by Haydn Jones
When I saw your face it reminded me of our days at Cambridge.
McPherson froze but continued to read:-
I did not plan it this way and your involvement is a mystery to me. However, it has happened, and as a consequence it means you must also die. I wish for you it could have been different but it must be the will of Allah.
An old Friend.
McPherson was speechless. The crystal was trying to warn me. Why did I doubt it? Fuck, what does it mean you must also die... This flight is doomed. Jesus Christ. McPherson’s mind was spinning. There must be a bomb on board. Oh fuck!
His finger hit the service button and Sakina appeared within seconds.
“Your coffee won’t be long, Robert.”
“Sakina, forget the fucking coffee. I need to see the President. It’s urgent — believe me.”
For a moment she was stunned by his outburst.
“SAKINA I NEED TO SEE HIM NOW. WHERE IS HE?”
Her smile had disappeared and she looked worried. “Come with me.”It must be the letter, she thought.
McPherson followed her to the upper deck and at the top of the stairs she asked him to wait while she got the President.
For what seemed like an eternity McPherson paced up and down trying to think what could be done. Then he heard the President arriving.
“What on earth is the matter, Robert?” Gandapur asked.
“Sir, I hope I’m wrong but I believe there may be a bomb on board.”
“WHAT? What makes you think that?”
“I’ve received a note from the man we were talking about last night.”
“Ahmed Shah?”
“That’s right. Take a look.” McPherson passed him the note.
For a few seconds Gandapur absorbed the words... “Oh dear.”
“How many crew members do we have on board?”
“We have, I believe, eight technical staff, including the pilot, first officer and navigator and about eight catering personnel.”
McPherson was thinking fast. “We need to inform the captain and authorities immediately and search the plane from top to bottom. I suspect if it’s anywhere it’s in the hold.”
“Let’s get it organized.” Gandapur was amazingly calm under the circumstances.
“Lets get all the technical crew together and organize a search of the hold first. It shouldn't take long it’s virtually empty.” McPherson was trying to think logically but it wasn’t easy under such duress. If it is a bomb why hasn’t it gone off yet? Are they going to activate it remotely? What if there isn’t a bomb? What would Shah do? What’s his expertise? OH FUCK, I don’t even want to go there.
“Mr President, knowing Shah’s involved we have to consider the possibility that there may be nerve agents on board.” McPherson was thinking fast. If there is, how’s he planning to release it? He’s going to gas us, the evil bastard. His plan was to kill Gandapur and I just happened to follow him into the gas chamber. Shah’s words, I did not plan it this way. I’m here by accident. McPherson’s mind was now in overdrive. He had to find a solution. He wasn’t ready to die. He was going to prove Allah wrong, but he didn’t know how.
Sixty
The White House, Washington DC.
Rain was falling in Washington for the first time in over a week and the droplets were running down the windows behind the President’s desk, obscuring the southerly view of Morris D. Wilson.
The news had been hard to take and he stood still, staring out of the window with his arms by his side, like a soldier on duty. Ten minutes earlier he’d taken a call from Hunter informing him of the possibility of a bomb on Gandapur’s flight. The crew, he was told, were searching the plane now. Hunter was en route from the Pentagon to see him and an emergency strategy meeting was due to start in ten minutes.
President Wilson turned and slammed the desk in anger with his clenched fist. This could destroy me. Please God tell me it’s not true. He messaged his temples with his fingers and took a deep breath.
Sixty-One
On board the Presidential Plane
“We must accept that this whole thing could be a hoax,” said Captain Boeker, in a Dutch accent. Peering over his designer glasses he looked around the table at nine tired faces. He was an experienced pilot who spoke confidently and assuringly. “I think we would have found a bomb by now, especially as the hold is empty. If we were carrying a few hundred passengers it might have been very hard to find but, this is not a commercial airplane, it’s a private jet. Different access rules apply here. We have also run all the maintenance diagnostics and everything’s fine. In Shah’s note he doesn’t mention a bomb anyway.”
“I believe that’s the case captain. We are looking at a hoax gentlemen.” Gandapur looked confident. “You have searched the plane from top to bottom and there is nothing.”
McPherson’s instinct told him there was something, but he was going to be out numbered, and he knew it. It doesn’t make sense to put a bomb in an empty hold, it would be too easy to find. If there is a bomb it’s going to be hidden. I can’t mention the crystal. I’ll lose any credibility I have left, he thought.
“I think we should inform the authorities that it was a false alarm. Do we all agreement, gentlemen?” The decision was almost unanimous, apart from McPherson, who said nothing. His opinion stood alone and the others weren’t prepared to listen to it. “Thank you all for your efforts. Let’s get back to normality This emergency is over.”President Gandapur stood up and left for his private quarters.
McPherson returned to his seat to find fresh fruit and orange juice on the table
“One hour to landing, cabin crew,” was the announcement that greeted McPherson as he sat down.
The clock is ticking and time’s running out. He instinctively knew he was right but there was no point in arguing when you’re out numbered nine to one. I miss you Vicki. You’d believe me. I know you would. They would only listen if he could prove he was right, and that meant finding the bomb. Again he replayed Shah’s message in his head.
It was a great surprise for me to see you boarding the Presidential Plane yesterday. Was Shah there, surely not? Did someone photograph me? Who was in the hanger when we left? McPherson walked quickly to the cabin. He needed answers and quick.
When he got to the cockpit the door was open and the pilots were sitting in their seats.
“Captain, can I ask you something please?”
“Yes, of course, come in, Doctor.”
McPherson looked around at the mass of lights, dials and blue display screens that lit the cockpit like a late night cocktail bar. “Is all of this needed to fly the plane?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. Looks complicated if you’re not familiar with it but it’s not that difficult really,” the captain said, modestly.
McPherson looked around and knew what everything did, even though he’d never been in the cockpit of a Jumbo jet in his life. What’s going on in my head?
“What was your question, Doctor?”
“Sorry, yes; would you happen to know who was in the hanger when I arrived to board the plane?”
“I can’t be sure other than the maintenance engineer Abu Kalizad, because I spoke to him to sign off the preflight checks.”
“Shit, if he took my photo that means he’s working for Shah.”
“You don’t know that for sure, Doctor,” the captain said. “You’re jumping to conclusions now.”
McPherson wasn’t listening to him anymore, he was thinking about the consequences of an infiltrator. “Thank you, captain, I’ll leave you to it.” McPherson left the cockpit and returned to his seat, deep in thought.
“Thirty minutes to landing, cabin crew.”
Shit, I’m running out of time. I don’t want to die. Pulling out the message from Shah he unfolded it and read it again. Then, he noticed the note was a copy of an email sent to the plane for his attention. Someone in the planes admin office must have copied it, probably without even reading it. How did Shah kno
w the email address for the Presidential Plane? Kalizad must be in on it.
Why doesn’t the crystal help me when I need it most? McPherson picked it up and held it in both hands “Why don’t you help me” he said out loud, in a rage of frustration. The answer was in his head. He knew where to look.
The approach road to Dulles International Airport
The President was sitting nervously in the back of a black limousine heading for the VIP lounge and listening to the update from the Defense Secretary Mark Quail.
“The captain believes that McPherson’s paranoid about Shah. I’m comfortable with the situation sir and so is President Gandapur. They’ve searched the plane from top to bottom and they’ve found nothing. There was never a mention of a bomb in the note anyway.” Quail stressed.
The President was finally regaining his composure. “Thank you God. McPherson’s been through an awful lot and with the pressure of his son’s illness he’s just over reacted, that’s all. Let’s just get on with it.” Morris D. Wilson looked confident again. This was going to be a big day for him and the opinions of a paranoid scientist weren't going to stop it.
Sixty-Two
McPherson rushed into the cockpit, surprising the crew. “I know where the bomb is.”
The three man crew said nothing but glanced at each other, not quite sure how to react.
“I need the First Officer to come with me.”
“Robert, we’re about to land at Dulles,” Captain Boeker retorted.
“First Officer, please follow me if you want to save this plane and everyone in it.”
Captain Boeker nodded reluctantly to the First Officer. “Make it quick.”
McPherson raced down the stairs and headed towards the wing section of the fuselage followed closely by the First Officer. Climbing a small access ladder McPherson pointed to a bulkhead marked:-
WING SECTION — NO ACCESS TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL.
“IT’S IN THERE,” he shouted, pointing to the steel door.
“How’d you know that?”
“It’s a long story and we don’t have time now.” McPherson raised his voice above the drone of the engines that were beginning to slow for decent into the airport.
“Fuck. You need a special key to open it.”
“You mean, like this one,” said the First Officer, removing one from his jacket pocket.
McPherson took the key and quickly removed the door of the bulkhead. Inside was a mass of hydraulic pipes and the engine noise was deafening. McPherson quickly scanned the immediate vicinity, he knew he was minutes away from dying unless he… “THERE IT IS.” The stainless steel canister carried the North Korean emblem. Flashing red neons meant the electronics was clearly active.
“OH MY GOD!” McPherson pointed to the device. “It’s connected to the landing-gear hydraulics. When the wheels drop down for landing, this thing is going to blow. Knowing Shah, my guess is it’s full of nerve gas.”
The engines were slowing again and Captain Boeker was about to engage the automatic landing system when the First Office burst in.
“CAPTAIN, DON’T,” he shouted, startling Boeker.
“What the fuck’s going on? I’m trying to land the plane, if you don’t mind, so get back in your seat and do your job.”
McPherson moved close to him. “If you engage the landing gear, Captain, we’re all dead.”
“He’s right, Captain. The plane has been sabotaged. There is a device connected to the landing gear hydraulics. It looks like a nerve gas canister and it carries the emblem of North Korea.”
McPherson showed Captain Boeker a photo of the canister on his iPhone. “There’s an identical one on the other side of the plane that’s connected to the secondary hydraulic circuit and the manual override as well.”
The First officer stared at McPherson in total astonishment but decided to say nothing.
Captain Boeker looked at both men in shocked amazement, trying to rationalize the situation. “So gentlemen how do you propose I land this baby with NO FUCKING WHEELS? Because guys, I’M RUNNING OUT OF FUEL.”
“We’ve got thirty minutes worth and if you don’t abort the automatic landing we’ll all be dead in precisely eight-seconds.” The captain looked at McPherson in stunned silence before selecting the abort button with two-seconds to spare.
At that moment President Wilson had arrived at Dulles International Airport and was waving out of the back window of the limousine to the thronging crowd of spectators. The weather was fine and sunny and he was beginning to enjoy himself. Last night that situation seemed impossible and all because of Robert McPherson’s paranoia.
Mark Quail’s cellphone started playing the Star-Spangled Banner and he pulled it awkwardly from his inside pocket. “Quail,” he said succinctly.
The President watched as the blood drained from his face to his highly polished black shoes.
“Are Boeing on to it? Because, my friend, we need answers and we need them now.” Quail lowered the phone and looked at the President. “Sir, the landing has been aborted. There appears to be some kind of canister linked into the planes hydraulics. McPherson says it’s nerve gas.”
“McPherson, McPherson, all I here is fucking McPherson. What the hell’s going on here? Everything was fine until this paranoid idiot got on the plane.”
“There’s an emblem on the side of the canister sir and it’s North Korean.”
For a while the President sat in stunned silence. “Turn this thing around. Take me back to the White House. It looks like we got ourselves a fight, Mark.” Holy Shit!
Quail allowed himself a wry smile.
“We have about twenty-minutes gentlemen, and then we go down, if we like it or not.” Boeker reported walking into the room. McPherson was sitting with President Gandapur explaining what would happen. He’d told him that the only solution was to land on water. It was feasible, especially as the Jumbo was virtually empty.
Boeker continue. “Boeing have confirmed that the device is not there’s and it has been added into the system. They’re not prepared to say what it is.”
“We know what it is.” McPherson answered sharply. “Since when has Boeing bought parts from North Korea?”
Gandapur looked down and smiled.
“So tell me, Rob, what do you suggest we do. You seem to have all the answers?” Boeker was clearly irritated and nervous.
Gandapur looked up again. “We land in the sea Captain, that’s what we do.”
“In the sea? That’s never been done with a 747. I wouldn’t even attempt it.” Boeker looked incredulous.
“I can do it,” McPherson said.
“Are you some kind of fucking idiot?”
“I can do it.” McPherson insisted. “Come with me.”
“Whoooh! I’m not letting you anywhere near my controls, do you understand? You’re not even a pilot and you think you can land a 747 safely on the sea. The chances are you kill us all.”
“You nearly did that, a few minutes ago,” retorted McPherson.
Boeker had no answer.
“We’re carrying a lethal dose of nerve gas. If we attempt to land on anything other than water the chances are we’ll breakup and explode. You know what happens next don’t you?”
Gandapur now knew about the crystal. Robert had explained everything to him before Boeker arrived and he was an instant convert. He believed everything McPherson said and trusted him implicitly. He didn’t know why, he just did and so far McPherson’s track record was impressive.
“At this very moment a group of the most senior US Government officials are in a strategy meeting, advising the President on our future. Soon we will be instructed by air traffic control to land on the sea. Away from any populated area, because they now know that Shah was producing the most deadly nerve gas ever made.” McPherson explained. “It’s called damage limitation Captain. All of us on this flight are expendable. It’s better we die than kill the entire population of the east-coast, given the exceptional circumstances we
find ourselves in.”
The Captain knew that McPherson was speaking the truth and the reality of it hit him like a thunderbolt.
President Gandapur stood up. “There are extremely powerful forces working here that I can’t explain, but most importantly, they seem to be on our side. Do you believe in divine intervention Captain.”
“No, sir, to be honest, I can’t say I do.” Boeker replied humbly.
“Well, I do, and I’m prepared to put my trust in Robert, because I don’t think we have too many choices.”
“This is quite insane.” Boeker shook his head in disbelief. “Lets get back to the cockpit.”
As they walked in, the First Officer was talking to Air Traffic Control. “Sir, they are saying that our only option is to land on water.” Boeker looked at McPherson and wondered what he was dealing with. This guy was not normal. “Robert, how can you land this plane without knowing anything about the controls?”
McPherson pointed to the cockpit dashboard. “I know what every dial and what every screen does. I have the stall speeds in my head. The maximum fuel capacity is sixty-three thousand US gallons. I even know the estimated time Boeing calculate we have before this plane sinks, after landing. Which is by the way, about fifteen-minutes for a plane full of passengers, so we should have a little more time than that. I don’t why I know all this, but I do. Our velocity approach speed for this plane has to be one hundred and thirty miles per hour, precisely one hundred and thirteen knots, with flaps fully retracted because the headwind is fifteen-miles an hour. If either of the wing tips hit the water at that speed they’ll be ripped off and the plane will break up. If that happens, it’s all over. If a wing tip contacts with the water at less than twenty-nine miles an hour, we will survive. So our fuselage has to act like a stone skimming the water. If we can stay horizontal after contact with the sea we cut the engines and the friction of the water will do the rest. Lets hope we stop with the plane in one piece. Captain I’m going to need your help.”
