“Okay, Critter, confirming ID on the Meridian Airlines logo and tail number. I’m pulling alongside on the left.”
Chris nudged the throttles back and extended the speed brakes to slow the closing rate as he slid into position almost abeam of the 747’s left side.
“What do you think?” he asked Berris on the hot-mike interphone.
“Mostly dark, Critter. I see a few reading lights. Looks like … I don’t know, could be a few people in there reading. Hard to say. I wouldn’t want to swear to it.”
“Could be dummies, too, Blackie,” Burton added, letting the Tomcat move to the left quarter of the 747 as he searched the rest of the windows, finding almost all of them dark.
“Could be. I don’t see any of them moving.”
“I’m going in closer and get abeam the cockpit.” Chris moved the controls almost imperceptibly to rise thirty feet or so above the wing level as he edged the Tomcat in front of the Boeing, taking care to keep the slipstream of his fighter from flowing directly onto the wing or tail of the airliner and disturbing the flight path.
“You see anyone in there?” he asked his backseater.
“Yeah … maybe. I’ve got one head in the window against the background of the instrument lights. Looks like.”
The lead reported what they were seeing back to the ship.
“Roger, Critter. Try him on victor guard,” the ship replied. “We’ve received no answer from down here.”
“I’m doin’ it, Critter,” Berris said from the backseat as he selected the appropriate radio with VHF frequency capability and dialed in 121.5 before pressing the transmit button.
“Meridian Six, Meridian Six, U.S. Navy fighter at your ten o’clock calling on guard. Respond on one-twenty-one-point-five.”
“Any answer?” Burton asked.
“Negative.” Berris tried again, and then a third time, as the lead checked their position.
“No joy, home base,” he radioed back to the ship. “Negative answer. We’re going to try to turn him.”
Burton let go of the transmit button. “Blackie, keep trying, okay?”
“You got it. I’d recommend we not get too close there, sport.”
“Another ten feet or so, and that’s it.” Burton nudged the throttle again and inched forward as he reached down by feel and snapped on all the Tomcat’s lights. He pulled a flashlight out of his flight-suit pocket and aimed it at the cockpit, flashing it back and forth for attention. Whoever was in the left seat was looking to the right. Chris could see the flashlight beam illuminate the back of the figure’s head, but whoever it was apparently didn’t notice the reflections of the flashlight in the cockpit.
“Okay, Blackie, I’m going to thump him,” Burton said, purposefully descending to let the wake turbulence from the Tomcat wash over the jumbo’s wing and cause the jumbo to lurch. He craned his head around to watch the predictable response as the position lights of the 747 indicated a sudden left roll, then right, then a return to steady flight.
Burton maneuvered back to where he could see in the cockpit again, but the figure in the window faced the other way.
“Still no answer,” Burton reported.
“I thumped him, but the autopilot’s on.”
“Chris …”
“I know, I know … we’re running out of time, aren’t we?” He could feel himself tightening under the increasing tension. He started rocking his wings and flashing his position and running lights in accordance with the international rules governing in-flight intercepts, but no one on the 747’s flight deck seemed to be reacting.
“I hate to tell you, Critter, but we’re almost out of the ID box. We’ve got less then fifteen miles to turn him or burn him.”
“I’m going to try the other side.” He hit the transmit button. “Two, three, and four, hold your positions. I’m trying to get his attention.” Burton popped the F-14 up above the top level of the fuselage and banked slightly to the right, bringing himself smoothly to the right side, slightly ahead of the cockpit, then let himself settle back down to the same eye level. He tried the wing rocking and the flashlight again, and this time there was movement as the lone figure in the cockpit suddenly disappeared.
“Home base, Critter. I thumped him and lit him up with a flashlight on the left and made all the standard moves and got no response. Now, on the right side, the one pilot inside ducked out of sight as soon as he saw me.”
“One person, copy?”
“Roger.”
“Male or female?”
“Couldn’t tell.”
“Stand by, Critter. You’re almost at the end of the box.”
Burton shook his head and whistled into the interphone.
“What do you think, Blackie?”
“I think they’re going make us splash him, Chris, and God have mercy on us if they’re wrong.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
IN FLIGHT,
ABOARD MERIDIAN FLIGHT SIX
12:25 A.M. Local
“I think we ought to tell someone, don’t you?”
Jimmy Roberts watched the fifteen-year-old nod and hand over the portable scanner.
“I guess.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jimmy unfolded himself from the seat and moved rapidly up the aisle, stopping at his own row briefly to check on Brenda. She was asleep, the blanket he’d lovingly tucked around her still in place. He fought the urge to lean over and kiss her, forcing himself to keep moving as fast as he could through the darkened cabin to find a flight attendant.
There was another voice coursing through the handheld scanner, and he stopped and raised it to his ear. The volume had been turned down and he tried to find the right control, but the voice didn’t return, so he resumed walking.
The lights were out in first class as well, but he spotted Janie Bretsen sitting sideways on an arm rest.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt …”
She stood immediately, and he could see a tired smile in the subdued illumination of an overhead reading light.
“No problem. What can I do for you?” she said.
He held up the scanner, explaining what he’d heard minutes before and trying to demonstrate, but the radio wasn’t cooperating.
“It was there a minute ago. It was something about a Navy guard calling Meridian. That is us, right?”
“Yes,” Janie said, guiding him through the curtains into the galley and turning up the lights as she focused on the radio. “They were calling for Meridian Six?”
“Yes, ma’am. Several times. I figured I needed to let you know.”
“This is your radio?”
He shook his head. “No. A young fellow back there. He’s two rows behind us. I heard some noise and went back.”
Janie motioned toward a small, circular window embedded in the entry door. “Maybe if we put the antenna by the glass we can pick it up again.”
She looked at the radio and worked the knobs. “It was off.”
“Off? Oh. Sorry. I must have done that a minute ago when I was coming to get you.”
Janie moved the knobs on top until loud static caused them both to jump, and she quickly turned the volume down. She could see the liquid crystal display showing a single frequency of 135.0.
“Is this the frequency?”
Jimmy looked closely at it. “I … don’t know. Those numbers were jumping around, you know, scanning a lot of them. The voice mentioned a particular one, but I didn’t memorize it.”
“You know how to work this?” Janie asked.
“Not really. I’ve seen police scanners before. Friend of mine has a towing business, and he listens to all those calls.”
“I’m not hearing anything, and I think it’s stuck on just one frequency.”
“Well, I really am sure I heard them calling us,” Jimmy said.
Janie reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “I have no doubt about that. I just have to figur
e out what to do. The person who owns this knows how to work it, right?”
Jimmy nodded. “You want me to get him?”
“Please.”
Jimmy turned and disappeared toward the back as Janie grabbed one of the interphone handsets and punched in the cockpit code.
Thirty seconds went by before the call was answered. The sound of Judy Jackson’s tentative voice saying “hello” startled her for a second.
“Judy? Where’s the captain? This is Janie.”
“Why?”
“Look, dammit, I asked you an important question. I have something to tell him that may be very important.”
“He’s … doing something right now.”
The aircraft lurched to the left in a burst of turbulence, almost knocking her off her feet. There was a small, simultaneous yelp through the interphone.
“Judy, what was that?”
“I don’t know. Nothing,” she said.
More turbulence shuddered through the 747’s interior, and once more the big aircraft steadied out. Janie grabbed the edge of the folded jumpseat to stabilize herself. She molded her back to the doorway and looked inward, away from the small, convex viewing port, completely missing the flashing red beacon of the lead Tomcat, which was now pulsing away at the upper edge of the glass.
“Put the captain on, Judy. And I mean now.”
“I can’t for a few minutes. He’s busy.”
Janie closed her eyes and sighed. “Judy, listen to me. He needs to know that the Navy has been calling us on the radio. I don’t have any idea what channel or frequency, and we’re not hearing it now, but a passenger with a police scanner picked it up.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him.”
“Judy, is he okay? What’s going on up there? We all have a right to know.”
“He’s okay. He’s just busy right now.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Yes.”
“I’m at door One Left. Have him call me for the details. We’ll wait right here.”
“Okay.”
She heard the connection broken and stood in confusion for a second trying to imagine what might be happening ten feet above her head in the cockpit.
In the cockpit, Judy replaced the handset in its cradle as she tried to fight down the panic in her gut. She knew the captain had felt the burst of turbulence. She could hear him scrambling around in the bathroom just aft of the cockpit door. Phil Knight emerged holding his pants up and peeked into the cockpit.
“What the hell was that?” he snapped.
“I don’t know. Just turbulence, I guess.”
She saw his eyes running over the instruments. “You didn’t touch anything on the yoke or the panel, did you?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He withdrew back into the bathroom and closed the door as Judy sat sideways on the captain’s seat and listened to her heart pound, not even wanting to think what she’d do if the airplane suddenly entered a dive.
There were reflections of light in the cockpit, but she kept her eyes glued on the cockpit door, almost holding her breath until he returned.
A burst of light caught her eye from somewhere on the right side, and she felt her heart falter for a few beats.
What was THAT?
There was something else out there, she could see. Another airplane, maybe, and whoever was in it was shining a light in the cockpit.
Judy catapulted herself from the seat and lunged for the cockpit door, holding on to it as she pounded on the rest-room door.
“Captain! Captain! There’s another airplane out there!”
“What?” Phil Knight’s slightly muffled voice responded, and she repeated the message. She could hear him scrambling around behind the rest-room door before it came flying open and he shoved past her, almost diving into his seat, his head swiveling as he looked all around. Judy was right behind him, pointing to the right and relating the sudden light in the cockpit.
“I don’t see anyone,” he said.
“There was a call from Bretsen downstairs,” she said, filling in as many of the details as her panicked mind could recall.
“What frequency were those calls on?”
“What?”
“Goddammit, woman! WHAT FREQUENCY?”
“I … I don’t know. She said call her at door One Left. I don’t know.”
Phil jammed an index finger grabbing for the handset and punched in the number. Janie Bretsen answered immediately and repeated the information.
“The radio’s owner is coming forward right now,” Janie said. “We couldn’t get the message to repeat, so I don’t know the frequency.”
“I can’t transmit to them anyway,” Phil said. “All our radios are dead. If you get that radio working, bring it upstairs to the cockpit immediately, okay? If there’s someone out there calling us, I need to know what they want.”
NRO
CHANTILLY, VIRGINIA
6:31 P.M. EDT
David Byrd had watched John Blaylock quietly argue his case with the two chief NRO analysts and their CIA counterparts for several minutes before a small realization grew to large enough proportions to get his attention: The room he was sitting in was far too deep in the NRO complex to admit cellular phone signals.
David glanced down at his cell phone. The light was blinking red.
“Excuse me. I’ve got to check on something,” he said, interrupting Zoffel and Blaylock as he moved to the door of the monitoring room and pushed it open. Ginger was waiting on the other side.
“Ah, Colonel Byrd. Just the gentleman I was coming to get. A Mr. Haverston from London has been trying to reach you on your cell phone.”
“Oh, Lord,” David said, pulling the antenna to the fully deployed position and checking for signal strength.
“When he couldn’t reach you, he called the number you gave him here and gave me a message for you.”
“Yes?” David shifted his eyes to hers.
“The name is the same. He said to tell you that he found his note, and the man he was worried about yesterday was a Dr. Logan, L-O-G-A-N.”
David pointed to the room he’d just left. “Let me back in, please, and come in with me.”
She was already working the cipher lock, and when the small light turned green, they both pulled the heavy door open and slipped in.
David motioned for Ginger to follow as he moved to the forward tier of seats where John Blaylock was leaning over, talking to George Zoffel and watching the screens.
“John, I need your attention, right now,” he said. Zoffel and Collings turned, as John Blaylock straightened up.
“David, they’re about to get attack authorization. There’s no one on that airplane but a pilot who’s—”
“We’ve got to talk,” David interrupted, physically pulling John to one side and speaking rapidly.
“I just heard back from London, from the Meridian manager who was worried about a very upset passenger yesterday.”
“Yeah, you briefed me about that.”
“You said that to convince you, John, you needed a piece of information known only to the pilot of that 747, something only the real Meridian captain could have known. We have it. The transmission from this 747 hours ago said that a passenger named Logan was leading the revolt. Remember?”
“Yes.”
“And do you remember I told you about the American physician suing Meridian for millions because his wife died on one of their flights, and he was angry as he boarded this flight yesterday?”
“Get to the point.”
“The point, John, is that the name of that angry passenger is the same as the name transmitted by the pilot of that 747. The same! There’s no damn way a terrorist would have known that name and pinpointed it in such a message.”
John Blaylock was pulling at his chin as he looked at David in silence for a few seconds, then nodded. “That’s not conclusive, but …”
“It tips the balance, John. We’ve got to stop this.”
“I wanted her here in case anyone asked her to repeat the message from London,” David explained.
John Blaylock turned and moved to George Zoffel’s side, explaining the new information in a low voice as Sandra Collings leaned in to listen, then briefed their counterparts at Langley. There was a buzz of back-and-forth conversation on the headsets. John suddenly left Zoffel’s side and literally jumped over the desk behind to pick up a handset and start punching buttons on the phone. David followed and slipped on his headset as the voice of the President came through from Air Force One.
IN FLIGHT,
AIR FORCE ONE
“What’s the report, Bill?” the President asked as he slid back into his desk chair and surveyed the Situation Room on the other end.
The White House Chief of Staff motioned to one of the aides, and a grid map of the middle Mediterranean popped up on the left side of the President’s screen.
“We’re almost out of time, sir,” Sanderson said, “and the Tomcats can’t get anyone’s attention on board.” He ran through the list of everything they’d tried.
“He’s sure there are no people on board?”
“We can’t say that for certain, sir. The pilots report what could be a few people with overhead reading lights on, or they could be effigies … dummies … placed in the seats.”
The President sighed. “How far are they from the coast?”
“They’re on a beeline to Marseille, France, Mr. President, and the French Air Force is already scrambling several flights of Mirages. He’s coming up on the end of the zone the Navy established for the shootdown.”
“So, how long, Bill?”
“Two minutes maximum. We need a decision, sir.”
The President sat back in the chair. “Run through the logic again of why we’re assuming this plane is lethal.”
“Sir, CIA, DIA, NRO, and our European counterparts are all in agreement that we’ve almost certainly got a Trojan Horse here and a major attack in motion. The main points? We know most, if not all, the passengers are still in Nigeria. We think both of Meridian’s pilots were killed or injured back there, so whoever’s flying this aircraft stole it. We have a report from the airplane that they’ve had a passenger riot on board, but we know there are no passengers, or very few, if any are being held hostage. In other words, we’ve caught somebody in a ruse, and the magnitude of the ruse and the preparation indicate great sophistication, which supports the overall theory. This stolen aircraft is headed to Europe for unknown reasons, and we’ve had six months of continuous warnings from the intelligence community and from our clandestine sources on the ground in various locales that a major terrorist strike with a weapon of mass destruction will be attempted, and … according to the briefing I know you received at Camp David … Langley and DIA have concluded that the recent activities in Nova Scotia and Atlanta, Georgia, were most likely a diversionary tactic to divert us from paying attention to an impending strike at the European community. We have an immediate alert out of the Mideast to expect just this attack coming from precisely the area this aircraft left, sub-Saharan Africa. And, we’ve had at least one satellite indication, although many hours ago, that might have shown the presence of fissionable material on this aircraft.”
Turbulence Page 37
