by Rick Mofina
But Kate’s mind was on the response to her story—Will it lead us to Zarathustra and the validity of the claim of hijacking jetliners?
She hadn’t dismissed Zarathustra’s threat to her family, implied in the “we know where you live” line. While they no longer had Agent Hank Bradley staying with them, Kate and Vanessa were vigilant, keeping an eye on Grace and the nearest cop.
Everything was fine, under the circumstances.
On the response, Newslead had, so far, received about twenty emails or calls from readers offering advice. One reader offered her services as a “spiritual guide.” Some callers had claimed to know Zarathustra, but then provided vague or useless information. I think it’s the cabdriver I had once, he was always quoting Nietzsche. Or It’s a guy I met in a bar. He was talking about how we need to take down the government.
Those were the responses for Kate.
As for the FBI, Varner had told her that in two instances, callers had claimed to be Zarathustra but had been unable to provide accurate information on the unpublished content of the email.
Kate was preparing to send Erich a message when Grace finished skipping. Kate gave her a five-dollar bill to drop in the performers’ hat.
“Let’s get a drink.” Vanessa pointed to the nearest hot dog cart.
As they sipped their sodas on the grass in the shade of a maple tree, Kate’s phone rang.
“Hi, Kate. It’s Todd,” the news assistant said. “I know you’re off, but Chuck said to alert you if a reader called with something important.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I got this guy on the line. It’s the third time he’s called in an hour. He insists on talking to you directly, says he’s got information that he wants to share with you.”
“What kind of information?”
“He wouldn’t say, only that it was critical.”
“Did he give you his name, or his connection to the story?”
“No, nothing, and he refused to leave a message.”
“Did he sound credible, or certifiable, Todd?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Yeah, that’s often the case. Okay, put him through.”
“I’ll connect him to you. Hang on.”
While she waited, Kate turned to Grace and Vanessa.
“I have to take this. I’m sorry. Think about where we could go for lunch later.”
Kate stood and walked a few feet away when her phone clicked.
“Hello?” a man said. “Is this Kate Page?”
“Yes.”
“I saw you on CTNB with Reese Baker talking about the president’s promise of technology to land passenger jets by remote control.”
“Yes. First can I get your name?”
Silence.
The caller ID displayed the newsroom switchboard number because the call was bounced to Kate’s phone.
“I’d like to know who I’m talking to.”
“I don’t want to say right now. First, I need to know if you protect sources.”
“Yes, we do. I understand you have information?”
“On CTNB, you discussed the technology and debated its existence and use in the wake of 9/11?”
“Right.”
“Are you aware of Project Overlord?”
“No. Hold on a sec.” Kate muted her phone and got Vanessa to search Project Overlord. It came up as some sort of video game. Kate rolled her eyes. “Is it something to do with video game programs?”
“No. It’s a top secret government project to develop the technology to land hijacked commercial jets by remote control. Overlord is what the president promised.”
“And how do you know this?”
“Listen, I was not, and am not, involved, okay?”
The way his voice grew nervous caused a shift in Kate’s attitude.
“Involved in what?”
“Overlord.”
“Okay.”
“I was a contractor for various national security projects. I have a lot of friends in the business.”
“Would one be named Erich?”
“No.”
“How about Viper?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You say you were a contractor on national security projects. What’re you doing now?”
“Now? Let’s say I’m something of an underground activist.”
“Activist for what?”
“Letting the public know the truth about what its government is up to. With Overlord, the government worked with defense and airline experts to develop the technology to land troubled planes safely by remote control. It was called the Unhindered Autopilot System.”
“We said on the show that the technology exists, that patents were obtained to develop it.”
“You barely scratched the surface. Overlord was developed, but abandoned after the government feared it was leaked or stolen.”
“You mean it’s out there?”
“That’s the fear.”
“Then why haven’t we heard more about this?”
“They don’t want the public to know. It would destroy the airline industry and cripple the global economy.”
Kate took a moment.
“I’m sorry but this is too fantastic to believe.”
“I have documentation.”
Kate caught her breath.
“Okay, send it to me and let me take a look at it.”
“No. I’ll give it to you only in person, if you agree to meet me.”
“Are you in New York City?”
“No. California.”
“Are you coming to New York?”
“No. You’d have to come here.”
“To California? Look, I can’t go to California based on your claim.”
“Give me an email.”
“What?”
“Give me an email. I’ll send you a sample and you’ll see. It’s classified documentation I received from my sources, part of a file I’ve been assembling.”
Kate gave him an email, a safe one that protected against viruses and malware. Twenty seconds later, her phone chimed, and she was reading a page on Homeland Security letterhead stamped Top Secret. It was less than a year old and had the grainy look of a document that had been photocopied several times. The subject headline was Project Overlord: Security Breach Concern.
Much of the content was redacted, blacked out, except the headline Project Chiefs. Some two dozen names and their affiliations were listed under it. Each name and affiliation was redacted. However, initials were penned next to some. Kate read: AU, JF, KS, RC, RM, SK, TH.
She got back on the line with her caller.
“How can I tell if this is a legitimate document? Besides, with so much blacked out, I’m not even sure what it says.”
“It’s real. I swear it’s real. Little by little I’ve been getting leads on the names of the team members. I think one of them was suspected of a security breach and that person is your Zarathustra.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“I’ve been connecting the dots. That’s what I do. And I heard through the grapevine that one of the experts had a family tragedy and became unstable. I have no idea which one. There are twenty-four. But I’m thinking that it’s possible whichever one it was may be using the technology to exact some revenge for the project being canceled or something.”
“That’s a heck of a leap there.”
“I know, but I’ve been working on this and watching your reports and I’m convinced this is your smoking gun. The incidents with the Shikra and EastCloud flights are the evidence. If you agree to meet me in person, I’ll give you all the documents, the information, some of the names I have, everything.”
“Why not go to the FBI or the FAA, or NTSB?”
“I’d be charged with possessing confidential national security documents. You, being the press, are protected by shield laws.”
Kate looked over at her daughter and sister.
“Okay, I have to go. Let me think about this and talk it over with my editors. Give me a number to call you.”
“No, I’ll call you.”
“I need a number from you.”
“I can’t do that. I’ll call your news desk and I’ll use the name Malcolm Grady. Tell them to put me through to you.”
“Okay, very clandestine, like the movies.”
“Yeah,” he said nervously. “Like the movies.”
Kate hung up and stared at nothing until she felt a tug at her arm.
“Mom?” Grace was loud.
“Yes, sweetie.”
“I said can we go to the Shake Shack?”
Forty-Eight
Manhattan, New York
“We’ve got to look into this,” Chuck told Kate on the phone.
She’d reached him while he was at the Hemingway exhibit at the Morgan Library in Midtown Manhattan. After she told him about her tip regarding Project Overlord and sent him the attachment, Chuck said he wanted to meet at Bryant Park.
Kate, Grace and Vanessa took a cab there from the Shake Shack. Chuck was waiting at a table near the carousel. It was nice to see him without a button-down shirt and tie, casual in a navy polo shirt and khakis. But the expression on his face was all business. Vanessa and Grace lined up for a ride on the carousel, leaving Kate and Chuck to talk.
“We may have something here,” he said. “But there are concerns. Is the document genuine, or are we being set up? Is this guy a nut, or the real deal?”
“I certainly had the same concerns.”
“After you called and sent me the attachment, I sent it to Yardley at our DC bureau.”
“What’s he think?”
“We’ll find out soon. He’ll be calling me.”
As if on cue, Chuck’s phone vibrated and he answered.
“Laneer.”
As he listened, Kate waved to Grace, who passed by laughing on a white horse. The carousel huffed out organ music as Vanessa took pictures.
“Okay, Tim, I’m putting you on Speaker.” Chuck adjusted his phone and set it on the table. He and Kate leaned in to hear Yardley without increasing the volume. There was no risk of them being overheard above the squealing children and other sounds of the park.
“I’ve never heard of Project Overlord,” Yardley said. “But there’ve always been rumors the government was working on something along those lines after 9/11.”
“What about the document? Does it look real?” Chuck asked.
“It does, but there’s no surefire way for us to test its authenticity without raising flags. If I started showing it to national security sources here, we’d tip our hand.”
“We could take it to the FBI, see what they’ll confirm?” Kate asked.
“No,” Chuck said.
“But we’ve been doing well with them,” Kate said.
“No, your caller’s scared. He trusts you. No, you get to him first and get the records.”
“I just thought we could leverage something from the FBI because we’re always pushing them to give us stuff,” Kate said.
“That’s how it is. That’s our job. We traffic in information—that’s our role. We’re not police informants. We’ve already alerted them to the security and safety aspects of this story. We are not partners with law enforcement. They’ll do a criminal investigation and we’ll do a journalistic one.”
“I agree with Chuck, Kate,” Yardley said.
“What’s your take on sending Kate to California, based on what we have?” Chuck asked.
“I’d send her to meet the source, get a read on him, get the documents. We can work on verifying them. If it goes south, all it’ll cost you is the trip. Otherwise, if you fumbled on the real deal, someone else will score on you.”
“Agreed. Thanks, Tim.” Chuck hung up and looked at Kate. “I’ll send you to California to pursue this, but with a few conditions. Go as soon as you can make arrangements with your source and our travel office. But you’re not going alone. You’ll go with a photographer.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s my job to watch out for you and put this into context. Look at all that’s happened to you with this story. I’m not taking any risks.”
“Neither am I. I’m a big girl, and I’ve been covering crime stories on my own for years. I can handle myself.”
“Fine. You can fly out alone, but once you land you’ll go everywhere you need to go with a photographer from our Los Angeles bureau. I’ll advise our LA folks to line someone up for you. They won’t like it. Bureau people are touchy about national staff working in their yard. Just so we’re clear, my terms are nonnegotiable. And you’ll check in with me at every step.”
He looked at her for a long, serious moment.
“Is that understood, Kate?”
“It is.”
“Good.” He nodded to Grace and Vanessa. “You have two good reasons to be careful.”
* * *
Chuck was right, Kate thought, while watching Grace’s reflection in the subway window during the ride home to Morningside Heights.
She was sleeping on Kate’s shoulder. Kate put her arm around her.
Vanessa smiled at them and took a picture.
Later that day, she took two more calls from “Malcolm Grady.” Only after assurances that she hadn’t informed any law enforcement or federal security agency about Project Overlord did he provide an address and a time for Kate to meet him.
The next morning Kate called Newslead’s travel office, and they got her a direct flight that afternoon out of JFK.
Her flight was with American Airlines, the aircraft an Airbus A321—a great airline and a great plane. Nothing to do with Richlon-Titan. Kate had no fear of flying. Because of her job she’d flown many times, and it was about as stressful to her as crossing the street.
As the engines whined and the jet raced down the runway and lifted off, forcing her deep into her seat, a bad feeling began to steal over her.
Images of the terror inside the EastCloud flight and the fiery Heathrow crash blazed in her mind. Her jet climbed and she fought the fear mounting in her heart until she choked it off.
At last, the plane leveled.
Kate took a deep breath, letting it out slowly while searching the clouds and wondering what awaited her in California.
Forty-Nine
Washington, DC
The faces of the dead haunted Jake Hooper as he and Pax rounded the corner at the east end of the pool at the National Mall.
It had been two days since he’d returned from London.
During his time there the Daily Mail had run a front-page gallery of photos of the Heathrow crash victims, six children and nine adults, inlayed over the wreckage.
The images were seared into Hooper’s memory and weighed heavily on him as he tried to resume his routine. His early-morning runs with Pax at the Mall helped him organize his thoughts about his work and his life.
The night before, at their anniversary dinner, he’d given his wife, Gwen, the pearl necklace and earrings he’d bought in London. She’d given him a watch he’d liked and good news.
The vet says they’re going to put Pax on an experimental drug therapy. It’ll give him three to four more pain-free years. Isn’t that great?
It was more than that.
Now, as Hooper finished his run, Pax’s spirits seemed lifted. He panted happily as Hooper bent down and nuzzled him.
“Now we have hope, buddy. Now we
have hope.”
That was not the case with Hooper’s work on the Shikra and EastCloud flights. The investigations were progressing slowly, though that was expected because they were always meticulous and exhaustive.
They had to be.
But recent developments had deepened Hooper’s concerns about a possible cause.
When he got to his desk in NTSB headquarters at L’Enfant Plaza, he took out his copy of the Daily Mail and spread it across his desk. He stared into the faces of those who’d been killed and vowed to find the answers their families deserved.
Shikra, British, American and Kuwaiti investigators had examined a range of potential causes. Was it an irregularity in the computers controlling the engine systems? Was it an electronic malfunction? They’d studied weather systems and the possibility of a bird strike and they’d looked at radio interference.
All were ruled out.
But there were still hundreds of other aspects of the aircraft that they needed to study, and the investigation continued with plans for Hooper and other members of the team to return to the UK at the end of the month.
As for EastCloud Flight 4990, Hooper reviewed the latest examination of the fault logs of the Electrical Load Management System. So far their review had gone back thirty flights. No anomalies had emerged. They would go back another thirty flights. And they were still studying the quick access recorder. Meanwhile weather systems had found no indication of turbulence, nothing on radar. Bill Cashill and Irene Zimm were still pointing to human performance and crew behavior as the likely cause behind the trouble of the Buffalo–to–New York flight.
Hooper disagreed.
He believed the source of the cause in both incidents would be found in Richlon-Titan’s fly-by-wire system, which was present in both planes. Underscoring his view was the increasingly disturbing aspect with the emails, the so-called Zarathustra messages, claiming responsibility.
The FBI had advised the NTSB that it was investigating and working on tracking the sender, which included the public appeal for help identifying the person behind them. Yes, investigators received crackpot claims of all sorts with high-profile incidents, Hooper thought, but they were rarely published. But the recent news story on Zarathustra and the FBI’s approach took matters to a troubling level.
