California

by Jamie Lee Grey

  Her eyes grew rounder as she pressed her finger to the earpiece in her ear.

  “I’ve just received information – an aircraft from China, re-routed to Phoenix – has crashed after circling for an hour, waiting to land.”

  The camera cut to video feed of three planes coming in one behind another for landing, then to a video of smoke. A zoom in revealed flames and what looked like a half of a fuselage and part of an aircraft tail producing an unbelievable amount of smoke. Then the camera returned to the pretty blonde woman.

  “I’m told air traffic controllers are attempting to land the planes with the lowest fuel first. But trying to absorb all the flights originally traveling to California has proven to be impossible.”

  Her big eyes glistened with tears. The video cut back to the burning plane.

  “And tragedy has struck, as you can see.”

  Then the woman came back on the screen, holding her finger to her earpiece again. Her painted red lips parted, then her jaw dropped. She stared into the camera.

  “I’ve just been informed that the Portland airport and the Las Vegas airport have stopped all incoming and outbound flights!” Her jaw trembled. “There are reports of drones in the airspace, jeopardizing all the planes!”

  She blinked, and tears escaped both eyes. Not bothering to wipe them, she continued, “We go now to Alicia Sanchez in Portland. Alicia?”

  A beautiful mixed-race woman with black hair appeared onscreen, standing near a security line in an airport. She nodded as she looked into the camera.

  “That’s right, Janelle. Officials here and I’m told, in Las Vegas, have temporarily stopped all flights into and out of these airports. Two drones have been spotted here in Portland, and at least one in Las Vegas. We do have a cameraman outside, so we may get some images of that drone.”

  “Are there any suspects?” the blonde woman asked.

  “TSA and local police are searching as we speak. To my knowledge, though, no one is in custody at this time.”

  “Alicia, I thought that drones are all hard-wired, so to speak, with software that prevents their use inside restricted air space around airports.”

  The camera flashed back to the dark-haired beauty. “That’s right. Officials told me they believe the person or persons controlling these drones have over-ridden that software. Or it’s possible they purchased them in a foreign country without that software, and brought them into the United States.”

  She shrugged. “At this point, we just don’t know.”

  Suddenly, she adjusted her earpiece and stared into the camera, a horrified expression on her face.

  “I’ve just been informed there’s been a terrible accident. We may have some images from our cameraman outside.” She started moving toward the exit, the camera bouncing as her cameraman tried to keep up.

  Then the feed cut to a fiery inferno outlined by a broken fuselage.

  “A plane has just crashed here in Portland, Oregon!” Alicia stopped by a chain link fence, with the burning aircraft in plain view past her left shoulder. “I don’t know if it ran out of fuel, or if it was attempting to land and stuck a drone, or… or something else.”

  She didn’t speculate that it might have had a bomb on board, which Nadir attributed to her proper training to avoid panic-inducing suggestions. But her face plainly evidenced that she might have considered that possibility.

  Nadir wondered the same thing. Was one of the terror cells charged with bombing flights?

  Almost certainly, one cell had been in charge of detonating a bomb at the Mexican border to disrupt California’s mass exodus that direction. And it was very likely that another cell was flying re-configured drones at two airports, at least.

  Perhaps a cell was bombing planes. It was possible, but it struck him as unlikely. It was extremely difficult to get a bomb onto a plane these days with all the extra layers of security and inspection since 9/11. No, it probably ran out of fuel and attempted an emergency landing, and perhaps struck the drone.

  Whatever the details, it didn’t really matter.

  It had certainly accomplished the mission – creating terror and panic in the minds of Americans.

  ***

  Katie shifted the pickup into Drive and let off the brake. Finally, they were moving forward again! She glanced into the darkening sky.

  Thank you, Jesus!

  How long had they been sitting there? Half an hour? A long time, that was for sure.

  The motorhome inched forward, and she crept along behind it. She rubbed her dry eyes.

  It felt later than it actually was. Still, Timothy should be headed for bed soon, but that wasn’t going to happen. He’d probably fall asleep in his booster seat.

  She glanced at the vehicles creeping along beside her and wondered what was going through the minds of the drivers.

  Obviously, everyone wanted to escape the fires. But they all had their own individual worries, as well.

  The grandma in the green minivan on her left, for example. One child was seated beside her. Did they have enough gas and money and a place to go? Where were the kid’s parents? Were they stuck in traffic, too? Had they already gotten away? Or were they still at home somewhere?

  On Katie’s right, a young man in a red Toyota SUV kept pushing buttons on his dash. Was he adjusting his radio? Or trying to call home, thwarted by the overburdened telephone system?

  She sighed. Everyone had problems.

  She did, too, of course – but she was blessed, as well, even now.

  Her son and husband were traveling with her. They’d had time to grab money and photos from the house. Maybe they shouldn’t have taken as long as they did, but there was nothing that could be done about that now.

  They had their own little kitchen, bathroom and beds in that precious old motorhome ahead of her.

  They were low on gas, true – but they had each other.

  And their family members were far from these fires and terrorists. Her parents in Costa Rica would probably learn of all this tomorrow, on the news. Perhaps they’d already heard about it – it was huge, after all – and maybe they’d tried to contact her. But when they couldn’t, they’d get on their knees and pray for her and Zach and Timothy.

  And that, a praying family, was the best blessing of all.

  God’s answers to their prayers might be the only thing that would get them through all this and safe on the other side of the fire and mountains.

  Looking out toward her right, she could see flames more clearly now. They were still very far away, but that made them all the more fearsome – if she could see them at this distance, the fires must be getting really big.

  Too big.

  She turned her heart toward heaven, and prayed earnestly. For her friends and church members, for herself and all the folks stuck in traffic, for those out fighting the flames.

  It’d been windy when she’d run back from the RV to the pickup. Gusty, big winds.

  A shiver trembled her spine.

  Oh, Lord. Help us now!

  A glance at the dash reminded her it was almost time for the news. She radioed Zach. “Might want to turn on your radio.”

  “Why?”

  “News.”

  “Thanks. Out.”

  She turned her radio on, lowering the volume during a stupid commercial. Then the news began with a very somber-sounding male announcer.

  “Devastating news out of California today. Arsonists have ignited two sets of fire lines running north and south. One along the coast, and the other on the lower flanks of the Sierra Nevada, the Transverse, and the Peninsular Ranges. Panicked residents are waiting in stand-still traffic on all the highways. Mexico had closed its ports of entry, then re-opened them, and finally opened northbound lanes to southbound traffic as well, but now it appears they have closed the crossings again.”

  He gasped for breath and rushed on. “Violence has erupted along the border as residents try to flood into Mexico to escape the fires. Numerous bystanders have bee
n shot, including a news reporter. No word on her condition at this time. There have also been unsubstantiated reports of a bomb at the San Ysidro crossing.”

  Katie’s hand flew to her chest. What kind of bomb? A car bomb? A suitcase nuke? A nuclear weapon? WHAT KIND OF BOMB?

  But the announcer never said, and the broadcast cut away to a commercial.

  “WHAT?” She yelled at the radio. “ARE YOU CRAZY?”

  But she already knew the answer to that.

  Yes, they were crazy. Of course they were crazy. Who in their right minds would announce rumors of a possible bomb in America? And not explain what kind, how much damage, or anything else?

  “Lunatics,” she breathed. “You’re all lunatics.”

  Now all the people in the southern part of the state, who were preparing to flee south, would be afraid to go there. And there was nowhere else to go, if what the announcer said about the state highways was true – that they were all packed with standstill traffic.

  It was certainly true here.

  Except, from time to time, they were able to creep forward at the pace of a racing snail.

  She hadn’t considered that this stop-and-crawl experience was perhaps the fasting-moving traffic in the whole state.

  It very well might be, though. Here, they were past all of the major urban areas, and headed into the thinly populated mountains.

  Yes, all this traffic would have to compress from three lanes to two – but at least there wasn’t a lot more traffic that would be trying to merge in from other highways or cities.

  Perhaps the Lord had put them on the very best path out of the state.

  That remained to be seen, though.

  There were big fires ahead.

  ***

  “We’re having trouble with communications,” the president said as Secret Service agents ushered Alana into the Presidential Emergency Operations Center.

  “I heard there was a bomb!” Alana pulled off her cardigan. “But I don’t have my phone, and the others couldn’t get through on theirs.”

  The Secretary of Defense arrived in the PEOC right behind her. “That happened on 9/11, too. Strange communications issues.”

  “With the country’s phone system, that makes sense,” the Homeland Security director added. “But not with our systems.”

  “So what’s the deal with the bomb?” Alana tried again.

  “All I know so far is there was a truck bomb at one of the California/Mexico border crossings,” Basilia said. “Blew the windows out of the guard building. Killed at least six.”

  “Did they get the crossing re-opened?”

  “Not yet. It was less than an hour ago.” Basilia drummed her fingers on the table. “I’m just about to call President Gonzales.”

  “Good luck.” Alana pulled out a chair and sank into it, grateful to be off the plane and out of the parade of black SUVs careening through the night. Her stomach was just beginning to settle.

  Basilia waited a few more minutes for more of her cabinet members to arrive before placing the call to the Mexican leader. When Manuel Gonzales came on the line, she started with all the niceties.

  “President Gonzales, you’re on speaker with most of my cabinet. We wanted to extend our sympathies for the loss of your six border agents.”

  “It’s seven now.” He sounded harried and fatigued. “And three more are in critical condition. We don’t know if they’ll make it.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that.” Basilia stood behind her chair, hands resting on its back. “Our country is here to offer whatever help you might need.”

  “Thank you, Madame President. Now, I must go. There is much to do.”

  “Wait. Mr. President. There’s the urgent matter of the border.”

  “We are in the process of closing it,” the Mexican growled. “We’ve received new threats –”

  “What? No!” Basilia gripped the back of the chair tighter, turning her knuckles white. “That border must remain open to allow our citizens – and yours, who are living here – to escape the fires!”

  “We’ve been informed the next bomb will be radioactive,” President Gonzales said. “We’ve already suffered a devastating blow.”

  “Now, you listen here!” Basilia leaned toward the phone like she might pounce right through it. “We have a deal!”

  “We had a deal. Everything has changed.”

  “We paid you. That five hundred million is in your account.”

  “I appreciate that, and I did open the border, and even let you reverse our northbound lanes.” President Gonzales sighed. “However, I cannot risk a nuclear attack on my country.”

  Basilia’s gaze darted from one cabinet member to the next, pleading for ideas. Finally, her eyes lit on Alana, and all she could do was frown and shrug. What could they possibly do to change that man’s mind?

  The Secretary of Defense touched Basilia’s elbow and whispered in her ear. She nodded, then spoke aloud.

  “Our military, together with Homeland Security, can deploy to the ports of entry with bomb-sniffing dogs and electronics. We will send our Nuclear Emergency Support Team,” she told the Mexican president. “NEST can prevent a nuclear weapon from approaching your border.”

  “I wish we would have had the resources two hours ago,” President Gonzales said. “How soon could you have them in place?”

  Basilia exchanged animated whispers with her cabinet members before she answered.

  “One to two hours.”

  A long, exhausted sigh came over the line.

  “Let me know when they are in place and operational.”

  “We certainly will. Thank you, Mr. President.”

  As Basilia was concluding the call, Secret Service deposited the Transportation Secretary into the PEOC. She smoothed her blouse and headed straight for the Director of Homeland Security, speaking in hushed tones until the president was off the phone.

  “Madame President, we have another urgent matter,” she said. “We have an air traffic crisis of unimaginable proportions.”

  Chapter 17

  Nadir couldn’t help but be impressed with the amount of chaos currently underway in the United States. As he waited for his father to be ready to evacuate the mansion, he pushed back in his chair and switched to another channel for all the latest news.

  A dark-haired reporter stood in front of lines of stalled traffic at a Mexican port of entry, his face painted with fake concern and real fear. Nadir could see it in his eyes. The guy was wondering if he was personally in danger – if he’d be killed by surging fires or a bomb, or perhaps more likely, the swelling crowd.

  “As you can see, traffic has piled up here at the border,” he was saying. “At this time, no vehicles are being allowed through into Mexico. On this side, tempers are getting shorter as the hot Santa Ana wind is blowing scorching, smoky air into the valley.”

  He paused and quickly looked over his shoulder before continuing.

  “Several people have been shot, and one truck bomb exploded, closing one of the ports of entry earlier today.”

  Horns blared in the background, and wind destroyed the reporter’s carefully coifed hair.

  “It looks like something is happening now, maybe some cars are starting to move –” he pointed toward the guard station. The camera panned that direction.

  A large truck at the front of the line was in motion, making its way to the inspection area. And it was gaining speed. A border guard ran out of the building, waving his arms at the truck driver. The truck rumbled forward faster.

  The drop-down gates were no match for the semi as it crashed through the metal barrier and continued into Mexico.

  The truck behind it began moving, too, and the cars in the adjacent lanes.

  “It looks like they’re rushing the border!” The reporter blathered.

  Obviously.

  Nadir watched as lane after lane of vehicles began moving, their drivers ignoring all efforts by the Mexican authorities to slow or stop them. At
first, some of the border agents ran out of their guard shacks and tried to order the vehicles to stop.

  But there was no stopping them now.

  A river of traffic was pushing, jostling, pressing across the border as if lives depended on it.

  Which, of course, they did.

  The border agents retreated to their guard shacks.

  Nadir could just imagine the phone calls that were taking place about now!

  He couldn’t suppress a smile.

  Yes, lots of people would escape across the southern border tonight, but it didn’t really matter at this point. How many could possibly get across? Ten thousand? Twenty?

  Ten or twenty million would likely die tonight or tomorrow. Who cared about a few escapees?

  Besides, it made for great television, like the planes crashing into the World Trade Center buildings.

  These images would burn fear and terror into the hearts of infidels everywhere, and they would never forget. Americans would never forget!

  And on the topic of planes crashing… Nadir flipped the channel to find coverage of the airport crisis.

  Ah, yes. A female reporter’s breathless voice filled the speakers as images of a flaming passenger jet filled the screen. Black smoke billowed into the sky. Fire trucks parked as near as they dared, and their crews hosed the aircraft in an effort to extinguish the blaze.

  “This plane crashed a short time ago outside the Portland, Oregon airport, where FAA officials had grounded flights due to the presence of a drone in restricted air space,” she wheezed. “Investigators have yet to determine the cause of the crash, which may have been a lack of fuel, or perhaps drone interference.”

  Nadir yawned. Duh. Of course the investigators couldn’t be sure yet. They couldn’t get near the plane. Firefighters were still trying to put out the blazing inferno. Now, they might have a good idea, if the pilot had communicated he was extremely low on fuel and was attempting an emergency landing.