The Negotiator

by Dee Henderson

  “Yes.”

  “Bob, the threat sounds very real. I don’t know what the reference to me implies.” She had to bury the fear; there wasn’t time for it. Her control slipped back in place so that only logic ruled. They would figure out the reference later; right now there were more critical decisions to make and not much time to make them. “How many planes are talking to the tower?”

  He was already looking at a monitor. “There are eight departing flights still in our airspace. Fourteen incoming flights are under our control. Another sixteen flights are on taxiways queued up to depart.”

  “The twenty-two planes in the air. How do we get them down?”

  “We can’t. Not in fifteen minutes. But we can come close.” Bob looked at the tower chief, Greg Nace. “Let’s get everything in class B airspace on the ground. Take an outgoing flight over one inbound. Prioritize for souls on board.”

  “Agreed.” The tower chief looked at the controllers, every one of them tense and awaiting directions. “Alert the pilots in the air of the threat. Tell them to set down fast. We’re going to have to ignore FAA regulations for distance to get this many planes down in time. Let regional control know we will not be accepting any more aircraft into the pattern.”

  Rapid, controlled chatter began around the room. The men and women talking to the pilots began orchestrating a controlled recovery of planes.

  Bob turned to his second in command. “Elliot, how many open gates do we have?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Find us some more to use. Tell maintenance to back empty planes away from gates. Having a plane full of passengers explode on the ground isn’t part of the plan. Get security to the gates to keep people calm.”

  The tower chief interrupted. “Bob, we’ve got three outbound flights reporting fuel loads above what is safe for an immediate abort. We’ll have no choice but to put them to the back of the queue.”

  Kate picked up binoculars and watched a Boeing 747 touch down on the runway, white puffs of smoke appearing as the plane’s tires touched pavement. It had been a long time since she had felt this helpless.

  “Tell Kate O’Malley I haven’t forgotten the past.”

  What did that mean? The bomber knew her? How? And why a plane?

  She watched the clock, counted the planes touching down, and listened to the air traffic controllers.

  11:12 A.M.

  There were still nine flights in the air.

  11:13.

  Eight flights.

  11:14.

  Six flights.

  She heard a controller give MetroAir Flight 714 clearance to land on runway 32L.

  11:15.

  Nine

  MetroAir Flight 714 exploded in midair.

  The shock wave from the blast reverberated off the tower windows. It hit the building so hard that tables not secured moved a few inches, lights swayed, mugs rattled, and several binders fell from a nearby shelf. Kate instinctively leaned into the counter beside her to keep steady.

  She couldn’t tear the binoculars away from the horrific sight. Huge sections of the fuselage slammed down onto the runway and were engulfed in burning jet fuel. The rest of the plane came down west of runway 32L.

  A second fireball erupted on the ground as jet fuel erupted. Cargo City—FedEx, UPS, DHL. One of the major shipping company’s planes or facilities had just been hit.

  Around her was shocked silence.

  Bob was the first to move. His hand squeezed the tower chief’s shoulder. “Divert the five flights in the air to Midway. Close the airport; helicopter transports are going to own the airspace for the immediate future.”

  Orders started to flow to the staff around him. “Elliot, get on the hotline. We need every ambulance, every medical helicopter they can find. Jim, send the pager codes, call everyone in. Get the command center open.” He looked back at the size of the debris field already apparent. “Frank, get me the Air National Guard CO on the phone. I need his people, and I need him to enforce the closed airspace immediately.”

  Kate listened to the orders as she watched battalions of fire engines and rescue personnel speed onto the runway to enter a fight that appeared hopelessly one-sided. No one was walking away from the wreckage. With the binoculars she should have seen someone by now. No one was walking away.

  “I want someone sitting on this phone in case he decides to remark on his handiwork. There may be a second bomb; I want nothing overlooked in the search. We need all the agencies—FBI, NTSB, ATF, and FAA.”

  Around the room, people were picking up the phones. “Elliot, pull together the first update meeting at 1 P.M. I’ll be with the fire chief. Kate, stay with me.”

  She nodded, needing to be pitched into the battle for survivors. It was too late, but they had to try. There had to be hope.

  In the past hour and a half, Kate had completely shut off her emotions. She was too numb to feel anything anymore. The faces around her were grim. Helicopters waited on the taxiway to take survivors to the hospitals, but there were no survivors.

  It had become a massive crime scene.

  This section of the fuselage had not burned, but smoke had roiled through it. The heat lingered in the metal, the seats. The plane structure had been destroyed. She crawled past mangled seats, moving aside suitcases, books, briefcases, magazines, letters. Shoes. Shopping bags. Dolls. She tried not to get caught on insulation, wires, or jagged metal.

  Her hands were blistered, scraped from previous work in this section of the fuselage as she helped retrieve victims. She had discarded the borrowed fire turnout coat once the threat of the fire had been suppressed.

  They had located the flight attendant who had been at the airplane door. MetroAir allowed last minute walk-ons. The passenger and electronic tickets were in the flight attendant’s vest pocket. While there were copies at the terminal, knowing who had stepped through the plane door was the most important check they had; records at the terminal could potentially get tampered with. It was difficult to deal with the fact paper was her priority, a passenger list more important than the passengers were.

  One of the two firemen reached toward her as soon as she was within reach. It was a tight squeeze with three of them in the collapsed galley area. “Show me.”

  The fireman lifted the wall.

  Kate knelt down and wedged herself into the space. The name tag confirmed her identity. Cynthia Blake. Kate found it painfully hard to handle the fact the flight attendant looked like she was asleep.

  Kate gently retrieved the passenger documents. She wanted to apologize to this lady, her family, her friends, all the people her death would touch. It was guilt she didn’t know how to process. Because she had seen the explosion, had been unable to prevent it. Because her name had been mentioned in the threat. Somehow, in a way she did not understand, she was involved in this tragedy. The bomber probably felt no guilt. She did.

  Kate turned to one of the firemen. “Have the FBI record her location, and you can move her.”

  She worked her way back outside.

  The intensity outside was worse than that inside the fuselage. All the images blurred together. There were so many victims.

  Death wasn’t new.

  Violent death wasn’t new.

  This many deaths in an instant of time was.

  She did not look at the tickets she carried, did not read the names. She needed the distance for another moment.

  The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach increased as she walked past the wreckage. She had been trained to put together a life from little pieces of information. The debris around her reflected so many lives. She skirted around rescue personnel working in a burned section of the fuselage where victims were just now being removed.

  She had never realized how massive an Illiad 9000 wide-body plane was. The fuselage wreckage, not to mention the wings, dwarfed the vehicles nearby. Over two hundred people had been aboard this flight. None had walked away.

  The smell of jet fuel would take days t
o clear. Most of it had burned, scorching the runway. The firefight had moved from the plane wreckage to the shipping facility where the battle still raged. Thick black smoke billowed into the air. Kate dreaded to hear news of casualties there.

  Stephen was here somewhere, and Jack; she had seen both of them from a distance working with others from their units. How were they handling the disaster? Burn victims were horrible, especially for the men and women who daily risked their lives to prevent such deaths. The fuselage pieces were now smoldering remains, covered in foam and water. If only the plane had been on the ground, been on a taxiway, some might have survived.

  How was Lisa going to cope with this? As one of the central staff at the state crime lab, a forensic pathologist, she would be one of those called in specifically to help identify the dead, to reconstruct what had happened. Weeks of dealing with this tragedy would haunt her. Kate felt sick just at the thought.

  Who had done this?

  Why?

  She looked to the south. The land had been an open field of wildflowers this morning, the best of summer’s beauty. Now the almost half mile square area looked like the center of a war zone, the ground marked by twisted metal, personal belongings, and shrouded white sheets covering the dead. National Guard personnel were already beginning the task of turning the field into a large grid.

  The bright blue sky, the sunshine, felt like an insult.

  Overhead, police and National Guard helicopters enforced the closed airspace, keeping the news media from flying directly overhead. Local stations, national affiliates would have all rushed news crews to the scene. Kate suspected that with the explosion at 11:15 A.M., the news media had been live on the air by 11:18. The satellite dishes were probably already lined up along the 294 Tollway overpass, broadcasting live pictures as they looked down on the crash site.

  She could only imagine what it was like inside O’Hare’s terminals. A bomb created instant panic. Not just for the families of the victims, desperate for information, but for everyone else who felt the relief and the guilt that they escaped.

  She headed to the forward command center rapidly put together on the runway near the crash. It had become the nerve center for ground operations, manned by the fire chief and his support crew, Chicago police, FBI, National Transportation Safety Board, and emergency medical personnel. Radio traffic was heavy as assistants coordinated men from different districts. She handed the documents to the courier waiting for them and found a place out of the way to wait for Bob. He was talking to the National Guard commanding officer about site security.

  There were hundreds of O’Hare employees standing together in clusters along the nearest taxiway, looking out at the wreckage, watching events unfold. They were spectators, but quiet ones, their faces still showing the shocked disbelief at what they were witnessing. Kate understood that shock. She ineffectively wiped at the grime on her hands and looked at jeans now ruined and wished she could close her eyes and make this nightmare go away.

  She had to watch this tragedy as the others did, but at least she could do something about it. Whoever had set this bomb would pay. Somewhere in that wreckage before her, on the runway, across the field, was the evidence that would convict him. The victims would at least get justice. Someone had made a mistake when they had made this personal with her.

  “Someone’s targeting her!” Dave stared at the small tape recorder as he listened to the bomb threat again and felt his heart squeeze. The fear was invading. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him. Black roses were one thing; this—how many different ways was Kate going to get ripped into? She couldn’t go home without having her job invade her life. This threat couldn’t even have been graded; it was so malicious. How did he keep her safe when he couldn’t even figure out what to protect her from? Her past was a big, black, ugly hole, and it seemed to be leaping at her from every direction.

  He looked over at his boss. “Where is she?” The command center outside this small conference room was packed with people, but he had not seen Kate.

  “Out at the crash site. She was in the tower with Bob Roberts when this call came in.”

  “Oh, that’s just great. She’s out in the open.” He pushed away from the table. “Whoever this guy is, he’s out for her blood.”

  “Dave, we don’t know. But we need to find out. You know her better than anyone else in the regional office. We need security on her, immediately. Keep her alive long enough for us to figure this out.”

  Dave glanced around the empty conference room. “I can’t let her know I’m formally protecting her.”

  “Her boss knows, but she’s not the type to handle a shadow very well. Keep it low key.”

  That was going to make his job difficult if not impossible. So much for throwing her in a safe house far from here. He sighed. She’d never accept that anyway. “I know what you mean.” He thought for a moment. “There’s still a reason someone targeted a plane.”

  “Yes. Find out why.”

  He nodded and picked up his jacket. “I’ll go find Kate.”

  “Dave—”

  He turned in the doorway.

  “Be careful.”

  “Count on it,” he replied grimly. “Listen—can you track down one of her brothers? He’s a U.S. Marshal, Marcus O’Malley. He flew back to Washington early yesterday morning.”

  “I’ll find him for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dave was not going to let anyone harm her. She was becoming too important to him. Whether she liked it or not, she now had a full-time shadow. At least now he wouldn’t have to do it on his own time. He pulled on the FBI blue jacket. He had a feeling before this was over Kate was going to give him gray hair.

  A helicopter lifted off from the runway tarmac, causing Kate to shade her eyes. It flew out slowly over the crash scene. Kate had seen several NTSB officials climb aboard; they must be getting a look at the debris field.

  “Kate.”

  She turned, surprised. Dave was here. He wore a lightweight blue jacket even on this hot day, one of dozens around the area wearing the FBI colors. There were others wearing jackets from the FAA, NTSB, Red Cross, each with their own color; the visual affiliation allowing people to find each other rapidly in the crowd of investigators tasked with different assignments.

  “I’ve been looking for you.” He looked like a fighter sizing up his opponent; that was her first impression, and she went with it, instinctively shifting her weight back. She looked at him warily, not able to read what he was thinking. His hands settled firmly on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  The depth of the emotion in his voice made her realize she had made a mistake. He wasn’t hiding what he was thinking; he was trying to keep her from seeing how intense it was. She wasn’t accustomed to having someone in the middle of a crisis focus on her instead of the victims. It was personal concern for her driving that emotion in him. Unexpected tears pooled in her eyes but were blinked away. Next to having an O’Malley to lean on, Dave would do. “You heard about the call.”

  “I did.” His face was grim.

  All the emotion buried from that horrifying moment when she heard her name came roiling back. To feel afraid was the worst of all emotions. It was the helpless fear a victim felt, and Kate would never let herself be a victim again. “I don’t know why he used my name.” She heard the slight quiver in her voice and pulled in a harsh breath to fight for control.

  “We’re going to find out why.” His words were gentle, a promise. He brushed at her bangs. “You’ve been out here since it happened, crawling through the wreckage?”

  She sighed, then nodded. “The debris field, some of the fuselage sections that didn’t burn. We hoped for survivors, but there were none. Even in the sections I was in, the impact, the smoke was too great.” She rubbed her arms. “It wasn’t the fire crews’ fault, they were here before the wreckage stopped tumbling.”

  He shook her slightly. “It wasn’t your fault, either. I don’t know what this guy is playing
at by mentioning your name, but you are not responsible for this.”

  She bit her lip and nodded because he was so insistent. She knew she was not to blame but realized she was involved. “I am connected in some way I don’t understand. I’ve been trying to remember past cases, who might have the skills to do this, but the few men I think could do this are still in jail.”

  “We’ll find the connection.”

  Yes, he would feel that same certainty she did. No one could look at these victims and not proceed until the case was solved. And she already had a taste of what he was like doing his job; she felt sorry for the bomber they were after. It was difficult though, to know she would be in the middle of the investigation for the duration, that she herself would be under scrutiny by people who had never met her before this event. Her life was private and intentionally protected; to have others prying into that past would bring up old wounds she wished would stay buried. “Have you actually heard the tape, what it sounded like?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was too distorted; I couldn’t recognize the voice. If it was someone from a past case, chances are I spent hours talking to him. I should be able to recognize the voice.” The call was the only known lead they had at the moment, and it galled her that she could do nothing with it.

  “The tape is being sent to the forensic lab. I’m sure they will be able to clean it up.” He had the luxury of distance from this, could speak calmly and objectively, a role that was normally hers. She felt an irrational irritation at that fact.

  “You shouldn’t be out here in the open. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

  She gave him a blank stare. She was too tired to understand his words.

  “You’re a target, Kate,” he said quietly. “Until we understand why, it’s not a good idea to be out here.”

  Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t protest when he turned her toward one of the O’Hare security cars. There was little more she could do here anyway, and it was about time for the first update meeting. She was about to be smothered with a blanket of protection if Dave had his way, but she didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. She slid into the car without further protest.