Man of Honor (Enforcement Division Book 4)

by Chris Malburg

  “Sun Island 232, roger that. Our prayers and sorrow for the A320’s passengers and crew.”

  Roger Straud felt dizzy. Dizzy like never before. He looked out the window of the Blue Hawaii A320 from his seat in the economy cabin. He had no idea what happened. One minute they were flying along, the next there was a huge crash. The plane shuddered. Then all the air was sucked out toward the front. Passengers not belted into their seats were yanked forward toward the cockpit. The sudden decompression sucked both flight attendants out of the forward galley.

  Straud caught one passenger’s leg and held on tight as the suction pulled her forward. Finally, the decompression eased. His ears were popping like crazy from the rapid descent. Then a tremendous force pressed him tight against his seat back and the cabin wall.

  Roger Straud was an aerospace engineer at Boeing. He understood centrifugal force—G-force. Plane is in a flat spin. Vertical stabilizer probably snapped off. If the aircraft spins fast enough and the wings are still intact, the rate of descent just might be slow enough. That’s something. Maybe not a bloom of hope. But something.

  Straud was also a smart engineer. He knew Airbus built their airframes to survive minor crashes. Floor’s still intact. Crush point is probably about 20-G’s. Just possibly strong enough to survive hitting the water. He pulled his seat belt as tight as he could. Cabin is a mess. All kinds of debris pinned to the walls. Airbus uses energy absorbing materials throughout. That should take the brunt of the crash force before transferring to the passengers inside.

  Straud used all his strength to overcome the G-force and lever himself into a sitting position. “Everyone!” he shouted above the screams of terror. “Everyone listen to me!” Most of those around him stopped their screaming for a moment. “If we do this exactly right, this crash just may be survivable. We have a minute, maybe two. Do exactly as I tell you…”

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Li Yong scanned the text messages his people sent to the Blue Hawaii A320. A cheer erupted from his crew when they saw the radar ident box of the A320 suddenly disappear off the screen. Let them have their victory. A black shame settled in his heart. He alone had engineered the action that just killed 150 innocent people. War or not, those people were caught in the crossfire.

  Li Yong stood in the middle of the high tech room. “The Chairman of the Central Military Commission,” he called, to get everyone’s attention, “wants us to make it more challenging for the Americans. No one ever said aviation was easy. The Chairman is a superior pilot. He wants us to test the American pilots’ skills. The Chairman says the most superior pilots should be able to land a jumbo jet anywhere. Excellence gets rewarded, mediocrity…” Li Yong hoped that this day, only superior pilots flew in Hawaii’s skies.

  “Not our day,” said the Sun Islands 747 pilot. When he was in the Navy he flew an AWACS surveillance jet. There wasn’t much in the sky that made him nervous. “ATC computers at Kahului just couldn’t have held out another ten minutes, could they? Instead, we’re now rerouted for a second time, now to Lanai.”

  “Captain, we have enough fuel to make Lanai as long as they don’t keep us going around the pattern for long. At least, we won’t have to dump fuel.”

  “One bright spot for the environment,” the Captain said. He placed his right hand on the throttles and his left on the control column. The adjustments the autopilot made came through the controls he held. “Disengage autopilot,” he ordered the co-pilot. “We’ll hand-fly out to Lanai.”

  The co-pilot had his iPad out again. “Lanai’s only active runway is a little short for us.”

  “I don’t know how our thrust reversers are going to work,” the pilot said. “Short one engine and diminished thrust in another, I figure braking on our landing roll is going to be lop-sided. Contact Lanai. Make sure they know our situation and have emergency equipment standing by. We may roll off the end of their short runway.”

  “Already made the call, Captain. Kahului ATC did too. They’re ready for us. Entrance to the approach pattern coming up,” said the co-pilot.

  “Wish Sun Island had sprung for the tail hook option from Boeing on this airplane.”

  Three stories up on the 747’s flight deck the captain saw the runway reach up to meet them. The grassy field hadn’t even ended before he slammed the main landing gear down into the runway. Navy pilots never quite forget how to stick a plane onto the carrier deck.

  Immediately, the plane’s engines screamed as he engaged the thrust reversers. Passengers were thrown forward against their seat belts. The plane started to skid right. “Not today,” the pilot ordered his aircraft. Somehow he pulled it back to the runway’s centerline.

  There was a sudden crash and the screech of grinding metal as the jet’s nose hit the runway where the disabled landing gear should have been.

  Still, the 747 slide-rolled down the runway. Now it was just slow enough for the brakes. A stream of sparks flew from both sides where the aluminum fuselage slid down the runway.

  The smell of burning rubber from several burst tires entered the cabin. “At least, we’re on the runway,” the co-pilot said. “Twenty miles per hour. Ten. All stop, Captain.”

  Silence. Then the flight attendants jumped from their seats. Within seconds, the exit doors burst open, slides deployed and the passengers moved out of the aircraft. The plane was empty just ninety seconds later.

  “Nice job, Captain,” said the co-pilot. “We had a good ten feet of runway left.”

  “I think the company is going to be pissed we ruined the nose of their airplane.”

  “Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke,” the co-pilot said.

  Outside, the fire trucks sprayed down the red-hot metal at the front and at the main landing gear where some of the tires had shredded. Then the mechanics drove jacks and a crane-truck alongside to move the stricken plane off the runway so other planes could land.

  When the Sun Island 747 was finally parked on the apron, it was just one of ten jumbo jets parked all around the taxiways of the tiny county airport. The planes sat anywhere with enough space to accommodate their huge wingspans.

  “There aren’t enough hotel rooms for all the passengers,” the pilot said. “This is one very expensive diversion. See that angry slate-gray sky to the east? The weather’s deteriorating further. This one’s going to be a real gulley washer.”

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  The DC-10 pilot looked at his watch. “Christ,” he slapped a hand against the control yoke. “We’ve been stranded here for eight hours already. Ten minutes more before the union says we’ve timed out and need to change crews.”

  Another minute passed while the co-pilot tried to raise Lanai’s air traffic control.

  “Let’s just taxi out to the runway,” the pilot said. “That way, we’ll be ready.”

  The co-pilot reached toward his control yoke and flipped the switch, turning off his radio mic. “Captain Jacobs! Do not move this aircraft when the fog is so thick. We can’t see beyond our wing tips.”

  “Don’t be such a wuss,” the pilot answered.

  “Captain, you cannot move an aircraft on an active runway without control tower clearance. FAA regs will crucify us, sir. Besides, we could clip another aircraft.”

  “Relax. I’m just taxiing out to the runway threshold. I want to be right at the very beginning when you finally get that takeoff clearance.” The captain’s left palm skimmed over the right then shot it out and upward.

  “Captain, let’s just sit here and wait for the tower’s taxi instructions. By that time, we might have received ATC clearance for takeoff. Sound like the right approach to you? Scott?”

  “I’m not waiting for another captain to jump our slot.” The pilot pushed the throttles forward just enough to get the jumbo jet rolling, then backed off.

  “Lanai tower! Lanai tower!” the co-pilot said urgently trying to raise someone who could give them clearance or order them to stop. Hasn’t this guy heard of
crew resource management? I’m here to question his decisions and offer input. He can’t fire me. But he can complain. No promotion to captain with even one complaint on my record. The thought of never seeing his wife and two young daughters again flashed before him. He felt the already cramped cockpit close on him.

  The airliner rolled past the short approach taxiway. The radio crackled with unintelligible static and broken words. The DC-10’s landing lights merely bounced off the thick fog. The pilot pointed the jet’s nose down range.

  The co-pilot rubbed his slick palms on his pants. This cannot be happening. The captain is ignoring me. Air Traffic Control isn’t responding. For all we know, there’s a flock of seagulls ready to fly right into the engines.

  “That static must have been the tower giving us clearance,” the pilot said. He waited another ten seconds. “Screw it. We’re going.” He pushed the throttles forward and the DC-10 began its takeoff roll. The jumbo jet rapidly accelerated. Thick fog swallowed it in seconds.

  “Speed 125, V-1,” the nervous co-pilot called as the DC-10 hurtled over Lanai’s short runway. The jet was now committed to its takeoff roll. He peered into the foggy gloom. “Pull up. Pull up!”

  “Goddammit! Goddammit!” the pilot shouted as he desperately yanked back on the control column and slammed the throttles forward. The DC-10 rotated, its nose coming up off the runway. But it didn’t yet have enough speed to get the lift needed to climb over the 747 crossing the runway. The plane’s empennage scraped over the concrete, leaving a massive trail of sparks in its wake. “Fly, baby, fly,” the pilot pleaded.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  “Colonel Yong you will want to see this,” said the lieutenant standing at the flat panel computer screen.

  Li Yong bent closer to the screen. His hands immediately flew to his mouth. The live television broadcast from the Hawaiian island of Lanai showed thick black clouds of smoke billowing up from the runway of the small county airport. The cameraman was so close, Li Yong could see the flames shooting up from inside a crashed airliner. It appeared that the entire top half of a Boeing 747 had somehow been peeled right off. Debris of shredded aluminum, the turbo fan from one of the engines and a bloody leg with its stump like hamburger littered the runway. There were just two fire trucks at the scene spraying water over the jet as best they could.

  “What happened?” asked Li Yong. But even as he asked the question, he knew. His legs buckled under the burden of what he had caused. It was supposed to be just an inconvenience. Divert some planes from Honolulu to Maui. Demonstrate our control. Now a catastrophic crash? Li Yong looked more closely at the television. The cameraman zoomed his shot further down the runway. Another jumbo jet? This one was torn in half with debris and bodies strewn over the crash site. Somehow, Li Yong landed in the desk chair a lieutenant had placed under his leader.

  The newscaster described the gruesome video, “This afternoon at 1:43 p.m., a DC-10 airliner with 289 passengers and crew aboard bound for Honolulu International Airport was taking off from Lanai. What the pilot could not know because no one could see through the rain and fog at the time was a Boeing 747 jet with 377 people aboard was crossing the runway—”

  Her co-anchor broke in, “Folks, at this point, they are just trying to rescue survivors. But from the video we are seeing, survivors of this horrific accident are unlikely—”

  Li Yong sank further into the chair; his hands shielding his eyes from the gruesome images on the TV screen. “What have I done?” he asked in a weakened voice. Li Yong slumped. He engineered a war of economic superiority. The Chinese renminbi versus the US dollar. That was the plan. There would be casualties. Of course, there would be. But not mass casualties. Not 666 casualties in a single assault—”

  “Sir,” said the Lieutenant, jerking Li Yong from his shocked state, “for you.” The young man held the telephone receiver out. “The Chairman of the Central Military Commission, sir.”

  Li Yong reluctantly took the telephone receiver. “Yes, Mr. Chairman,” he said weakly. “What… what assistance may…”

  From the earpiece came exuberance, “Colonel! I have just seen the Hawaii airplane crash. That is what I am talking about! Mass body count. Our message is finally clear. Unit 61398 has achieved an enormous victory. You know this? Today will be remembered in our country’s great and glorious history. And to think that you started it off by just pulling down Honolulu airport’s radars. Now, this! How did you construct this sequence of events to feed on each other? Never mind. Amazing how you engineered this catastrophic crash. Incredible! No one will fly the American airline industry now. What is next, Colonel? I can hardly wait!”

  Li Yong did not wait for this mad man to break the connection. He dropped the receiver then raced toward the elevators and down to the train and subway unit. Maybe, there was something he could do.

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  Li Yong turned a 360 in the middle of Unit 61398’s seventh-floor open plan office. One wall showed the Washington, DC trains and station platforms. Another showed New York City subway trains racing across each of the giant wall-mounted video displays. Times Square’s Blue, Orange, and Yellow lines on one. The Queensboro Bridge connecting Manhattan on another. Still, another showed shots of the Grand Army Plaza platform with its number 2 and 3—some stopping, some racing through the station. Li Yong checked his watch and made sure it was exactly synced to the small clock in the lower right corner of the TV screen. Timing is critical for his hack within a hack. His stomach dropped to his toes. Peak rush hour in two of America’s most important cities—New York and Washington DC― 2500 passengers per train. If only the Chairman understood leverage. There was never any need.

  “Welcome, Colonel,” said the train project manager, a Major. “We are ready to launch on your command, sir.”

  Li Yong ignored the Major. He focused instead on the action displayed on the monitors. Throngs of people entered and exited the trains, stopped at their stations. My God. He wiped hands on pants and ran his tongue over his dry lips. This had better work. He stole another glance at his watch. Three minutes, twenty-three seconds.

  “New York City is the most vulnerable train venue,” the Major said. “That is where the press will focus. DC is secondary.” Then he launched into his opinion of the foolish Americans in choosing Siemens to build its automated trains.

  The Major kept on about Siemens’ system of onboard and remote computers using radio signals to control every aspect of the underground trains. He bragged how easy it had been hacking those and bending them to his purposes.

  “You think there is something about this I do not understand?” Li Yong said. “I designed the plan for our train attack.” Exactly two minutes more. Argue with the Major. Li Yong launched into his concern about the Manhattan Central computer for it controls the whole system. He asked the Major how solid his programming was to divert oncoming traffic onto different tracks.

  “Sir, our software has pinged back every day since we hacked in and installed it,” the Major said, confused at this 11th hour doubt by the boss. “New York Transit Authority now runs 30 trains per hour instead of 26. And at higher speeds. Benefits of the automated system. But at a reduced margin of error. Exactly what your brilliant design takes advantage of. May I launch now, Colonel?”

  Li Yong’s chest clenched tight and his breath became shallow. He took another look at all the flat panel displays. Thirty seconds. He imagined his clandestine programming instructions opening and closing the silicon gates of the microchips that ran New York and DC’s train controlling computers. The orderly torrent of bits and bytes flowing in a digital river of zeros and ones according to the original deadly instructions. In less than thirty seconds, his new program would throw the deadly computer code out of the flow and onto the electronic rocks. The resulting events, so much more benign, but equally as effective. Twenty seconds.

  “Please, Colonel.” The Major leaned over the master computer console and theatric
ally raised his hand, one finger extended over the keyboard. “The time has come. Maximum passenger casualties. Say the word.”

  One big screen showed the well-lit Grand Army Plaza platform. Li Yong held up a single restraining finger. The Major stood leaning over this keyboard, motionless. Waiting. Ten seconds. Li Yong’s hack within a hack lay inactive, undiscovered. It was just one act of defiance from the Chairman threatening his family if he didn’t create his weapon of mass destruction. Five seconds, four… Then the lights on the Grand Army Plaza platform flickered. It was brief. Meaningless to everyone. But he caught it. The signal he programmed telling him it was safe to launch. He slowly exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. On the screen, passengers quickly stepped up, taking their place in line for the next train. All seemed completely normal.

  Li Yong watched as the trains streaked across the tracks. His lungs filled one last time. “Launch the attack.”

  The Major’s finger punched the keyboard’s return button. Following him, there was a flurry of keystrokes around Unit 61398’s seventh-floor office from those also awaiting this single, deadly instruction.

  The Major slammed his fist down on the table. “Gǒu pì! What happened?

  “The attack program must have left in tact one of the oncoming train’s track speed sensors,” Li Yong said. Then to himself, he gave thanks the Americans had, indeed, chosen the Siemens auto train system. So much easier to hack, and then unhack.

  “A programming failure, sir?” The humiliated Major faced Li Yong and humbly bowed. “I do not know how my team missed it.”