The Matter of the Deserted Airliner

by Levi, Steve;

  “Don’t you get moose on the runway every once in a while?”

  “Every blue moon or so, yeah, but the fence was constructed to keep them in the park. We do have a number of moose gates along the fence so just in case one somehow wanders onto the runway we can scare them back to the park. You know how those moose gates work, don’t you.”

  “A moose can go through but can’t get back.”

  “Yup.”

  “So the fence does have breaks in it.”

  “Yes. However, the fence is half a mile away. I know what you’re thinking but no. Our pilot could not have gone out through the fence. Even if she tried to head out there she’d of been picked up on the security cameras.”

  Noonan slowly did a 360 degree turn drinking in the details of the airport from the apron. After a dozen seconds he indicated to Dabney he was ready to go back inside.

  “Find what you were looking for?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” said Noonan. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

  “Well,” said Dabney. “Welcome to the club.”

  Back inside the terminal Noonan threaded his way through the throngs of tourists onto the main floor. The news of what had happened to Unicorn 739 had sobered the crowd, as much as such was possible for tourists on holiday who didn’t have to drive. Knots of passengers were talking about the apparent hijacking, one of the few times in Noonan’s life he had actually heard the word hijack spoken in an airport with no one getting arrested. Even more surprising, there were so many uniformed security personnel meandering around Noonan wondered who was watching the security cameras. It was also the first time he had actually seen uniformed police officers in an airport. In most cases the only uniforms were TSA personnel who were, frankly, not law enforcement personnel. They were bureaucrats. Men and women with ball point pens and metal detectors, not nervous law enforcement agents with pistols on their hips.

  When he arrived back at Gate A-17 there was a note from Ayanna asking him to join her in the Command Center which had been set up in the Staff Conference Room. It wasn’t hard to find the Staff Conference Room. All Noonan had to do was go to the police tape across the administrative exit. There he was told he could not go to the Staff Conference Room, which was, according to the TSA person at the door, “somewhere else.” Noonan gave his name and suddenly the TSA person knew where the Staff Conference Room was. Ah, the joy of political connections.

  Noonan started down the hallway and was joined by two other guards, these Alaska State Troopers, who just appeared out of an empty rooms on either side of the hall. There was a moment of checking his name and then he was taken to a security elevator at the end of a hallway which seemed to converge at a point of oblivion. Noonan stepped onboard and the magic box whisked him up a floor and then disgorged him into another long hallway which also visually pinched to a point in both directions. He walked to his left first and progressed halfway down the hall before he stumbled on what had to be called a Command Center. He stepped into the room and was stopped by one of the statuesque state troopers he had seen at the gateway earlier in the day.

  “He’s OK,” Ayanna’s voice came from across the room. “He’s cleared to be here.” The trooper stood aside and after Noonan stepped past him, replanted himself with precision in front of the door.

  “We’re going to need all the help we can get, unfortunately,” Ayanna told Noonan quietly when he reached her side. She waved him toward the group of men gathered around a table the size of a record halibut and was the same color. “Let me introduce you around.”

  Ayanna introduced Noonan to those assembled and there was an orgy of handshaking. Noonan knew he wouldn’t remember even one of the names. So their names didn’t matter. It was a good bet they’d never remember his name either. Probably could have cared less who he was. After all, he wasn’t in uniform, was not in their chain of command and clearly too old to be of political use to a single one of them. Noonan could read it in their eyes. He wasn’t even a guru; just someone who had the juice to be there.

  There were about 20 people in the room. With the exception of Ayanna and Noonan, every one of them was in uniform and not a single of them with stripes. The Anchorage Police and Alaska State Trooper uniforms were self-evident but there were some other uniforms Noonan did not recognize and assumed them to be airport security. A cadaverous man dressed in a mismatched outfit in the back of the crowd was talking on a cell phone. He had to be FBI. The FBI was always on the phone. It was part of the job: look important by being on a phone.

  “Let me guess,” Noonan said quietly to Ayanna as she ushered him into an office alongside the table. “The FBI says they’re in charge and haven’t done anything, right?”

  “You’ve been here before?” It was a snide remark, meant to be and interpreted as such.

  Noonan shook his head sadly. He had the been-there-done-that look on his face. To Ayanna he mumbled, “Just every time they show up. What’s going on and what can I do to help?”

  “You can help me by holding my hand and giving me advice. We’re barely an hour into this and everything has broken loose. We’ve got the family members under control. We gave them the news as we have it and then took them to the Intercontinental Hotel just down the road. They’ve got an open bar and all the food they want to eat. They’re still talking to the press. We can’t stop them from talking but at least we can keep them from nosing around the airport getting in our way. Then we’ve got the press and every freelance journalist is the state walking the terminal. We can’t keep them out but we can keep them away from the concourse.”

  “Good move.”

  “What’s going on?” Ayanna shook her head, tossing her hair from out of her eyes. “Well, a lot of little things. We’re working with the Anchorage Police to get the precious stones those guys want. We’ve fast-tracked a $25 million loan from First Seattle National Savings and Loan and are using collateral to get precious stones from the jewelers here in Anchorage. So far the jewelers have been cooperating.”

  “Of course they are,” chortled Noonan. “They’re getting top retail dollar for their wholesale stones. Here’s a deal that doesn’t come down the pike every day.”

  “Whatever.” Ayanna did not give the impression she was aware of the dollars-and-cents reference Noonan had made. Probably didn’t care. It wasn’t her money. “We don’t have time to dicker. The first drop is to be tomorrow at 10 a.m. We’re going to receive instructions as to when and where.”

  “How nice.”

  “Isn’t it though? I’d like you to go along with the drop.”

  This took Noonan by surprise. “Do you think that’s such a good idea?”

  “No. But the extortionists asked for you by name.”

  Here was another eye-opener. For Noonan. “They asked for me?” He was incredulous. “Really? I find it hard to believe. Are you sure they said me. By name?”

  “They asked for you by name.” Ayanna raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “We had them repeat the request twice just to be sure. Not only did they ask for you by name but they gave your rank with the Sandersonville Police Department. Then they asked if they would have to call Sandersonville to get an official Okey Dokey.”

  “Okey Dokey?”

  “The very words used. It’s what they said and we said fine. At least the FBI said they would check into to it. The clearance came back within a few minutes.”

  “They called?”

  “Both the FBI and our friends who want the stones. Both of them. A Commissioner Lizzard,” she said and pronounced the name as if it were an animal.

  “Lizzard,” corrected Noonan, “accent on the double z. I’d say we have some very well-prepared customers.”

  “I’d say.” Ayanna fiddled with a cell phone but before she started to talk she told Noonan, “The fingerprints on the trash can from the interior of the airplane came back.”

  “Anything unusual?”

  “Nope. The fingerprints match one of the crew who was on
the flight.”

  “Not much help there.”

  Chapter 5

  The only thing which interested Geraldine “Gerry” McComber more than a bottle of fine wine with the man of her choice – and she was choosey with both wine and men – was a good news story. There was good reason she was so choosy. Wine and men came and went. News stories did not. They appeared when they did and were ephemeral. Yesterday’s news was like three-day old fish; it did not get better with age. Some wine got better with age but most men did not. They were best when fresh and grew stale quickly.

  A freelance reporter on prowl, she was so good at generating her own leads the Anchorage Tribune and one of the local television affiliates gave her a budget and a free hand to develop her own stories. She was a rarity, a freelancer who was paid by both print and electronic media for the same stories. They both had her on payroll as staff and paid her New York style: what she asked. She was worth every dollar they spent. She had a desk in both newsrooms she rarely used and a cell phone with 1,000 minutes per month; and she used every one of them.

  “News is where you find it,” she said anytime someone higher up the food chain demanded she spend more time in either of the newsrooms and make at least one editorial meeting a month. “You get it where you find it. If you don’t like what I’m producing, fire me.” No one ever fired Gerry McComber.

  She wasn’t demanding in the sense she was a prima donna. She got what she wanted because she wasn’t just good at her job. She was great. And she knew it. But it didn’t go to her head. She kept turning in the quality stories because she had a reputation for fairness, intelligence and never divulging where she got her information. And her sources were highly placed. In her special on medical billing fraud she brought the largest hospital in town to its knees. It had been charging questionable fees for a decade – the reason it was the largest hospital in town – and after the IRS followed her footprints into the books, there was an exodus of administrative personnel south, most of them to federal prison. Her investigative work on walrus poaching prompted a sting operation by the United States Department of Fish and Wildlife and led to a dozen arrests.

  The story of Unicorn 739 was going to be her best. Not just because it was a great story.

  It was. The story of a lifetime in Anchorage, Alaska, in the proverbial middle of no place. No, it was the story of the century for McComber. It was the story of the century and a Pulitzer Prize for sure because she had the best inside source there was. It was the ultimate inside source. You could not get better than a hot line to the extortionists on an open case with the whole world watching. Well, she couldn’t actually call them. They had called her.

  Gerry’s cell phone erupted into a fugue as she was sitting in the back of Crown Bagel, the in-spot for artists and the out-spot for anyone who wore a tie. The music touched off a flurry of patrons pawing for their cell phones. A glance at the incoming number told Gerry it was from a pay phone. Her heart began to beat with anticipation.

  “And what do you have for me now?” She was smooth and she knew it.

  “Gerry, dahling,” the smooth male voice purred through the ether, “You didn’t think I’d forget you?”

  “Of course not. Are we ever going to meet?”

  “We’re meeting now, my love.”

  “No, I mean in person.”

  “Maybe you already have met me. Ever considered the possibility?”

  “Yes. But when are we going to meet when you’ve identified yourself?”

  “Who knows? Stranger things have happened.” The voice gave a merry chortle. “But I do have a tip for you.”

  “So far you’ve been a very good boy.”

  “I am a very good boy. I just have this larcenous streak I can’t control. It is so expensive to keep it satisfied. Do you want the lead?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  “Actually he’s an Argentinian Italian but his heritage is neither here nor there. Here’s your lead. Ayanna Driscoll, the Head of Security for the Anchorage International Airport, and Heinz Noonan, Chief of Detectives for the Sandersonville Police Department. . .”

  “Heinz who?”

  “Noonan. N-o-o-n-a-n.” The voice spelled it out.

  “Where is Sandersonville?”

  “North Carolina. He’s up here on vacation.”

  “What does North Carolina have to do with all of this?”

  “This is my story, love. You can ask him when you meet him.”

  “When am I going to meet him?”

  “You’ll be able to see him tomorrow at 10 a.m. He and Ayanna are going to be delivering the first of four payments to our little enterprise. They’re going to have a little bag with about $5 million in precious stones with them so bring your camera to get all kinds of nice pictures, eh?.”

  “Where are the stones going to be delivered?”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” the voice chided. “If I told you it would spoil the surprise! You just be at the Wickersham Hotel lobby phone bank by 10 a.m. Not a moment late, now. The lobby is where the pair will get their first call of the day. Then they will be off like hounds after the hare. Don’t be seen though.”

  “So you’re going to run them around town, phone to phone, before you let them make the drop?”

  “It’s what they expect me to do so I don’t want to disappoint.”

  “Them.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Right. ‘Them.’ I don’t want to disappoint them. You are as bad as my English teacher.”

  “I used to be an English teacher.”

  “I know, Gerry, dahling. In a little town outside of Boise.”

  “Your information is very good.”

  “And why I haven’t been caught.” With the comment hanging the phone went dead.

  Gerry did a quick redial but there was no answer. Whoever he was, he was long gone. She snapped her phone shut and slid it into its carrying case on her belt. A woman with a cell phone on her belt, she thought. How unfeminine but how necessary on days like this.

  Gerry slowly sipped her coffee and looked over her notes.

  “Noonan,” she muttered to herself as she pulled her phone out again. She snapped it on and called the Tribune library. “If we don’t have a file on this Noonan character at the Tribune, he surely must have one in North Carolina. What’s the biggest city in North Carolina? Raleigh? Durham? Who do I know in Raleigh?” She drummed her pen on the table.

  Then she called the best cameraman at the television station.

  Between bites of her bagel she pulled him off covering the Anchorage Chamber of Commerce prayer breakfast and told him to meet her at the Wickersham at 9:30 the next morning – and to wear tennis shoes. When he asked why the tennis shoes, she replied, “because we’re going to be doing quite a bit of running around, both literally and figuratively.”

  He said he didn’t believe her and she snickered as she hung up.

  “And now we shall see what we shall see,” she muttered as dipped her bagel in a cup of black coffee.

  Chapter 6

  “So this is what $5 million in diamonds looks like,” muttered Ayanna as she took a small leather bag from a rotund man in the uniform of State Security and Fidelity. He looked like Porky Pig. His uniform fit as though he was Porky Pig. He even had a high squeaky voice like Porky Pig. Ayanna wondered if his wife told him he looked like Porky Pig when they came to verbal blows.

  “Do you want to check them?” The voice fit the man but lacked warmth. He might as well have been a banker. Probably had been. Or an accountant.

  “How would I know if I was being cheated?”

  “Ms. Driscoll,” the voice had an edge. “State Security and Fidelity is insuring these stones. We know they’re authentic. We have the papers of authenticity. Even if they are not, what do you care? You’re not the final recipient, if you know what I mean. Let them take us to court.”

  Porky Pig thought the statement was funny.

  Ayanna didn’t.

  “You’d be
tter be right because there are 95 people whose lives depend on these stones. Any phonies get mixed in and there could be real problems. So, once again, I’m asking if all of these stones are legitimate.”

  Porky didn’t bat an eye. “Yeah. They are all legitimate. Every one of them which is why your thieves are asking for them in portions. They want to make sure all the stones are real. Four drops means they have three times to check the stones. As long as they hold the hostages, the last load has got to be legit too. We know our business, Ms. Driscoll.”

  “A lot is riding on these stones. We can always get more stones, we can’t get back a hostage if he gets killed.”

  Porky was unimpressed. There was no reason he had to be. His ham hocks weren’t on the line. Or the griddle. “Just sign here, Ms. Driscoll,” he said as he indicated a spot on piece of paper on a clipboard, “and everything will be peachy keen.”

  From the look Ayanna’s face it was clear she didn’t think everything was going to be just peachy keen.

  Noonan was standing in the only quiet space left in the Command Center: behind the coffee machine. Noonan stood with his back to the soft drink machine and stared out of the southern windows at the trees on the far side of the runway. He noticed Ayanna had cleaned up in the last few hours. She had clearly managed to snatch a few hours of sleep and her energy level was significantly higher. Now she was dressed for speed, jeans and a short sleeved blouse, tennis shoes and a fanny pack.

  Noonan was dressed for the runaround as well. Been there, done that. He was wearing his only pair of jeans, a grey pullover and his favorite cross trainers, comfortable on the inside and scarred from his aerobics class on the outside. His socks were the thick white athletic kind and there was a GIS strapped around one ankle. He was not carrying a pistol. “I don’t believe in them on a case like this,” he had told the Anchorage Police Lieutenant who tried to give him a Glock. “These guys don’t want trouble; they just want the gems and we are going to have to make more than one drop. We’ve got time. Let’s play their game for the moment.”