“They’re that far ahead of us?”
“Yes. My information is the DIA was talking to NSA when the aircraft changed course, which is very strange.”
“Maybe dumb luck?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Something more’s afoot here. The Pentagon is involved to a greater degree, I think, than would be reasonable if all they were doing was worrying about Lavi and the Israeli Air Force.”
“So, what do you suspect?”
The noises accompanying the entrance of several people ended the quiet exchange as the national security advisor came in just behind the assistant secretary of state, both men following an air force colonel and a navy admiral. There were greetings all around before the assembled, all-male team took their seats and unburdened notebooks just as the president, wearing a tuxedo, swept in ahead of two Secret Service agents. He rolled his eyes as he gestured over his shoulder.
“Gentlemen, as of this moment I’m supposed to be stroking egos at an East Wing shindig featuring the mind-bending combination of Yo-Yo Ma and Carlos Santana. The first lady is already irritated at this diversion, and that could translate to a cold and lonely night. And I don’t like cold and lonely nights. So, quickly … what’s going on with this hijacked airliner? James? CIA first.”
Bergen restrained himself from a sideways glance at the two military officers in the room, both of whom would have already been briefed by their Defense Intelligence counterparts.
“Mr. President, this is not a hijacking as far as anyone can tell. The flight was Pangia’s Tel Aviv to New York run, and it was halfway there when it turned around and headed back toward the Mideast. The crew didn’t even know it at first. The airline reports their pilots can’t physically control the airplane or kill the autopilot, and the most immediate problem is that Moishe Lavi is aboard.”
“Can’t control it? Do we know why?”
“No, but it has us concerned. We understand Mossad is also deeply concerned, and if Iran hasn’t picked up on this by now, it will be only a matter of time before they do.”
The assistant secretary of state had a finger in the air as he nodded agreement. “The Israelis want to keep a hot line to our conclusions and information.”
“Agreed, but only if the channels are airtight,” the president said. “How would Tehran know any of this, James?”
“The communication between the crew and their Chicago headquarters was on open channel cell phone, a phone collected from a passenger. God only knows who picked it up, but the story has already broken worldwide as a suspected hijack, which it isn’t.”
“Why can’t the pilots control the airplane?” The president asked again, looking from face to face. “Is there something I don’t know? I didn’t think it was possible to remotely hijack an airliner like that. In fact, that’s exactly why …” the president stopped himself and waved away the rest of whatever he was going to say.
“It isn’t possible, as far as we know …” James Bergen began again, acutely aware that the air force colonel and navy admiral were saying nothing and everyone was wondering what statement the chief executive had choked off. “But that’s what the crew has reported.”
“You think the airplane has been turned into some sort of remotely controlled instrument … controlled from the ground, for instance?” The president asked.
The CIA director glanced back at his deputy, and Walter picked up the answer.
“We have no reason to believe, at present, that this Airbus A330 is capable of that sort of remote control, sir. The A330 is a complicated, electronic airliner, but the pilots can always override the autoflight system.”
“And yet they haven’t … or they claim they haven’t, right?”
“Correct. But we’ve run backgrounds on all the crewmembers, and there’s no indication of any potential compromised loyalty. The captain is an ex-US Navy fighter pilot.”
“Are there any weapons aboard?” the president asked.
“Mossad says no … they routinely scanned the bird on taxi out with a neutron scanner. But … there is a cargo igloo—a pod—aboard, and Pangia Airways seems to be having trouble finding the manifest.”
“I’m a pilot, remember? I know the Airbus A330, and it doesn’t have bomb dropping ability. A cargo pod would be useless as an external weapon.”
“Yes, sir, but there’s always a worry that something explosive could have been sneaked aboard in that cargo pod, something that could explode the aircraft.”
“Evidence?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, what are we scared of, gentlemen, other than losing a plane full of passengers … not to make light of that, even though, to tell the truth, losing Moishe Lavi would probably be a godsend for world peace.”
“Sir, in the broader picture, we’ve got to consider the possibility that somehow this aircraft is being pressed into a mission that could involve Lavi’s repeatedly stated intentions to either launch a first strike on Tehran or provoke an attack that would force an Israeli nuclear response.”
The president of the United States looked incredulously at his CIA team and then searched the eyes of the rest of the men in the room.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re telling me the pilots are loyal, and there’s no way to control this airplane from the ground, and there’s no nuclear material on board, but you’re expecting it to head for Tehran and by looking like a threat, trigger a strike on Israel which would trigger a nuclear response and a Mideast Armageddon? Are we serving hard liquor in here?”
Much to Walt’s relief, the air force colonel came alive. “Mr. President, if that aircraft heads for Tehran with Moishe Lavi aboard they could be flying a Cessna 172 and the Iranians would use it as an excuse to go ballistic. Perhaps literally.”
A long sigh marked the end of the president’s attention.
“Okay, I get that. Get me more facts, guys. I assume you have no recommendations for me at present and we do have some time?”
“Yes sir, we have a couple of hours, and no, sir, we have no immediate recommendations,” James Bergen responded. “Not CIA, at least.”
“Nor the Joint Chiefs, sir,” the admiral chimed in. “At least, not yet.”
The president stood and grinned as he looked at the two uniformed officers. “You fellows also representing DIA in this visit?”
“Not really, sir. We’re reporting for the Joint Chiefs.”
“But … you and DIA and CIA are playing nice, right?” The president swept his eyes back and forth between CIA’s James Bergen and DIA’s General Richard Penick. “No one’s playing games with the information or strategically timing the release of anything to me, right?”
“No, sir,” they said practically in unison.
“Okay. Because to make a lighthearted reference to a very serious subject, I get really cranky when that happens. Don’t forget we’re on the same team. Summon me back down here when you’ve something to recommend, the first lady’s wrath notwithstanding. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the east wing looking appropriately enthralled.” The president turned, then turned back with a finger in the air. “Wait…that’s not fair. I dearly love and respect both Carlos Santana and Yo-Yo Ma. Just … together?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cockpit, Pangia 10 (0020 Zulu)
“Goddammit, you talk to them!” Jerry tossed the commandeered satellite phone toward his copilot in deep disgust, and Dan had to lunge to the left to catch it in mid-air. “As far as they’re concerned, if the book doesn’t say it’s there, it isn’t!”
The passenger who’d finally volunteered the satellite phone had held out on them at first, apparently afraid of running up a big bill. But the “can’t fly the airplane” part of Jerry’s PA had changed his mind, and at last they’d scored a steady signal. Dan cleared his throat and raised the phone to his ear, taking care to keep the extendable antenna in the forward window as he identified himself and waited for a reply.
“Dan, this is the ma
intenance director. The captain was telling us there’s a metal cabinet in the electronics bay, and obviously, if it’s there, it’s there, but we’re completely puzzled back here because according to our information on this bird, there are no cabinets or large enclosures in that compartment. Are there any decals or placards on the side of it?”
“No. I looked carefully,” Dan replied, describing the cabinet. “The thing shocked the hell out of me and knocked me out briefly when I tried to open the side of it. I’m pretty sure that’s a security defense system. Plus, I can tell you it’s firmly attached and engineered into that part of the electronics bay … not just something sitting there loose.” He described the cables running in and out and his growing suspicion that every electronic control in the cockpit had been shunted to whatever was in the box.
“So … in your opinion, that box is not something that could have been added on a quick turnaround or in an hour or so?”
“Hell, no!” Dan said. “The sheer volume of the cables running into the front of this thing along the floor and the solid construction of it means it would have taken major downtime to get it installed, and there would had to have been all sorts of disassembly and reassembly in a maintenance hangar somewhere. I mean, we’re talking weeks, probably! Has she been on the ground somewhere for that long out of our control?”
“We’re checking, Dan. We’ve got our ship routing department as well as the A330 team on another line from Toulouse, and they’re just as mystified as we are. They say there’s never been anything like the cabinet you’re describing engineered into one of their birds, not just the ones they’ve built for us.”
“I’m pretty sure that cabinet holds the key, so to speak.”
“We … have no idea … but I suppose you could be right.”
“So here’s my plan, unless you guys can come up with something else, I’m going to get on thick gloves and a coat and insulate my feet and go back down to see if I can get the side of that box open. If so, maybe there’s a switch inside, or some clue as to whether it’s causing this freaking nightmare … which it has to be.”
Dan could hear the genuine angst on the other end as what had to be a sophisticated speakerphone picked up the group’s reaction.
“We can’t think of anything else to recommend. Just be careful.”
“I will. We don’t have a lot of time. We’re over Croatia now, and I estimate Tel Aviv in three hours. To be brutally frank, if we don’t regain control, we’ll flame out in approximately four hours.”
Dan punched the disconnect button on the satellite phone and sat in silence for a few seconds before looking over at Jerry and across at Bill Breem and Tom Wilson, his copilot.
“You heard?”
“Yeah,” Bill Breem replied. “Enough, at least. But how the hell can I believe that this company somehow doesn’t know about a bus-sized box in the basement of this plane?”
“Bit smaller than a bus …” Jerry said, with a sharpness he immediately regretted.
“You know what I mean,” Breem added.
“Yes, I do.”
Someone was standing in the open cockpit door, and Jerry glanced around to find Carol pointing back over her shoulder.
“Someone wants a word with you. Is it all right to bring him up?”
“Who, Carol?” Jerry asked.
“I believe you spoke with him before, Captain. Moishe Lavi.”
The sigh was more apparent than audible as Jerry’s shoulders slumped slightly even as he nodded approval, but the copilot’s head had jerked around, and Jerry was instantly puzzled to see Dan’s eyes flare in surprise. There was no time to ask questions, however, as Carol stepped aside and the stocky passenger moved into the same space, nodding at both pilots.
“Prime Minister Lavi! I had no idea you were aboard,” Dan managed, extending his hand, which Lavi took gratefully.
The confusion on Jerry Tollefson’s face was now turning to alarm, and Dan nodded at Lavi as he shook his hand and offered a simultaneous introduction.
“Jerry, I’d like you to meet the prime minister—”
“Former … prime minister,” Lavi interrupted.
“Yes … the former prime minister of Israel, Mr. Moishe Lavi.”
Jerry swiveled part way around and extended his hand as well, shaking his head in embarrassment.
“Sir, I apologize. I knew your name sounded familiar earlier, but … I just didn’t put it together.”
“No apology necessary. You had a crisis in progress, Captain.”
“Yeah, well … we still do, unfortunately”
“So I see. And that’s the reason for my intrusion. Is there any change in our situation?”
Lavi’s eyes were on the captain, but Carol, standing at a distance in the cockpit door, was tracking the sudden change of expression on Dan Horneman’s face as his startled and pleased recognition of Moishe Lavi connected to the fact of the former prime minister’s reputation and his presence on this flight, the rising implications boiling over in all geopolitical directions before coming back to Dan’s consciousness and registering on his face as abject alarm.
There could be no realistic possibility, Dan thought to himself, that Lavi’s presence and their current plight were connected somehow, but then it was a nightmarish thought he had yet to explore, let alone reject. Dan listened to the two of them talking, but the only voice he could seem to hear was his own mind fairly screaming that, regardless of how they ended up in this predicament, there was a huge new reality: If they ended up in the airspace of an Arab country with Lavi aboard, they would become perhaps the world’s juiciest target. There would be no need to dance around some explanation of a gunner thinking he had an intruding military airplane in his sights. Hamas, Syria, Iran, Egypt … hell, even Iraq and Saudi Arabia would probably trip over each other for a chance to launch a missile to kill Moishe Lavi, in or out of office!
“Ah … sir …” Dan interrupted. “We may have a very big problem.”
Lavi looked over at Dan, as did Jerry, who had been explaining what they’d tried so far.
“Yes?” Lavi replied. “You have a bigger problem than complete loss of control?”
“Yes, sir,” Dan replied. “We’re headed back for Tel Aviv, but we have no idea where this airplane is going to turn or fly after that, if we can’t regain control. It could go straight ahead. It could release us. Or it could try to fly back to the previous point of origin, which is Hong Kong.”
“I like Hong Kong,” Lavi smiled.
“So do I, sir, but that’s not the point. We don’t have enough fuel to last more than ninety minutes after Tel Aviv … perhaps less … and a course direct to Hong Kong is a course directly over Iran, and just south of Tehran.”
“I understand,” Moishe Lavi replied, meeting Dan’s steady gaze with a pleasant smile and an expression as neutral as the sphinx, leading Dan to wonder if his words had registered.
“My point, sir …”
Lavi had his hand up. “I understand. If Iranian airspace is invaded by an American airliner originating in Israel, even in an emergency, what will they do?”
“Yes, sir, but … what if they know that you are aboard?”
“They undoubtedly already do. They are insane and genocidal idiots, but they have fairly good intelligence sources.”
“Would they shoot us down to get you, sir?”
“The Iranians would shoot us regardless of my presence or absence. They look for any excuse. But I have a suggestion for you. If you have not regained control by the time we arrive overhead Tel Aviv, it would be wise to let me come back up here and use your radio to speak in the blind to Tehran’s air traffic authorities when we get close enough to the border, and through them, to the mullahs who will undoubtedly be listening.”
Dan couldn’t restrain the look of near horror on his face.
“Why, sir? Even if we get the radios working … and they aren’t now … that’s the very last thing I would think we should be doing! That would conf
irm that you’re here and a great target …”
“Trust me, son. I know the Iranian leaders better than they know themselves, and I know how to interfere with their thinking. The only chance we have if this ship flies into Iranian airspace is my presence on the radio.”
“You’re going to reason with the people you want to exterminate?” Dan asked, quite unaware of the implications of his question until the words had escaped his lips.
The expression on Moishe Lavi’s face hardened. “Please let it be noted that I never, in my entire political career, ever advocated using on any nation the same genocidal aspirations that Israel and the Jewish people have commonly and historically faced. My quest was to neutralize Iran’s ability to explode nuclear weapons over my country.”
“I’m sorry, sir. That was an unfortunate choice of words,” Dan said.
“Yes, it was. Apology accepted. And you are correct about the futility of reasoning with the institutionally insane. It is not possible. But manipulating them by reference to their own interests is the height of diplomacy, and I know this methodology, even in relation to the Iranian mullahs who, despite their constant pious nonsense about the delights of leaving this world to cavort with their ridiculous vision of seventy virgins in their hellish, misogynist version of heaven, are truly not suicidal.”
Dan shook his head in apparent sadness. “Lord, I wish we had time for a leisurely discussion around a hotel pool somewhere. What I wouldn’t give to have just a small fragment of your knowledge of the world.”
“But we have ‘promises to keep and miles to go’ before such pleasures,” Lavi responded, “to borrow liberally from your poet Robert Frost.”
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