escorted from the area. The terrorist response team will be in place at Scott Air Force base by the time they arrive.”

  “The moment they land, I want everyone on board that plane separated and locked up,” Preston said without taking his eyes off of Donovan. “Nothing leaks to the press, no local agencies are to be involved. Is everyone clear on this?”

  “That’s unnecessary,” Donovan said. He hated the thought of Lauren and the others being met by what would amount to a federal SWAT team. “If I were you, Mr. Preston, I’d be very careful about where I was getting my facts.”

  Cyrus stepped forward as if to cut Preston off. “Let me take care of Mr. Nash. He’s clearly uninformed about today’s events.”

  Donovan bristled at the superior smirk that lingered on Cyrus’ portly face. To his left he caught a glimpse of Emmett’s barely concealed rage.

  “I don’t really have time to debate all of this right now. You two stay where you are. I’ll deal with you later,” Preston said as his cell phone rang. He answered and then stepped away to speak privately.

  “Mr. Nash.” Cyrus glanced at his watch. “We have so much to discuss, but I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you I have a great deal to do at the moment.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Wise choice.” Cyrus buttoned his suit coat and pulled smartly at his sleeves. He then spun on his heel and walked away.

  “What now?” Emmett whispered. The big man nervously cracked his knuckles.

  “I need that phone, then we have to somehow get past Cyrus and the TSA and find Leo Singer.”

  Donovan studied the three TSA agents positioned around the room, they were each eyeing him cautiously. Donovan shot a sideways look at the table where Preston had placed his and Emmett’s possessions. The all important cell phone was in plain view. Donovan with a slight tip of his head motioned for Emmett to follow as he began to walk toward the table.

  “Where do you think you two are going?” Preston called out as he put a hand over the receiver of the phone.

  “Mr. Preston!” Donovan said, ignoring the armed men around him “It’s essential that I speak to Leo Singer. In fact, I’d even go so far as to suggest that your career is hanging in the balance.”

  “He’s in a meeting.” Preston’s eyes darted toward a closed door across the room. “What I want is for you to sit down somewhere and wait.”

  Donovan shook his head, then stepped forward and yanked his arm to shrug off the agent’s hand that had grabbed his shoulder. He clutched the cell phone, pushed Preston aside, and started for the door that Preston had looked at a moment before. “Not going to happen.”

  Preston and his men attempted to intercept Donovan, only to find Emmett blocking their path. It was the narrow window of opportunity Donovan needed. He threw open the door. Behind him, Preston shouted as Emmett kept the TSA agents at bay. Inside sat Leo Singer and Cyrus.

  “Can I help you?” Leo remarked politely, as if the intruder must be lost.

  “Hello, Mr. Singer.” Donovan approached the aging CEO and shook the surprised man’s hand. “I’m Donovan Nash.”

  “I’m sorry,” Preston shouted as he barged in and grabbed Donovan from behind to remove him from the room.

  “Let him be,” Leo ordered, then put both hands on the table and rose to his feet. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Preston. I’d like to talk to Mr. Nash.”

  “What?” Preston said, recoiling.

  “Leo, this is not the time for this!” Cyrus, too, had stood at the sudden intrusion.

  “It’s fine.” Leo nodded, and waited as Preston backed out of the room and gently closed the door.

  Leo’s hawk-like eyes looked Donovan up and down, sizing up the man he’d only heard about until now. “Mr. Nash. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Though I must admit I’m a bit surprised to see you so soon after the crash. I trust you’re uninjured?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” In his life as Robert Huntington, Donovan had dealt with a great many powerful men, some with class, some with very little. Leo Singer certainly belonged in the former category.

  “Leo, I really must insist that Mr. Nash is in no condition to be here.” Cyrus moved toward where Donovan stood.

  Donovan put a hand on Cyrus’ chest, shoving the agitated man back into a chair. “Sit down and listen.”

  “I’ll do no such thing! I’m calling security!”

  “We’ll call them shortly,” Donovan promised, then turned his attention back to Leo. “Mr. Singer, I know you’re surprised to see me. I’m supposed to be in Lake Michigan—where Cyrus tried to land us—despite a legitimate rescue effort by your own people.”

  “We felt the lake was best,” Cyrus said.

  “I’m sure you did.” Donovan moved to a phone on the table. “Mr. Singer, I have something I think you need to hear. Do I need to dial nine for an outside line?”

  “You need to leave!” Cyrus yelled as he sprang to his feet.

  “Mr. Singer,” Donovan said, barely keeping his anger contained. “The future of Wayfarer Airlines depends on your listening to this.”

  “Cyrus,” Leo said firmly. “Sit down and let’s humor Mr. Nash for a moment.” Cyrus’ face contorted as Donovan put the phone on speaker and went through the same prompts as before. Moments later, Cyrus’ recorded voice filled the room.

  “Look. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. When this is over, Leo will be history. The old man should have stepped down years ago. I’m just as concerned as you are that somehow these people will get that airplane on the ground in one piece and Leo will get the credit. I’m doing everything I can to make sure that what does happen, makes Leo look like a confused old man.”

  “You do what you need to do. I don’t really give a damn about Leo or his legacy.”

  Cyrus’ face went shock-white and his hands began to tremble.

  Trust me, I’m going to put maximum pressure on Leo to get this airplane to ditch in the lake. The last thing I need is for this airplane to miraculously end up safe. The minute flight 880 is down, I’m going to call a board meeting and do everything I can to vote Leo out. After all, he was foolish enough to sign off on allowing a civilian to fly the plane. For God’s sake, they nearly crashed into the Hancock building. After I make an example of Leo’s spineless hand-wringing, and then point to the body count from flight 880, I’m certain the board will make me acting chairman. On Monday morning, Wayfarer stock is probably going to plummet dramatically—that’s when you make your move. With Leo gone, your group needs to make its tender offer for controlling interest in Wayfarer. I’ll of course recommend to the board we accept the offer.”

  “We’re not paying a penny more than $33.00 a share for the stock. Whatever happens, the price had better sink down into the low-twenties.”

  “Our deal is still intact? I have your word that I’ll stay on as vice-chairman until
your management team is in place? At that point the final payment will be deposited to my account.”

  “You have my word. We’ll be ready at this end.”

  “Excellent, I need to get with Leo and finish things at this end. I’ll be in touch.”

  When the recording ended, Donovan once again saved the voice mail.

  He waited a few seconds, measuring the devastation etched on Leo’s face. The aging man’s expression slowly turned to anger. He raised his hand and pointed a trembling finger at Cyrus.

  “Explain yourself,” Leo said in a hushed voice, his temper seemingly barely under control.

  “Wait just a minute! This is highly out of order!”

  “I said explain yourself!” Leo slammed his hand down on the table, and Cyrus jerked.

  “That—that tape. It’s fake,” Cyrus said. “This is a ploy by Nash to get us to stay quiet about who he really is. Leo, this is blackmail!”

  “I recognize the voices, you fool! It’s you, talking to that bastard Tipton, at Atlantic International. There is no way Mr. Nash could have fabricated what I just heard. I’ll deal with Tipton later.”

  Cyrus leaned back in his chair, and a defiant look spread slowly across his cherubic face. “I have nothing to say. All you have is what I’d describe as an illegal wiretap. Nothing you have will hold up in a court of law.”

  “Cyrus.” Leo leaned forward as he began. “The level of betrayal you’ve displayed here is morally and professionally reprehensible. I don’t need a court to deal with you. You’re fired—and you will stay quiet regarding this matter. If you fail to do so, and decide to make use of any public forum, then I will make sure that the Securities and Exchange Commission is made aware of your actions. Legal or not, I will destroy you and everything you have. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I’d like to add a caveat of my own.” Donovan stared at the devastated CEO. “If you go public with anything you learned today, then I will release the tape to the media myself.”

  “You can’t threaten me!” Cyrus cried out weakly.

  “It’s not a threat,” Donovan countered. “It’s a promise. I have more resources that you can imagine. If you force my hand, I will wreck havoc on you at every level imaginable.”