Blackout

by Nance, John J. ;

  “Not a clue! No letters, no calls, no disks.”

  “Then why would they chase you all the way to Hong Kong?”

  “Maybe they know he sent me something, and I don’t know it yet because I never received it. One of those goons said they’d been searching for my computer. Maybe he expected to find what he was looking for on my hard drive.”

  She nodded, deep in thought, her eyes on the brightly lighted cityscape. “That could mean a disk, or they suspect you downloaded something by modem.” She turned to him. “But you did save your computer, right? You got it back before they had a chance to look at it?”

  “Yeah. It’s safe back there in the—” He gestured toward the parking lot.

  “Taxi.” Kat finished his sentence as he came off the bench, both of them breaking into a run back to where they’d left the taxi.

  The cab was still there, the lights out, the engine stopped, but they could see the driver slumped over in the left front window, barely illuminated by the street lamp.

  “Oh my God!” Kat exclaimed as they approached the driver’s side, keeping an active lookout for anyone else around. She reached out and touched the cabbie’s arm, fully expecting to see blood.

  Instead, the man yelped in fright as he jumped awake.

  “Excuse me!” Kat said. “You were leaning over and I thought you were hurt.”

  “Sorry! I only fall asleep.”

  Kat stood looking at the city. She took a deep breath before turning back to the driver. “Another five minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Robert, you want to bring your computer?”

  He reached in and retrieved the case, then followed her a dozen yards away to the edge of the viewpoint, surprised to see her unfolding the antenna on a satellite phone. She pulled a business card from her purse and looked up at him.

  “I met the security chief of the Chek Lap Kok Hong Kong Airport today,” she explained. “Let me see what I can do about your security worry.”

  Several minutes of relayed calls led to the chief himself. The conversation was swift and she thanked him and disconnected.

  “We’ll meet a security team several miles from the terminal and they’ll take us right to the aircraft. If anyone’s lying in wait, he won’t have a chance to spot either of us. Mr. Li was nice enough to say he’d arrange for immigration and customs clearance on board for us, and they’re beefing up security on this flight.”

  Robert sighed in relief. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Hey. I’m aboard, too. Now, are you booked straight to D.C. out of L.A.?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Kat nibbled her lower lip before speaking. “I was going to spend a day lying unconscious on Newport Beach, but now I’m going to go back with you. I’m not sure we’ve got anything, but we’ll take it to my boss, if you agree.”

  “I agree,” Robert said.

  The two of them fell silent for a few moments as Kat watched another jetliner climb away from the airport into the night. A rumble of thunder had accompanied their exchange for the past few minutes, and flashes of lightning both to the east and the west continued to flicker in the distance. A line of thunderstorms was obviously moving in from the west, crackling with lightning as it drifted closer. The wind was beginning to pick up as well, though the temperature was balmy.

  “Kat, I’ve been shot at in Bosnia, Somalia, and Riyadh, but always because I was a reporter they didn’t want there. Any reporter would have drawn the same attention. But I’ve never been personally targeted before, and it isn’t comfortable.”

  She nodded. “I can imagine.”

  “So what’s your best guess?” he asked.

  “You mean, who’s been chasing you and who may have killed Carnegie? Or my guess about whether terrorists brought down the SeaAir MD-eleven in the first place?”

  “Both.”

  She paused, chewing her lip again, sorting out the logic. “Well, someone’s apparently worried about what Carnegie may have found, and their tactics are not CIA or DIA, to say the least. That means there could be, in theory, I suppose, some dark and dirty new group out there that wants you cashiered. If so, they’ve got to be private and well-organized and probably not Middle Eastern or religious in origin. I don’t know, Robert. Carnegie could have been right about some new, very sophisticated group looking to accomplish some strange, new, unknown goal that they haven’t announced to the rest of us.”

  “In my experience, that would surely terrify the Company.”

  She nodded. “But a formal, embarrassed cover-up back home?” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t know.” A distant flash of lightning caught her attention.

  “Maybe,” Robert said, “it’s a case of ‘we can’t control it, so we’re all going to pretend it doesn’t exist.’”

  “That,” Kat replied, “sounds like a conspiracy theory, Robert. As a rule, I don’t believe in such things.”

  “Nor do I. Most groups, no matter how focused and intense, can’t even make a group decision on where to go for lunch. The way I look at things, Oswald was a solo act, and the only aliens here are from Guadalajara.”

  “But …” she prompted.

  “But, well … I can understand why the airline industry doesn’t want the SeaAir crash to be a terrorist act. If Wally was right and there’s a new mad-dog group out there with money, sophistication, and a cause, they won’t stop with SeaAir. They’ll keep on killing airliners until they have our undivided attention.”

  Kat was shaking her head as she looked at him. “My God, Robert. Can you imagine the impact on the bottom line of the airline industry if the whole country could hear what you just said?”

  chapter 5

  CHEK LAP KOK/HONG KONG

  INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  NOVEMBER 13—DAY TWO

  12:15 A.M. LOCAL/1615 ZULU

  The security car braked to a halt beneath the tail of Meridian Flight 5. Kat got out and glanced up, oblivious to the smell of jet fuel, and wholly unprepared for the monstrous, looming bulk of the Boeing 747-400 that was poised to fly her and nearly three hundred others across a quarter of the planet’s surface to Los Angeles by way of Honolulu.

  “Good Lord!” she managed, as Robert MacCabe joined her, bag in hand.

  “Can I at least quote you on that?” he asked, craning his neck as well.

  “This thing is incredible!” she added, momentarily forgetting the two officers who had picked them up at the appointed rendezvous. “I’ve flown on seven-forty-sevens for years, but I’ve never seen one from ground level.”

  “I know. We’re always walking in through a jetway twenty feet above ground. Passengers never really understand how huge they are, or how heavy. We’ll take off tonight weighing over three quarters of a million pounds.”

  The officers guided them into the back of a large catering truck parked by the right, front door of the aircraft. It raised itself on huge hydraulic arms thirty-four feet to the main floor level where lead flight attendant Britta Franz was waiting for them. A tall, well-proportioned blond with a pronounced German accent and twenty years as an American citizen, Britta exuded authority. The Chinese customs official who had been waiting with her hurried through the formalities of a passport check before bowing and leaving.

  “Now that you’re entirely legal,” Britta said, “let me escort you both to the upper deck first-class cabin.”

  Robert looked at his ticket, then at Britta. “Ah, I think we’re in coach.”

  She smiled. “Not anymore. We upgraded both of you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Absolutely, we don’t mind!” Kat replied quickly, with a broad smile.

  They had barely settled into the luxurious seats when Britta reappeared, wearing a deadly serious expression. There were two Chinese police officers behind her. “I’m … sorry to bother you, Ms. Bronsky, but these officers insisted on …”

  “Katherine Bronsky?” one of the policemen asked in a lightly accented voice.

&n
bsp; Kat could sense Robert stiffen beside her as she studied their eyes. Both were in their twenties, immaculately groomed, and humorless.

  “I’m Special Agent Katherine Bronsky of the American Federal Bureau of Investigation. What can I do for you?”

  “You must come with us, please.”

  “I mustn’t miss this flight.” She looked at Britta. “How much time do I have?”

  Britta frowned. “Less than five minutes.”

  “You must come, please,” one of the officers said. “Bring your bags.”

  “Look, the airport security chief brought us aboard,” Kat began, but the closer of the two was shaking his head.

  “He is from a different agency,” the officer replied. He gestured toward the stairs at the back of the cabin. “Please.”

  “What are you? What agency?”

  “Hong Kong Police,” he said.

  Kat unsnapped the seat belt and stood. “One second, please. Wait for me back there.”

  Both of them bowed and retreated to the top of the upper deck stairs as Kat turned quietly to Robert. “I don’t know what the heck this is all about, Robert, but I’ll find out and be on the next flight. I’ll probably be only twelve hours behind you into D.C.”

  “I’m going to wait for you in L.A.,” he said suddenly.

  She looked at him for a second, thinking it over. “Okay.”

  “There … may be more to tell you.”

  Kat watched him scribble something on a business card. He finished and handed it to her. “My nationwide beeper number. When you arrive at LAX, beep me with a phone number and stand by. I won’t be far away. I’m going to lie low in the L.A. area and wait for you.”

  “Keep out of sight.” She extended her hand for a correct handshake. Instead, Robert held it gently and squeezed, leaving her slightly off balance.

  The 747’s forward door closed behind her as Kat followed the two policemen into the jetway, surprised to find her suitcase waiting for her. She picked it up, fighting rising anger at being yanked from the flight for some stupid bureaucratic reason. Someone higher up had obviously been angered by the security chief’s actions, but it was strange that MacCabe had been allowed to stay. Obviously professional courtesy didn’t extend to the FBI this week in Hong Kong.

  Kat extended the bag’s handle and rolled it behind her as she reluctantly followed the two men up the jetway, looking forward to chewing out whoever had screwed up her plans.

  At the top of the jetway Kat stopped and put her hands on her hips, leaving both policemen unsure what to do. “Precisely where are you taking me, and why?”

  One of the men motioned down the concourse. “This way, please.”

  She shook her head. “Not until you tell me where we’re going.”

  “We must bring you to our commander’s office.”

  “Why?” She saw total confusion cross their faces. She sighed and grabbed the handle of her bag again. “Never mind. Lead the way.”

  Less than 200 yards down the concourse, they opened a door and ushered her into a small office populated by several other uniforms and an important-looking man in a business suit who was holding out a telephone receiver.

  “Please,” he said. The room reeked of cigarettes, but she tuned that out and took the phone, expecting a higher Chinese official on the other end.

  “This is Agent Katherine Bronsky of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she began, as officially as she could manage. “Who is this?”

  There was a familiar chuckle on the other end, which smoothly transitioned to a more official voice. “This is Deputy Director Jacob Rhoades, also of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Jake? What on earth?”

  “Sorry, Kat. Change of plans.”

  She rolled her eyes before turning her attention fully to Jake. “I was about to snarl at these folks for pulling me off. What’s up?”

  “You know we’ve got a consulate there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, they need you. Specifically, they need an FBI agent to deal with a security matter. We were going to send someone next week, but they were insistent.”

  “A … security matter?”

  “I don’t know the details, but there’s supposed to be a car waiting curbside to take you there, put you up for the night, and get you on the first flight out in the morning after you deal with whatever’s bugging them.”

  “Is this usual, Jake?”

  “The State Department moves in mysterious ways. Please help us on this.”

  “Well, of course. My flight’s probably pushing back as we speak.”

  “Just one night.”

  “Yeah, but they’d upgraded me to first class. Tomorrow I’ll get steerage.” She stopped herself from mentioning anything about Robert MacCabe on an unsecured line.

  “I hear the speech was a real hit. Congratulations.”

  “News travels fast.”

  “Heck, Kat. We’re the FBI. We’re supposed to know everything.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.” She chuckled, pleased by his words of praise.

  The driver from the U.S. Consulate was waiting, as promised. Kat let him carry her bag as she followed him through the sparkling new airport terminal to the exit. She wondered if the men who had tried to shanghai Robert MacCabe were watching and knew she had been with him.

  The whole thing seemed surreal. Had MacCabe not been someone of substance—someone whose reputation she already knew—her diagnosis would be raving paranoia. But wait a minute. What, exactly, DO I know about Robert MacCabe?

  The thought was cut short by the sight of two Asian men standing to one side of the exit from the secure area, both wearing dark suits, both watching her. Kat kept her eyes straight ahead as she passed, straining to see with her peripheral vision what they were doing, certain their eyes were tracking her.

  A hundred feet away, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at the men, who quickly averted their eyes just as the two young women they had apparently been waiting for emerged from the secure area, waving and smiling. Seconds later, laughing and talking, the two couples walked past Kat without a single glance.

  She snorted softly to herself and shook her head. Real good instincts, Kat. MacCabe’s paranoia is rubbing off.

  She turned to the driver and gestured him on, wishing she were still on the 747 next to MacCabe in first class.

  chapter 6

  CHEK LAP KOK/HONG KONG INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  NOVEMBER 13—DAY TWO

  12:25 A.M. LOCAL/1625 ZULU

  First Officer Dan Wade hesitated by the forward main-deck galley and glanced back, trying to maintain contact with the eye candy moving up the stairway, an attractive young woman wearing a black leather miniskirt slit partially up the back, tantalizingly matched by the seams on her dark stockings. He tried to turn away before Britta could catch him looking, but it was too late.

  “Danny! Get your eyes off my passengers!” she kidded, as he tried to look innocent.

  “I was just worried she might be cold in that dress she’s almost wearing.”

  “Yeah, sure, President Carter.”

  “What?” Dan asked, not comprehending the reference.

  “You remember: ‘Ah had lust in mah heart’? You’re in lust. A girl can tell.”

  “More accurately, a mother superior,” Dan mumbled.

  “I heard that!” Britta shot back.

  The station manager had handed a sheaf of flight papers through the door before closing it, and Bill Jenkins, the only male flight attendant, handed them in turn to the copilot. Jenkins, round-faced, balding, and good-natured, was a thirty-year veteran putting triplets through college. He frowned at the papers. “How’s the weather doing, Dan? It was looking ugly out there a while ago.”

  The copilot nodded, arcing a thumb toward the ceiling. “In an hour this place will be roiling with thunderstorms, so we need to get the flock out of here.”

  “In the vernacular, o
f course.”

  “Of course.” Dan smiled back.

  “You fellows up there on the bridge do realize,” Bill Jenkins continued, “that we’ve got a bigwig trade delegation aboard tonight, including some big-city mayors?”

  “We heard. Captain Cavanaugh and I were trying to calculate how much lift the additional hot air could give us.”

  Jenkins laughed as he pointed toward first class. “We lose an engine, let me know, and I’ll ask them to make speeches.” He winked at one of the female flight attendants, who winked back as she watched the copilot climb the stairs. Dan was in his early fifties, newly divorced and on the prowl.

  On the flight deck some fifty feet above ground level, Captain Pete Cavanaugh toggled the Engine Start switch for the right outboard engine. The driver of the tug four stories below slowed the 747-400’s backward movement from the gate. Dan Wade, in the right seat of the two-pilot cockpit, checked the engine gauges and radioed the ground controller for taxi clearance before looking at Cavanaugh with a grin.

  “You’re sure you’re awake enough for this?”

  “Oh, give it a rest, Dan!” Pete said with mock disgust. “I wasn’t sleeping the entire layover.”

  “Worst antisocial act of hibernation I’ve ever witnessed,” Dan said, shaking his head sadly. “I couldn’t even get you out of the room for dinner yesterday.”

  “I love thirty-six-hour layovers, okay? No yards to mow, no phones to answer, no grandkids or cats to wake me up at seven A.M., and no copilots to give me a hard time. My only job is to rest. So, how about that Before Taxi checklist?”

  “Roger. How about that Before Taxi check?”

  Pete grimaced. “Ten thousand comedians are starving in Los Angeles …”