This time Jenny succeeded in flinging her door wide and leaping from the SUV before he had a chance to react.
Somewhere in the distance the sound of a helicopter approaching reached his ears. It would be a matter of minutes at best before the airborne Night Sun spotlight located the SUV, its shattered rear window clearly visible. The quick search necessary to illuminate two running figures would be child’s play after that.
Will was breathing hard as he took a few seconds to calculate the odds of various options, but there seemed only one. He left the engine running and flung open the door, jumping out and reclosing both doors before running as hard as he could in the direction Jenny had taken.
She had the key to this whole thing. Hell, she was the key, he thought. And he mustn’t lose her …
Somewhere in the back of her mind Jenny realized that running for your life and taking the time to carry your high heels in order to save them were rather conflicting goals. But she had a death grip on both the pumps and her computer case as she accelerated into the fastest dash she could manage. She couldn’t hear footsteps behind her with the background roar of DC traffic even at night, but she was sure Bronson would be hell for leather after her, his long legs giving him an easy advantage, and the cops and whoever else was chasing them hot on his trail.
I don’t believe this! she thought, the surreal nature of everything that had accompanied the last few hours continuing to accelerate into total confusion in her mind. She had the means to save that airplane full of people—maybe—and time was running out, and people were trying to stop her. Why?
So who the hell is he? she wondered, pondering Seth’s note just long enough to stumble and almost fall on her face on a concrete walkway. She stubbed her toe but recovered enough balance to stay on her feet and force the pain away to keep moving.
A sloping lawn on her right led up to a modest home, and she veered off, slipping a bit in her stocking feet as they hit the soft grass, scrambling around the side and down a driveway, jogging left through an unfenced backyard and then across the next street between yet another pair of houses, running mostly on the balls of her feet. She could hear the startled comment of someone who’d seen her flash past, and for a second she weighed the prospect of seeking help and entry into someone’s house versus continuing to be a running target.
Running won out, but she wondered if she’d shaken Bronson or if he was still pursuing her. Maybe, she thought, he’d been confused by her zigzagging, but just to hedge the bet, she broke left at the next driveway and doubled back toward the street she’d just crossed, all but diving behind a tall hedge in someone’s front lawn and trying to squelch her heavy breathing as she watched for any sign of him.
There was no one, at least no one running or in obvious pursuit. There was a helicopter overhead a few blocks away, obviously searching for them.
She thought of her cell phone. Maybe it was time for a 911 call? Or would what’s-his-name be tied into that network as well?
I don’t even know who I’m running from! she thought.
A sudden sound to her left caused her heart to leap, and she turned to find a thankfully calm and curious Labrador who had ambled over to see who was hiding behind his owner’s hedge. Still on guard, she petted him, listening for footsteps that weren’t there.
Maybe, she thought, the home she was crouching beside had a Wi-Fi she could use, but then the glow of her computer screen would be a dead giveaway.
The dog was licking her ear and whining, and she reached to the left to push him away only to have her wrist grabbed as Will Bronson whirled her around to face him and slammed her back onto the ground, straddling her.
“Scream and I swear I’ll strangle you right here,” he hissed, a strong hand on each wrist, penning her arms to the damp ground.
“What are you going to do, rape me? Have at it, bastard.”
“Rape … what? Seriously?”
“What else should I conclude? You’re straddling me, and you just threatened to strangle me!”
“Why did you run? We need to stay together!” he asked.
“Why did I run? You’re the one driving like a maniac! Why? We’ve got cops shooting at us! Who are we running from anyway?”
His head was on a swivel, looking in all directions, then back at her, speaking tersely and low.
“Our agents. The cops. Federal police. I don’t know, but I’ll bet there’s what they used to call an all-points bulletin out for us and not getting us caught, killed, or locked up seemed to serve the interests of saving that planeload of people. But answer me, Jenny. Please. Why are you running from me?”
“Because, apparently, you’re not who you claim to be.”
“Aha! According to whom?”
“Seth, my boss, and the CIA. So, who are you, really?”
“It was that message, then?”
“What?”
“You got a text in the car and got all cold and silent.”
“Yes. That text. It said to get away from you. I’m beginning to see why. How the hell did you find me, by the way?”
“Your ‘Find my iPhone’ function. Comes in handy.”
“Shit.”
He sighed, a bit too loudly. “All right. You know my name, but … there’s more.”
“Of course there is!”
“I’m not an operative … a spy, Jenny.”
“Right. And I’m not really female. Yank my panties off and you’ll find out.”
“What?”
He looked almost comically perplexed, she noted, as if she’d flung another language at him. He was shaking his head as if to rid it of whatever cobwebs had filtered her words.
“What is it with you women and sex, Jenny?”
“We women? WE women? What kind of sexist nonsense is that?”
“Just what it sounds like! Yes, you women! Jeez! Rape? Pulling off panties? We’re in the middle of a freaking crisis here, and that’s all you can think of?”
“Not all. But you have to admit that some of my most sensitive lady parts are in rather intimate and vulnerable proximity to you at the moment.”
“Oh, yeah.” He raised up on his knees, taking the pressure off her hips. “Listen to me. I am with DIA, but I’m just an analyst who stumbled onto what appeared to me to be a suspicious operation. I’ve seen several before in my department and have always felt guilty for doing nothing. This time I had to act.”
“An analyst? Whoa, wait … an analyst?”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, I just thought …”
“I’m an analyst just like you, Jenny! I have no training as a spy.”
For a few seconds she found herself forgetting the bizarre nature of their little chat, he astride her in a flower bed, and she stared at him before responding.
“Well … it’s true you sure as hell don’t drive like a spy, you know, someone with … with …”
“High performance driver training?”
“Yes. That. Wait … what operation are you talking about?”
“Yours. I intercepted your call for help this morning. I was supposed to notify an entire chain of people, but I didn’t. Apparently someone found out, or overheard the call, I’m not sure how. But I happen to know DIA has been setting up some very secretive satellite networks, and I’m very suspicious of what they’re doing because no other part of even DIA itself is supposed to know. We don’t operate like the old clandestine cell system, yet that’s the kind of stuff I’ve been picking up. When your call came in, it seemed like an example of precisely what they’ve been whispering about. I thought it might give me a chance to confirm my suspicions and do something about it.”
“What in tarnation are you talking about?”
“The ability to remotely control airliners. Maybe crash them on cue. At least that’s what I think it’s about.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I thought you were working with them, okay? You wrote the
code, as I said.”
The code again, she thought, feeling a flash of guilt and foreboding. But who would have had access to that code, and how could she have prevented it? That was years back!
“Let me up, dammit!”
He got to his feet and pulled her up until they stood together between the hedge and the house as she brushed herself off.
“There’s still an airliner …” she began.
“Sh-h-h!” he cautioned. “Keep it low!”
“There’s an airliner about to be toast because of all this,” she continued.
“I know.”
“So, were you trying to keep me from transmitting?”
“No. Hell no! I was trying to find a way to make it work without getting arrested.”
“Okay, well … Will … why don’t we motor on over to 1600 Pennsylvania and let the big guys sort it out. No time for much else.”
“Okay,” he said, defeat in his voice.
“Okay? Really, just … okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fresh out of clever ideas.”
“I have no reason to trust you, y’know. I mean, no fucking reason!”
“I know it.”
“But I have no time to figure it out, either.”
“I don’t know how we can make it to the White House or anywhere else with everyone looking for us.
“We have to try.”
“True.”
“Maybe we could flag down a cab?”
He shook his head, his eyes cast in the direction of what had to be three helicopters now crisscrossing several blocks distant, the powerful light beams of the police helicopter cutting through the trees and the shrubs they were hiding behind.
“A cab’s not possible. They’ll all be alerted by now.”
“We have less than forty-five minutes, and the release sequence I came up with may be garbage, but if this is as big a crisis as I think it is, they’ll have to listen. If we can get there, that is.”
“There’s a car in the driveway,” Will said, almost under his breath.
“Should we knock on the door and ask for a ride?”
“What? No!”
“Then how can we use their car?”
“We’re going to borrow it.”
“Borrow … wait … I thought you weren’t a spy? You’re telling me you know how to hotwire a modern car and steal it, with all the interlocks?”
“No, but follow me and stay low. Maybe we’ll be lucky.” He pulled her toward the driveway where a small, late model Toyota was parked, letting go of her hand to slip to the driver’s side.
The door was locked.
He checked the darkened front windows of the home once again before carefully triggering a tiny penlight to scan the interior, looking for a way in, oblivious at first to Jenny’s voice which could barely be heard against the noise of helicopters, traffic, and a distant siren.
“Will.”
No response.
“Will!”
He turned to look at her, then puzzled that she was holding what looked in the dim streetlight like a credit card and pointing to the street.
“What?”
“An X car. A community rental car, is right there, right over there by the curb, and I have a membership.”
“A what?”
He followed her gaze to the tiny two-seater and gave chase as she ran to the driver’s side, sliding her membership card to open the locks.
“You know how to drive one of these?” she asked.
“Drive it? I thought you pedaled it!”
“Funny.”
“The thing’s embarrassing.”
“It’s a smart car.”
“It’s a pregnant roller skate, and we could hardly stand out more if this thing was painted international orange and shooting fireworks.”
“Got a better idea, Mr. Bond?”
“No,” he said, pulling the door open and stuffing himself inside just as a police car squealed around the corner in front of them, it’s headlights a split-second from illuminating the interior of the X car as they swept the line of houses.
Jenny and Will ducked toward each other as if on cue, Jenny almost prone to her right, Will leaning left atop her, down barely enough the stay out of the headlights as the cruiser shot past. Jenny was making a conscious effort to keep her foot from touching the brake and flaring the brake lights in the cop’s rearview mirror.
“Clear, you think?” she asked.
“Couple more seconds.”
“If he sees us, just say we were making out.”
“Jenny, this car’s too small for a kiss, let alone anything more.”
“Yeah, but I’m on the bottom again, and you’re enjoying this!”
Will raised up slowly, scanning behind them, finding the street dark, although the beams from the searching police helicopter were less than a block away.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
She fired up the tiny engine and put the car in gear, feeling it lurch away from the curb.
“Right turn at the end of the block.”
“I know the way to the White House, Will. We’ve got to hurry and stay on the main roads. Just … just look casual.”
“Casual?”
“Yes.”
“How the hell does one look casual driving a golf cart down a city street at midnight?”
“I don’t know. Stop scowling … look relaxed.”
“I can’t relax. We’ve got half the town after us.”
“And … that could be a problem,” she said.
“What?”
“I forgot these cars report their GPS position constantly. If someone’s been watching my account …”
“Wonderful. They can just monitor us and intercept us.”
“There’s no other choice, is there?” she asked. “We couldn’t outrun a skateboard in this little thing, but at least it’s moving and we have a little over a half hour.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Aboard Pangia 10 (0410 Zulu)
“They said we’d get an escort, and there they are,” Jerry announced as two Israeli F-15 fighters pulled into wingtip formation, their markings barely visible from the reflection of the lights in the A330’s passenger windows.
“Can we talk to them?” Tom Wilson asked.
“I don’t know. If they have only UHF, we can’t.”
But a male voice cut through the question on the discreet frequency they had set up with Cairo Control.
“Pangia 10, how do you hear?”
“Pangia 10 here. Are you our escort?”
“Affirmative, Pangia. One of us on each wing. And we are relaying a UHF signal that you may not hear in your cockpit.”
“Excuse me … we don’t have UHF.”
“Pangia, we were told to broadcast this just in case. Stand by.”
Jerry glanced at the opposite window, seeing only the reflection of a flashing red position light somewhere in the darkness. A full minute dragged by.
“Pangia 10, would you please check to see if you’ve regained control?”
“I don’t know what you’ve been told, sir, but we didn’t hear anything you broadcasted. But … let me try.”
Jerry grasped the sidestick controller and tried to punch off the autoflight system once again, keeping a shadow of hope alive that maybe magic had been wrought somehow.
But there was no response, and he reported it to the fighter escort.
“Are you guys armed?” Jerry asked.
“We are always in alert status, sir,” the pilot replied, the elliptical response telling enough.
First Class Cabin, Pangia 10
“There’s my lovely keeper,” Moishe Lavi smiled as Ashira slid into the seat beside him. “What, may I ask, is on your mind?”
“You.”
“Really?” he asked, looking pleased.
“I think there’s something you’re not telling me because you wrongly think I’d object.”
Moishe adopted the slightly amused look he was fo
nd of throwing at her when she approached a serious subject. It wasn’t as if he were discounting her, but at heart he was the superior, and one in his position did not adopt a serious expression of interest in a subordinate’s concerns until she’d earned it.
“And what am I to think you would object to?”
It was her turn to smile and sidestep the question. “I’ve long been prepared to give my life to Israel, and I will willingly follow you into whatever lies ahead.”
Moishe was looking at her now with great care, searching her deep brown eyes and for once thinking substantially beyond the sexual.
“Ashira, my love, do you truly think this … this electronic hijacking is my doing? Is that what you’re indicating?”
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “If it is, it’s a stroke of genius, and I’m sure there are others involved to make sure the first strike is the result. You were right all along, of course.”
He started to protest, then thought better of it and merely smiled. “You would follow me into death, then, to eliminate the threat?”
“Of course. I suppose that means we haven’t much time, but I wanted to tell you.”
“And you would be disappointed if I told you that I have had nothing to do with the problems on this airliner tonight?”
“I understand that you need to say that. I suppose I just wanted to see it in your eyes. I knew you wouldn’t let us down, even after losing office.”
He took a deep breath and prepared to say more, but the PA system clicked on:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Tollefson again. We have restored radio contact with the ground and have a great number of people and agencies trying to help us restore control of the airplane, and we have made some progress. But as we approached Tel Aviv, some of you may have noted that we picked up a protective escort of Israeli fighters off each wing. We are in contact with them. We are not out of tricks, so to speak, but the reality is that we just passed over the airport we left so many hours ago, Ben Gurion International in Tel Aviv, and whatever electronic bandit has locked us up did not release the controls but turned us apparently back in the direction of the last major port-of-call for this flight, which was Hong Kong. Of course we do not have sufficient fuel to reach anywhere close to Hong Kong, so we have to resolve this within the hour. And one of our greatest concerns is that in approximately one hour we will have overflown Jordan and Iraq and will be approaching the Iranian border with no permission to cross. I will communicate with you when there are any changes.”
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