by Rick Mofina
Joanne Foley of the BAU led the call from Quantico, Virginia.
After a round of introductions, Foley, an analyst who’d studied the Zarathustra emails and the known case facts, presented her findings.
“I have to tell you—” her voice crackled on the line “—there’s not a lot here, so put whatever BAU offers into that context.”
“Of course,” Varner said. “We’re interested in anything you can provide or recommend.”
“All right. Again, it’s pretty thin, and much of it is obvious.”
Varner’s pen was poised over his yellow pad as Foley began.
“For our purposes, I’ll refer to your subject as Z. Your subject is on a mission. Z is clearly egocentric and craves attention for their mission. The reference to the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche suggests an above-average intelligence, someone with maybe one or two degrees.”
“What about the threat?” Hollis asked. “How do you weigh that?”
“With some difficulty. There is no technical information, nothing specific that would give it credibility. And, based on what I can deduce from the information you sent me, there’s no evidence that links Z’s messages to the cases at issue. Still, I would not rule out the potential. Again, you have nothing concrete on which to act.”
“Do you have any recommendations?” Varner asked.
“Publish the emails.”
“Really?” Hollis asked. “Wouldn’t that create problems, inspire copycats and invite unstable people to make demands for attention?”
“Yes, you would run that risk. However, with this case, even with these short messages, the syntax, the language, the content and subject are rather distinctive. Putting it out to the public creates the possibility that the nature of the content could be identified by someone who could point you to your subject.”
Soft murmuring rippled around the table before Foley continued.
“I’m suggesting you go to the press and request they publish an excerpt, but with a story that is framed in a way that limits panic in the airline industry. You could present it as an FBI appeal to the public for help locating a person of interest. The advantage is that you appear to be meeting Z’s demand for attention while turning the table on them. It’s not without risks, though.”
“Yes, we could anger Z,” Varner said, “or open the floodgates to false leads, dead ends and other unstable people. Or, by feeding Z’s ego, we could inspire more threats and demands.”
“Correct on all fronts.”
“And there’s no guarantee the press would agree to such a request,” Steiger said. “That could be a challenge.”
“Correct again,” Foley said. “But I could help you with points on how to frame it and how to pitch it to the media. Also, you could hold some information back in order to help you quickly eliminate any false claims or leads.”
Varner looked to Hollis, who was deep in thought.
“Unless you’ve got other avenues of investigation, or are absolutely certain Z is not a danger to commercial air travel,” Foley said, “this is one strategy to consider. Honestly, it appears to be your best option.”
“I agree,” Hollis said. “Let me talk to some people.”
* * *
Within two and a half hours, Varner and Hollis, with Foley on the line, were at Newslead’s headquarters in the same boardroom where they’d met earlier.
Graham Lincoln, Chuck Laneer and Kate Page listened as Varner provided updates.
Because of Newslead’s involvement, the FBI was sharing more information than they normally would on the status of the investigation. They updated them on Sloane, and on how they’d yet to identify the origin of the emails. Once they’d outlined the full context, they requested that Newslead publish Zarathustra’s email.
The request was met with silent, sober concern until finally, Lincoln responded.
“This raises significant ethical issues,” he said. “We need to give this very careful consideration. Give us some time to think this through and we’ll get back to you.”
Forty-Five
Manhattan, New York
Eyeglasses were repositioned, pens were tapped and sections of text underlined as Newslead’s senior editors studied the three Zarathustra emails and the FBI’s request to publish them.
Everything was on one page, provided by the FBI.
The FBI had also given Newslead a short timeline of events and the edited email text they’d wanted published. Additionally, they’d provided notes on the hold-back information that would help authenticate any tips, should people call the news service.
“Absolutely nothing leaves this room,” Lincoln began. For the next several minutes he, Chuck and Kate recounted all Newslead had uncovered on the London and New York incidents.
“You have the facts as we know them,” Lincoln said. “Since we received the first email, we’ve been mindful of our journalistic duty and respectful of the roles of law enforcement and federal aviation investigators. But the story has intensified with the latest email. The FBI’s request raises ethical concerns. The question we need to answer is do we publish or not. Let’s go around the table. Jerry?”
“I say no,” Jerry Lemothe, deputy national editor and a perpetual gum chewer, said. “This is meant more for this Zarathustra than the FBI, but nobody should dictate what we write. We can’t allow stories to be extorted from us. If we did this, we’d set a precedent, and we’d open the floodgates to every malcontented crazy out there.”
National features editor Ellen Markon pushed her glasses to the top of her head and turned to Lemothe.
“But Jerry, it’s our job to inform the public,” she said. “And to protect the public’s right to know.”
“True,” Howard Kehoe said, “but we’d run the risk of being perceived as a branch of the police, an investigative tool. It’s not our job to aid police. We shouldn’t do it.”
“What about when we publish most-wanted info for police?” Marisa McDougal asked. “We certainly aided police last month in their search for the convicts who’d escaped from prison in Texas, and last week when that mother and her child were abducted in Los Angeles. I don’t see how this is much different.”
“Marisa makes a good point,” Markon said. “There’s an overriding safety concern, a real possibility this person can do what they claim.”
“Is there?” Lemothe asked. “So far the NTSB and the FAA have not indicated any such thing.”
“Jerry’s right,” Kehoe said. “Nothing’s been proven to show this disturbed person has the resources to control airplanes. We shouldn’t rush to cede editorial control. If we feed this nut job’s ego, then we’ll run the risk of copycats and more demands.”
Ellen Markon shook her head.
“No, I say we publish it. We have an obligation to do all we can to help identify this person,” she said. “I’m concerned about what we’ve seen here—the EastCloud incident, the Shikra tragedy with fifteen deaths. Look at Sloane, his ties to Richlon-Titan and the unbelievable aspect of Kate being followed. There’s so much we don’t know, so much at risk.”
“That’s right,” Marisa added.
“No, the more I think of it,” Ellen said, “the more I believe we need to expose the facts and see where they take us.”
“Chuck, what do you think?” Lincoln asked.
“Everyone’s made solid arguments,” he said. “But we have to look at the bigger picture. Newslead knows more about what’s at stake than any other news outlet. We’re not bending to the will of Zarathustra. We’re not publishing a manifesto, and the FBI isn’t asking for editorial control. They want us to agree to use the portion of the Zarathustra email they’ve edited so as not to alarm the public.
“The FBI needs to identify Zarathustra to assess the validity of the threat. At the s
ame time, to the best of our knowledge, aviation experts have yet to report anything that would confirm, or even suggest, that a cyber hijack was behind the two incidents. We’ve told the FBI how we would frame the story, and it is our story. Remember, we went to them first and since then the relationship on this has been respectful. But if we say no to publishing this excerpt, there’s nothing to stop the FBI from arranging some deal with a news competitor.”
Chuck waited for his comments to sink in.
“So far, this information is exclusive to us. It could yield a tip that would be exclusive to us. A reader may recognize the writing, the phraseology. The peculiarity of the sentence construction of the message might ring a bell that leads to an arrest, or something more.”
“Chuck, are you leaning toward publishing?” Lincoln asked.
“Yes, I say publish.”
“And you, Kate?”
“Publish.”
Lincoln removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.
“Well, I think we should publish and it appears we have a consensus to do so. Kate, pull a story together, go as long as you like with it, and we’ll get this thing moving. Chuck, when we’re ready I’ll take a look at it. Then we’ll alert subscribers to what’s coming.
* * *
Kate grabbed a coffee, returned to her desk, got into her zone and began writing.
Within five minutes, she’d crafted her lede:
A potential puzzle piece has emerged in the mystery surrounding the horrific crash of a jetliner at London’s Heathrow airport and the near-tragic incident experienced by a New York–bound commuter plane.
She then drafted what was known in journalism as “nut grafs”—a few tight paragraphs containing the news facts and background details of Shikra Flight 418 and EastCloud Flight 4990. She followed them with:
But in a new twist, Newslead has learned that the FBI is examining cryptic communications made by someone claiming to have knowledge of what is behind both events.
Assertions of responsibility are not uncommon during the course of an investigation. And while American and British investigators have stated that nothing has yet surfaced to suggest terrorism or even criminality is behind the incidents, the FBI is attempting to locate “a person or persons of interest.”
She provided a timeline on the two cases, interspersing the section with comments she’d obtained from aviation experts, and referencing the emails sent to Newslead and the Kuwaiti Embassy in London by a person using the name Zarathustra.
Using the section of Zarathustra’s email that had been edited by the FBI, Kate wrote that in one message, the sender had said:
“...tell the ordinary masses that we are extraordinary people destined to soon achieve a monumental victory of a colossal scale, the likes of which the world has never seen. We will take civilization to unprecedented heights, lighting the way forward for all of human existence. We are Zarathustra, Lord of the Heavens.”
Kate had called a professor of literature at Columbia University, requesting his thoughts concerning Zarathustra, and the connection to German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche.
Kate then quoted official spokespeople from the NTSB, the FAA, and British and Kuwaiti agencies, who’d stated that their investigations were ongoing and that they could not elaborate or comment on the Zarathustra emails.
She ended the story with a closing quote from an aviation expert.
“It’s not possible to hack into a system and take remote control of a commercial airliner, a so-called cyber hijack,” he said. “In the end you’ll find the boasts and wild claims made in the cryptic messages stem from a troubled and fantasy-driven mind. It’s a sad fact that disturbed individuals who have such delusions create this sort of widespread, groundless fear.”
After polishing her story, she proofread it, then sent it to Chuck.
Kate then finished her coffee and texted Grace and Vanessa. She needed to hear from them.
All was fine.
Then, to cope with her anxiety, she went to Chuck’s office, where he’d just finished reviewing her article. He’d passed it along to Lincoln, who would send it to the news desk to handle and send out.
“It’s going global,” Chuck said. “Good job, Kate. Good storytelling.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t feel good about it.”
“Why’s that?”
“It leaves me wondering if we’ve eroded the line between a free press and the police, and in the process, have we just given a criminal the world stage that they’d craved?”
“Time will tell, Kate. Time will tell.”
Forty-Six
Hyattsville, Maryland
Seth opened another can of “Shark’s Blood” energy drink, took a big gulp and belched before he resumed working.
Ensconced at his desk amid his high-powered laptops, he looked over the material piled around him—studies, drawings and manuals. He glanced at Veyda, who was on the sofa across the room. She was still undecided on what action they’d take against Kate Page for her failings.
For now, Veyda was working on her laptop, nodding her head while listening to music. Florence and the Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over”—he could hear it leaking from her earphones.
Seth smiled and went back to a document he knew well, a United States federal report released in 2015 by the Government Accountability Office that pointed to weaknesses in air traffic control systems. The study suggested there was a small possibility that commercial jetliners may be vulnerable to having their computer systems hacked and hijacked remotely. Other experts disagreed with the findings.
The entire issue was currently a subject of some debate.
Seth considered the report rudimentary, but continued examining it as he worked. Seth examined the telecommunications infrastructure and the satellite-based Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast System, which used Global Positioning. He paused, swallowed more Shark’s Blood, then studied the report on the En Route Communications Gateway and the Traffic Flow Management Infrastructure.
Full of holes, like Swiss cheese. I’ve seen gaming systems that were better designed.
A notification alert sounded on two of his laptops. The distinct tone signaled that a Kate Page story had just been posted online. Seth glanced at Veyda. The alert would override her music. He began reading:
A potential puzzle piece has emerged in the mystery surrounding the horrific crash of a jetliner at London’s Heathrow airport and the near-tragic incident experienced by a New York–bound commuter plane.
Seth continued reading then shot Veyda another glance; she’d pulled out her earphones and was digesting the story. When he came to the first reference to Zarathustra he said, “There it is, babe.”
Veyda’s face lit up with the beginnings of a smile that soon vanished. “What’s this?” She repeated parts of the story aloud.
“‘It’s not possible to hack into a system and take remote control of a commercial airliner.’ Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Fifteen corpses in London say otherwise!”
“I don’t get it,” Seth said.
“And listen. ‘In the end you’ll find the boasts and wild claims made in the cryptic messages stem from a troubled and fantasy-driven mind. It’s a sad fact that disturbed individuals who have such delusions create this sort of widespread, groundless fear.’”
Veyda clenched her jaw and lifted her head to the ceiling.
“This is so insulting, Seth. Kate Page held so much promise. This is not what we instructed her to do!”
Seth took a moment and read the story a second time.
“I’m concerned,” he said. “There’s something about the article, a subtext at play.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t help thinking that there’s more to this story, that maybe they�
��re getting close to us.”
“No. If they were close, a SWAT team would be kicking down the door. They’re clueless, Seth. Remember, we’re dealing with the unevolved, linear thinking of ordinary people. As extraordinary people, we have the authority to punish Kate Page.”
“What do you want to do?” Seth’s keyboard clicked as he worked. “We could steal her identity, drain her bank account, create a blood test with traces of heroin and cocaine and send it to her employer anonymously. We could anonymously report her to police for child abuse.”
Veyda gave his options a moment of consideration.
“They’re good but rather mundane. They lack artistry. What I’m thinking of is bigger. We have to make an example of her.”
Veyda concentrated on her laptop, shaking her head bitterly.
“Those worms. They have the audacity to say I have a fantasy-driven mind, that I’m delusional. Don’t they know that we’re extraordinary people, that we’re elevating humankind? They owe us reverence!”
Veyda made a few keystrokes and their hundred-inch flat-screen TV came to life, displaying footage of the fiery Heathrow crash, then screaming passengers being tossed about on the EastCloud flight.
“We’ll show them something the world will never forget.”
Forty-Seven
Manhattan, New York
The infectious rhythm of Peruvian music kept time with the slap of skipping rope in Washington Square Park where Grace jumped double Dutch with street performers near the fountain.
As the music and ropes went faster, Kate and Vanessa cheered Grace on from a bench nearby. She kept pace until a misstep entangled her in the ropes, but the performers invited her to try again and as they resumed, Kate checked her phone.
It was Saturday, the day after Kate’s story on Zarathustra had run. Kate and Vanessa both had days off. They’d taken Grace shopping in Greenwich Village before coming to the park.
