CHAPTER 57
Bravo, the second-in-command of Alpha’s security detachment, slipped on a pair of skin-colored rubber gloves before exiting his black SUV. He approached a late model black Mercedes parked in the driveway of a suburban home that was peppered with tiny droplets of morning dew.
He approached the vehicle silently, careful not to be noticed. Surreptitiously, he allowed a small thin aerosol canister to drop into his palm from inside his sleeve. He sprayed a small amount of moisture as he passed the driver’s side door, upwards under the side door handle.
The owner of the car, Congress Senator Peter Bishop, was the second last recipient of Dr. Greer’s email containing the report on the exotic metal sample. He was finishing his coffee while watching the morning news in his kitchen, unaware of events unfolding in his driveway.
Thirty-five minutes later the Congress Senator was driving his black Mercedes, battling freeway traffic on his daily commute to the office.
Bravo’s chosen approach on his target was diabolically simple. He employed a weaponized pathogen, a virus with a short half-life sprayed onto a surface he knew his target would touch, in this case the door handle of his target’s personal vehicle. It was genetic warfare, the next evolution of chemical warfare. Half as messy as a snipper bullet but twice as effective, it left no trace after the virus’s half-life expired.
The senator felt a sudden unexpected weariness as purple stars began to dance before his eyes. Shortness of breath accompanied an unexpected jolt of searing pain across his chest. His eyes were wide as he fought against blurring vision. The senator’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel to keep the car steady in the speeding traffic.
*
Over 600 miles away, research scientist Leslie Cooper locked the door behind him as he left his inner city townhouse. He opted to commute to work by motorcycle due to the ease of parking. Setting his backpack down next to his Yamaha R1, he double-checked that its compartments were all secured tight.
Leslie was also a trusted confidant of Dr. Steven Greer and was the final recipient on Dr. Greer’s circulation list. The email containing the report on the exotic metal sample had reached his inbox the night before, but he hadn’t yet opened it.
CHAPTER 58
After accelerating to fly alongside the windows of the Gulfstream’s cockpit, Echo One’s pilot was peering into the windows of the unresponsive Gulfstream.
The cockpit windows appeared to be fogged up from the inside, making it impossible to see through. The only thing discernible through the cockpit windows was diffused light shining through from the cockpit’s opposite side windows.
This could only mean one thing.
Gradual aircraft decompression.
The pilot reported back: “This is Echo One; we are in position alongside the cockpit of Flight FQ442. We have a negative visual on the flight crew. All the windows are fogged up from the inside. Repeat, all the windows are fogged up.”
*
At Otis Air Force Base, home of the recently despatched F18 Hornets, Colonel Norrish looked over the shoulder of the military flight controller tracking the planes. The terminal screens within the command center flooded controllers with every quantifiable piece of information possible: air speed, altitude, relative headings, global position co-ordinance. All in real time and at high resolution.
The focus of the command center were cinema-sized screens that could be easily read from the myriad multi-leveled offices that surrounded the main floor area. There were three levels of offices overlooking the command center’s floor, all fitted with full height windows to provide unimpeded views of the main screens and tiered rows of controller terminals below.
Echo One’s voice boomed over the command center’s speakers: “The aircraft clearly has its autopilot engaged. It looks like a hull decompression failure. It’s possible that the emergency air masks didn’t deploy. But it’s impossible to tell whether the flight crews are incapacitated, unconscious or deceased. Over.”
The controller looked up to meet the disturbed expression on the colonel’s face. The colonel didn’t have to explain the situation to the controller; his face already conveyed its severity. If the Gulfstream was permitted to continue on its course, it wouldn’t matter whether the crew was unconscious or dead, it had already overflown its target destination and was heading toward a densely populated area. Judging by the distance it had already flown, and assuming its tanks were full on take-off and the fuel reading was correct, the aircraft didn’t have much time left before it would be out of fuel. If their computer’s predicted point of impact was correct, by the time the Gulfstream was out of fuel it could be coming down in Central Park in the middle of Manhattan. That was, of course, if it didn’t impact a building on its way down.
The controller double-checked his radar and tracking telemetry. There was no doubt; the civilian aircraft would reach the Manhattan area before running out of fuel and falling from the sky. He looked back up at the colonel, who had read the same information off the controller’s screen.
The true horror of the unfolding situation descended like a bird of prey. Frozen in disbelief, the colonel knew the grave situation of the Gulfstream, and anyone who happened to be within close proximity of its point of impact.
The colonel turned back to look up at his commanding officer, a two-star general in command of Otis Air Force Base. He had been following the events from his office, which overlooked the command center. The general would be the one to make the final decision on what actions were to be taken to neutralize the unresponsive plane. The general held the colonel’s gaze for a number of heartbeats before picking up the red phone on his desk.
Without saying a word to any of the controllers, the colonel immediately left the control room floor to briskly make his way up the stairs to the overlooking offices.
The door to the general’s office burst open, the colonel not bothering to knock before entering. In fact, the general didn’t even notice the colonel’s minor indiscretion.
“I understand, sir,” the general said with both precision and conviction before setting down the receiver.
The colonel’s tone was ominous: “Sir! That aircraft is going to run out of fuel soon, and when it does, it will be over a densely populated area.”
Looking back out the window, the colonel checked the real time satellite projected on the main screen showing the plane’s exact location and heading. “And in about 60 seconds, sir, that aircraft will be over an industrial area.”
“We have no way of taking control of the plane?” the general asked.
“No, sir,” the colonel said, “and might I add, sir, that if that plane goes down in the middle of a city, it might hit…”
“I know,” the general interrupted with a grim look. “We are not going to allow that aircraft to enter Manhattan airspace. We’re authorized to take whatever action is necessary to minimize casualties.”
The general took a deep breath. “Colonel, that plane is to be destroyed in the air to reduce the risk of lives on the ground.”
“Understood, sir.”
*
Echo One’s radio crackled with the command from the colonel: “Your orders are to neutralize the aircraft with EXTREME PREJUDICE. You are to completely disintegrate that aircraft in mid-flight over the industrial zone you are about to enter.”
Echo One recoiled; he was not prepared for what he heard. “Copy that. I understand. Over.”
Completely disintegrate, the pilot thought.
Drawing a startled breath, Echo One realized it was his job to ensure that the aircraft was completely destroyed, leaving as little as possible to fall to the ground. Checking his displays, the navigation screen indicated that he had a 20-second window to strike the aircraft over a minimally populated zone, which he would reach in 30 seconds.
Automatically, Echo One switched his display to targeting mode, which was projected onto his forward windshield.
He instinctively looked to his wingman althoug
h he couldn’t see him as he was on the other side of the Gulfstream. “Echo Two, fall back to the rear of the jet, match my velocity and maintain your altitude. Over.”
“Copy that,” his wingman immediately responded.
The two planes slowed in unison to take positions at the rear of the Gulfstream. The squadron leader could now see the tail of the doomed aircraft through his front windshield with targeting information projected over it. To totally disintegrate the aircraft, Echo One knew, they would both have to unleash their entire complement of armory.
His infrared missiles could target the engines, but that wouldn’t be enough to break up the aircraft sufficiently. Switching to micro-targeting mode, he toggled his laser-guided missiles through the different targeting points on the aircraft to lock his infrared missiles onto the port side engines and his laser-guided missiles to various points along the tail.
Echo Two had also heard the colonel’s orders over the radio but was feeling uneasy. His 12 years of training and experience had prepared him for every conceivable battle scenario. Between the two of them they had shot down every type of hostile aircraft in flight simulators. But it was the thought of shooting down a civilian aircraft, an American civilian plane, which sent his heart pounding against the inside of his rib cage.
His orders came through the radio, tearing him from his thoughts: “Echo Two, we need to make sure this bird doesn’t reach the ground. Target his right wing, forward fuselage and nose. Fire on my mark.”
Instantly Echo Two engaged his afterburners, pulling his control stick back toward him. With an explosive rumble he pointed his fighter’s nose to the sky to gain altitude, the G-force thrusting him back into the seat.
Although the fighter was now headed up, the targeting camera remained fixed on the Gulfstream. Echo Two watched the image of the doomed aircraft on his targeting screen slowly rotate as he rose, revealing the white outline of the aircraft from a bird’s eye view.
Now having reached an altitude where he could target the front end of the plane, Echo Two used his targeting computer to toggle through the different sections of the aircraft. He targeted his laser-guided missiles on the plane’s nose, and also selected points along its mid-sections and starboard side engines. When the targeting computer confirmed that all the armaments were locked in, he programmed his weapons system to fire all selected targets simultaneously.
“Targets acquired and locked. Over,” Echo Two reported.
“Okay…on my mark.” the flight leader replied. He then drew in a deep breath and said, “3…”
With a flick of his wrist, Echo Two suddenly threw his stick to the left and pulled back.
“2…”
Echo’s Two’s fighter instantaneously flipped upside down then pulled downward now to point its nose at the doomed plane, an aerial maneuver executed with precise military precision, enabling the missiles to face the target.
“1…”
Echo Two flicked the red safety switch off the trigger.
“MARK!”
With an explosive burst all six missiles accelerated away from the upside-down fighter, leaving thin trails of white smoke streaming behind. In the same instant all six missiles under the flight leader’s wings fired into life and catapulted away, their paths also traced by an increasingly lengthening trail of thin white smoke.
In that moment the two F18s had unleashed enough firepower to destroy a squadron of 747s, let alone a single relatively small private jet.
The two groups of missiles converged on a single point in the sky.
*
The tail of the doomed Gulfstream erupted in an explosive burst of white heat first, the blast ripping the tail from the body of the fuselage. As the plane jolted from the shockwave, a Mont Blanc pen belonging to the unconscious United Nations delegate started to fall from his side table tray.
Milliseconds later, just before the pen hit the floor, the left engine violently erupted. The fuel tanks detonated next in cascading explosions, the force severing the left wing entirely. A few more milliseconds passed before the right engine exploded, closely followed by its accompanying fuel tanks in successive white flashes.
A missile then punched through the fuselage into the cabin over the delegate before it detonated inside the aisle between the rows of seats. In a blinding flash the temperature in the cabin increased to match the surface of the sun. The unconscious passengers perished as flesh and bone were instantaneously incinerated.
The blast ripped through the now wingless cabin like a volcanic eruption, incinerating all non-metallic materials. The steel skin of the fuselage ripped open like aluminum foil being torn into tiny fragments.
The final missiles hit what was left of the cockpit. Already weakened from the intense blasts, it fractured into small pieces on impact. The pilots were incinerated along with the aircraft.
The inverted F18 rolled back upright. The two fighters broke off from their assault as the Gulfstream disintegrated from the inside out. The multiple explosions consumed the aircraft, almost obliterating it completely. The remaining fragments were torn into smaller pieces and fell over the outskirts of an industrial estate, a minimally populated area where factories and warehouses stood, lessening the probability of collateral damage or injuries on the ground.
From the ground, the explosion dominated the sky, the blast shockwaves rocking factory windows below. The few people who were on the ground as the assault unfolded watched in disbelief as small debris rained down to puncture the roofs of several factory buildings below. Indiscriminate cries for help could be heard as people scattered to avoid the hail of small aircraft fragments still burning from the blast.
CHAPTER 59
In a chilling moment, the Congress Senator felt the last of his oxygen drain from his lungs as he struggled to draw breath. Fear swept across his flesh and took control. His eyes darted around, searching the blurriness for a break in traffic to pull over.
Just before the crushing darkness came flooding in, the last thing he saw was the side of his car rebounding off the sedan travelling in the lane to his right.
The Mercedes slammed into a truck that was in the process of overtaking on the left; its front corner caught the Mercedes’ mid-section, crushing in the doors. The airborne car catapulted ahead of the speeding truck, doors flinging open as it rolled in the air then bounced along the road like a spinning top on its side until the fuel tank ruptured.
The blast signalled surrounding traffic to screech to a chaotic halt. White smoke poured from the truck’s screaming tires as it skipped and shuddered in an attempt to stop before it hit the spinning fireball.
The Senator was incinerated as his car came rolling to a fiery stop.
*
After securing his backpack Leslie Cooper mounted his Yamaha R1, turned the key and fired the starter motor.
A horrific vision seared the eyes of onlookers across the street. The scientist’s body was a silhouette on the backdrop of a blinding explosion as the bike erupted from underneath him.
Bike components flew in all directions as the motorcycle lifted off the ground. Engulfed by the brilliant flash of light, the scientist transformed from man, to silhouette, to disembodied fragments of charred flesh as legs and arms appeared to detach in the blast before being swallowed by the expanding eruption. Wheels tumbled through the air as cartwheels of fire. Windows of the adjacent townhouses burst inwards as the shockwave hit.
CHAPTER 60
“How did he upset you?” Jackie asked, looking somewhere between frightened and concerned.
Natasha DeMorea didn’t respond. She stared out the cafe window at the passing evening traffic, her expression a mix of anxiety and dread.
Jackie searched her eyes. “What did he do?”
Silence.
Natasha’s eyes were welling. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but said nothing, her lip trembling.
“Was he with someone else?” Jackie gasped.
“No!” Natasha recoiled, give Jac
kie a dismissive glance. Her eyes returned to the thinning traffic as she sunk back into deep thought.
Her best friend studied her, feeling a rising concern. Jackie’s voice was a whisper. “Natasha, what is it?”
Natasha drew a short breath, as if the question had injured her personally. The eerie sight made Jackie swallow hard. Natasha spoke to the window, her words thick with emotion. “You know when things are so unimaginable, so far beyond reality, that you don’t know what to believe anymore?”
Jackie looked confused, not expecting the response.
“Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s the truth or what’s real.” Natasha’s tone was awash with dread as it turned to a whisper. “Sometimes it’s even harder just believing.”
Slowly turning toward her, Natasha met her friend’s puzzled eyes. Jackie held her gaze for a long moment, not saying a word, her concern deepening with each passing breath. She searched Natasha’s face for a clue as to what was so troubling.
“Natasha, you know you can tell me. Whatever it is.”
Wiping a tear, Natasha again turned back to the window. “I want to.”
The girls sat in comfortable silence, Natasha returning to her conflicting thoughts, her friend quietly sipping her coffee. Across the cafe two large figures observed as the waitress brought their order to their table.
Feeling the weight of prying eyes, Jackie looked up and scanned the cafe. She stole a quick glance at the two large figures watching before they averted their gaze. Sensing a sudden change in her girlfriend’s focus, Natasha turned toward her friend, then followed Jackie’s eyes until she also spotted the two large men. With muscular physiques and large frames they were dressed in similarly dark clothing.
Female intuition was a potent instinct Natasha had learned to trust. Sensing a sudden surge of danger, she snatched her purse to pick out a number of dollar bills to cover the coffees. She left them on the table as she stood.
Natasha’s anxiety was intensifying. “We need to go!”
Disclosing the Secret Page 25
