Lockout
Page 35
“Because I was in command, sir.”
“Yeah, I know the protocol. I respect you for that attitude. But I’m still not even completely convinced this was all coincidental.”
Paul Wriggle leaned forward slightly, searching the president’s face for a smirk or other indication he was being kidded.
“Mr. President, you can’t think Lavi is still in the woodwork somewhere? We’ve disproved all that.”
“Oh, I know. William Piper never left Haifa. The guy who sent the wrong airplane really did exist and wasn’t a spy, and our CIA guys were incredibly sloppy in deciding otherwise. And your lady who had the accident certainly wasn’t working for Lavi. How is she, by the way?”
“Fully recovered and newly engaged to the coworker who found her … saved her life, in fact.”
“Good. Anyway, aside from the fact that earlier today I had to read the riot and sedition act to both the Company and the DIA for a whole laundry list of sins, including gross overreaction and leaping to conclusions, I’m not entirely sure in my gut we’ve got the whole story.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“Too coincidental. I’m even thinking someone helped Moishe’s heart attack to conclusion, or, hell, maybe he did himself.”
“Aren’t you chasing shadows under the bed, sir?”
“Maybe. Oh, we’ll never know, of course. Lavi’s gone, the war didn’t happen, Gershorn proved himself under excruciating pressure, and Mossad will never talk. But I’m still suspicious.”
“I guess I’m not.”
“I’m sorry about Lockout, Paul.”
“You had no choice but to shut it down, sir. I just can’t believe the media never sniffed it out.”
“If the aircraft hadn’t gone up in smoke, they might have. Course, Airbus is still frantic to convince the world their airplane wasn’t the cause. Frankly I feel sorry for them. I wish I could help them, but … not possible. Good thing our Special Forces guys were there to validate what happened with that fire, don’t you think, Paul?” the president said with a wink.
Once more, Paul Wriggle looked at the president, studying his face, noting a sly smile.
“Yes, sir. That was a $200 million investment, though.”
“More like a billion-dollar liability. How are your people, Paul? Get everyone new jobs?”
“Yes, sir. All but the janitor, our retired navy chief. He was deeply upset by his role and didn’t want to go anywhere.”
“One switch. One … flick of the hand. Completely random, or … completely brilliant.”
“Sir?” Paul said, looking alarmed, and all the more so as the president smiled and nodded as he sat back.
“I’m just sayin’ …”
EPILOGUE
Colorado Springs, Colorado (9:20 a.m. MST)
Are you sure you want to deactivate this account? the screen queried.
He glanced around his small home office, listening carefully to make sure he was alone, before returning his attention to the screen. The connection with an outside Wi-Fi signal he’d hacked into was tenuous but steady, and the server hundreds of miles away in Chicago had no clue it was responding to an unauthorized source.
He highlighted the “Yes” box and hesitated a few seconds over the enter button before pushing it with a smile he couldn’t quite suppress.
There was a small “click” as the screen shifted to black, and a white notification box popped up in the center:
XL@Pangiawordlair.com erased
Ironic, he thought to himself as he glanced at the box of personal belongings he’d brought home from the tiny office he’d occupied for years. The item he most prized was a paperweight, a personal gift from Moishe Lavi from many years back. He stared for a minute at the swirls of blue and six-pointed stars. No one ever noticed that the stars had six points instead of five. The fact that the paperweight had always been so blatantly obvious on his desktop, yet still invisible, had amused him throughout the years. Probably because it was just like him: There, but essentially invisible.
He could hear his wife moving around in the kitchen at a distance, and he thought about her worried reaction two days before when he’d announced he was quitting the job he never spoke about. She knew why, of course. It was demeaning for an ex-navy chief to end up pushing a broom. He never complained, but she had been embarrassed that they needed the cash, and he could tell by her worried expression, she was already calculating the impact.
“Did … something happen you’re not telling me about? Were you fired?” she’d asked.
He’d put his hands on her shoulders then. “No, baby! Nothing like that. I just … well, I caught myself cleaning the same hallway twice and realized I was so distracted thinking about how I’d much rather be here with you, I didn’t even realize it.”
“I’m glad, to tell the truth. You’ve been a trooper, but you’re not a janitor.”
“That didn’t matter,” he smiled, kissing her. “I can swab heads with the best of them. No shame in it.”
“How much have we got in the retirement accounts, then?” she’d asked.
“Enough,” he said, mentally toting up the ones he was willing to show her, and the offshore account he wasn’t. “We’ll be great, babe. We’re secure. We’re free!”
Richard Duncan’s attention returned to the laptop and what he had programmed as the last act. He pulled up the internal program he’d written and initiated it, watching with satisfaction as the laptop’s hard drive consumed itself, completely destroying every vestige of data.
An account erased, and a life rebooted, he thought.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
When you yank back the curtain on the classic but apocryphal image of an author in “countless” hours of solitary confinement with a laptop, the true story encompasses a writer on a mission leaning on countless people for answers to endless questions and urgent requests for manuscript readings. The convoluted track to finishing LOCKOUT has traversed the same territory, so a lot of thank you’s are in order, beginning with my industrial strength appreciation for everything my wife and fellow author Kathleen Bartholomew did to help – including use an entire Cabo vacation to tighten the book and weather my pained protests that I couldn’t cut another word! Great appreciation also to Patricia Davenport who has so ably edited most of my novels over the years, including this one, and to Dave and Bianca Vanderwal, Bill and Katia Robinson, and Shari and Harold Harrison for comprehensive help and support for the developing work. Thank you most specifically to fellow author and airline Captain Karlene Petitt (Flight for Control, Flight for Safety, Flight for Survival) for all the technical expertise and connection to many other pilots flying the Airbus A-330. Thank you as well to friend, colleague and fellow military aircraft commander Spence Byrum, and to fellow airline captain, first cousin, and world-class sculptor James J. Nance. And my appreciation to fellow Alaska Airlines Captain Mark Alger for a valuable 11th hour read. Heartfelt thanks for Arna Robbins, and a sincere thank you as well to Bart Bartholomew, Arthur Ferrara, Curt Epperson, and Doctors Paul Abson and Diana Abson for giving me precisely what every author needs: unvarnished feedback, not just what I might want to hear, all of which strengthened the story.
And to my new publisher, WildBlue Press, and specifically Steve Jackson and Michael Cordova: Gentlemen, that great line from Bogie in Casablanca applies: “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Other Books By John J. Nance
Fiction:
Orbit
Saving Cascadia
Fire Flight
Skyhook
Headwind
Turbulence
Blackout
The Last Hostage
Medusa’s Child
Pandora’s Clock
Phoenix Rising
Scorpion Strike
Final Approach
Non-Fiction:
Charting the Course (with Kathleen Bartholomew)
Why Hospitals Should Fly
Golden B
oy
What Goes Up
On Shaky Ground
Blind Trust
Splash of Colors
For More Information About John Nance:
https://www.amazon.com/John-J.-Nance/e/B000API14C
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From FLYING MAGAZINE associate editor and CNN Aviation Analyst Les Abend: PAPER WINGS
Check out the book here: http://wbp.bz/pw
When a boat and its grisly cargo are found adrift off Fort Lauderdale, the investigation leads to more than “just” murder. In fact, the evidence points to a connection with an “accident” that downed Patriot Airlines Flight 63 in Bermuda with fatal consequences for all on board.
As head of the pilots’ union, Captain Hart Lindy will find himself reluctantly drawn into the National Transportation Safety Board’s inquiry only to discover that someone is going to great lengths that include murder and kidnapping to prevent the facts from being exposed. But who? And why?
These are the dangerous questions Lindy will need to answer in order to get at the truth about what really happened to Flight 63. His task is complicated by his own personal demons, including the horrors of past airline crash investigations, as well as having to walk a diplomatic tightrope with an eccentric FBI special agent who is barely tolerating NTSB protocol, and an ambitious female NTSB investigator with eyes for Hart.
Written by veteran airline pilot and aviation analyst, Les Abend, PAPER WINGS will keep you up in the air and on the edge of your seat in first class. You’ll want to keep your belts fastened while in flight!
Les Abend is a 32-year veteran airline pilot with a writing habit. He has been a 15-year contributing editor and monthly columnist for FLYING MAGAZINE. Les has also been a contributor to CNN Op-Ed and is an on-camera Aviation Analyst, most notably offering insight regarding the disappearance of MH 370.
Check out the book here: http://wbp.bz/pw
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