"So, Mr. Wallace, you're saying that whatever information we actually had from observing our crews, we're not supposed to report it, and therefore--"
He slammed his fist on the table to cut her off.
"Dammit, Ms. Smith, there is no information unless you acted on it. You understand? If you knew, any of you," he pointed his index finger at Judy, moved it to the chief pilot, then back. "If you knew that this captain had real, genuine, nonspeculative, emotional problems that, without question, were materially affecting his ability to fly safely--not just his ability to baby-sit copilot egos-you should have canned him or grounded him instantly. That's what a court would say.
That's what a jury would say. And that's what the damned press will go clucking about later on, even if every last person gets off that airplane unscathed. So if you didn't determine whatever you saw in this captain sufficiently worrisome to cause you to act, you saw nothing, and there was nothing to report. Understand? There are no shades of gray here."
"But what if someone asks us officially how he seemed this morning?'' Judy asked, fixing the lawyer with a hostile gaze.
"Such as?"
"Such as the FAA. Such as the FBI. Such as a court, asking us under oath."
Wallace stared back at Judy with equal hostility and disdain before answering. His words were assembled with obvious care.
"I would never instruct you to lie, Ms. Smith. Remember I said that. But I will always tell you to be absolutely, positively sure that what you say under oath comes from hard facts that you absolutely knew at the time, and not from opinion or casual observations of an AirBridge pilot, or anyone else."
Steve Coberg shifted uncomfortably in his chair and spoke up. "But what about written reports from other pilots?"
Wallace shifted his gaze to Coberg and studied him for a few seconds, then smiled and looked down at the table briefly before snapping his gaze back with enough force to cause the chief pilot to flinch.
"What reports would those be, Captain?"
"Well--" Coberg began, but Wallace quickly cut him off.
"I would be very surprised and distressed if you, or your boss,"-- Wallace flicked his eyes momentarily at the vice president of operations, who was cringing--"would permit anything resembling such reports to be in the official files of this airline. I'm sure if I came upstairs this afternoon to look through your file cabinets, I would find no such files in existence. Isn't that right?"
Wallace kept his eyes locked on Steve Coberg for several awkward seconds until the pilot swallowed loudly and nodded.
"Good." Wallace looked at James Ryder, who nodded his assent.
"That closes the subject," Wallace continued. "We have an aircraft in the control of an unknown hijacker who has obviously overcome by force any reasonable resistance of one of our finest captains. We should be focusing on that reality, and that reality alone."
CNN Headquarters, Atlanta. 11:40 A.M. MDT, 1:40 P.M. EDT.
The director leaned toward the interphone to speak into the anchor's ear.
"We lost Billings. The line just went dead. All we can do is wait for a callback."
On the monitors, the director could see the anchor nod as he waited for a commercial break to end.
"We've got a freeze-frame of Chris Billings from the demo tape he left," the director continued, "and we'll rerun the audio."
A voice from the director's left caught his attention.
"That shot's up on five, Bob. That one okay?"
The director turned to look at the wall of monitors, studied the face of the young newsman, and flashed a thumbs up.
"Okay, here we go."
In the studio, the anchor looked up and resumed his steady gaze at the live camera.
"We have an extraordinary breaking news story we began reporting to you less than fifteen minutes ago, involving a hijacked commercial airliner--AirBridge Airlines Flight Ninety--bound from Colorado Springs to Phoenix with a hundred and thirty passengers and crew aboard. Also on board that aircraft is CNN correspondent Chris Billings, who, up until a few minutes ago when the connection was lost, had been able to maintain telephone contact from his seat."
The screen dissolved to the still picture of Chris Billings as his voice filled the control room explaining the unplanned stop in Durango, the strange and frightening low pass through Monument Valley, and the sudden announcement that the aircraft had been hijacked.
"At this moment, Reid, none of us on board this flight really knows what the hijacker wants, or who he might be. None of us in the coach cabin saw anything unusual before that startling announcement.
The captain has told us that the hijacker is holding a gun on him in the cockpit and has placed explosives in the cargo hold.
Here's part of the captain's announcement a few minutes ago."
There was a short pause and the scratching of the telephone handset against the speaker on the portable tape recorder as Billings held them together.
"... He says that he'll tell us what he's demanding a little later, but in the meantime he's ordering me to fly us to Salt Lake City..."
Billings's voice came on the line again.
"Every few sentences the captain would pause, apparently listening to orders from the hijacker. The most fascinating aspect was when the captain mentioned what he knew so far about the hijacker's demands."
"... certain actions by various governments, including the U.S. government, in trying to right a terrible wrong. He says he knows what he's doing is a capital crime, but the crime he's trying to address is far worse.
I'll tell you more when I'm permitted to. In the meantime, stay very calm, and again, do NOT try to be a hero. It could get us all killed."
"So, all we really know is that we're being diverted to Salt Lake City by a hijacker who says he's trying to right a wrong involving..."
Billings's voice ended abruptly as the screen dissolved back to the anchor.
"And as we said before, we lost contact with correspondent Chris Billings at that point. CNN has also learned that the hijacker is demanding that the Attorney General of the United States and a federal judge be placed on standby to talk to him, apparently when the aircraft reaches Salt Lake City. Additionally, we are told by sources close to the White House that the man most likely to be nominated this week to replace the retiring U.S. Attorney General is on that aircraft. Rudolph Bostich, the U.S. Attorney for Connecticut, was en route to Phoenix, Arizona, for an American Bar Association convention."
Salt Lake City International Airport.
A small conference room adjacent to the offices of the airport police department had been pressed into service as a command post by the time Kat Bronsky arrived. Frank Bothell, a thirty-year FBI veteran, looked up from a commandeered desk as she walked in. He motioned her over as he finished a phone call.
"Yeah... yeah, that's what I need." He held his hand over the mouthpiece and looked up at Kat. "It's Washington. I've already got things in motion. I'll brief you in a minute."
She smiled and patted his shoulder, suppressing the overwhelming feeling of relief that he was already there. The worry over how to diplomatically take over and organize an airport full of male officers in ten minutes or less had dominated her thoughts during the drive over.
Now she'd have solid help. Tough and kind at the same time, Frank Bothell was a man who genuinely liked working with women, though he cut them no slack as professionals.
Suddenly he was off the phone, leaving FBI headquarters on hold.
"Okay, Kat. Give me your laundry list."
"First thing I need, Frank, is the chain of command. Who's in charge?"
He nodded. "Overall local tactical command? I am. Negotiating and strategic planning based on your assessment of the hijacker? You are. Two of our other agents are inbound to help. I'll get everything ready to receive the airplane and coordinate with these folks," he turned to a startled looking airport police sergeant standing beside him. "Bill, was it?"
"Yeah. Bill Lipsky."
"Okay. Kat, Bill. Bill, Kat."
They shook hands quickly as Frank Bothell continued. "When it comes to dealing with whoever is in that cockpit, that's your baby, Kat.
You tell me what you need, when you need it, and give me directions on what to do or not to do. I'll try my best to make things happen the way you want."
She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Okay."
"If you tell me to storm the airplane, though, we'll need approval from Washington. I've got the Bureau's SWAT team coming and they'll be backed up by the Salt Lake City Police. Washington has alerted the Bureau Hostage Rescue Team as well, and will launch them if necessary. Other things I can do locally."
"I need to talk to someone in the airplane as soon as possible. How do we do it?"
Bill Lipsky sighed. "I've got an FAA man coming down right now to help with that. When they get within, say, ninety miles, we can hook you up directly over the aircraft's radio. On the ground, we can run a special hard-wire phone out to the aircraft if the hijacker will let us, or we can plug into the plane's interphone system by the nose gear and talk to them over that."
Kat nodded. "Or you could hand them a cell phone through the window or use a radio walkie-talkie. A digital cell phone would be better for privacy, though, if we can't do a hard-wire. I don't want the media broadcasting what we say."
"Okay," Bill Lipsky looked over his shoulder and motioned another airport officer over. "I'll get someone searching for one."
"Okay," Kat unfolded her arms and stood away from the desk she'd been leaning on. "Frank, before I talk to Washington, what do we know about the hijacker?"
"Nothing yet. We've got an urgent request to the airline for the names of all aboard, including crew, and we've got a team standing by in D.C. to run the backgrounds as soon as we get them. Did you hear about CNN having a reporter aboard, and the wild fly-by through Monument Valley?"
Kat shook her head no, and Frank filled her in. "The reporter was cut off in midsentence. They could have run past the.max range of the radio phones," Frank added. "Or-"
"Or the hijacker ordered them turned off, which would be significant," Kat finished.
"Did you know that the hijacker's demanding the Attorney General and a federal judge and several others be kept on standby?"
She nodded. "I heard." She fixed the senior agent with a steady gaze, "Any gut feeling whether this could be a Waco or Ruby Ridge thing?"
"No. It's all guesswork at this stage."
"I mean, asking for federal and state involvement sounds purely political. This isn't the anniversary of one of those disasters, is it?"
"Not that any one of us can recall, Kat. Nothing that's dear to those maniacs. Headquarters is doing a full check, and Clark Roberts is waiting for you on one of the lines there." He gestured to a telephone.
"But I agree, it sounds damned political to me."
Kat kept her expression neutral. If this was political and the hijacker suicidal...
A cold apprehension gripped her. Dealing with unbalanced humans was one thing. Bargaining with rabid political zealots was entirely another. She mumbled a small prayer that it wasn't the latter.
Kat looked quickly at the faces around her. Frank Bothell was calm and collected. Bill Lipsky, the tall, tanned young police sergeant, had a wide-eyed expression of serious alarm; but several other police officers in the room were obviously pumped.
And they're all looking at you, girl! she thought.
Kat turned toward Bill Lipsky, the police sergeant. "Okay," she said with as much authority as she could muster, "someone please try to get me a briefing on the amount of fuel aboard that aircraft and its range. I need aviation maps and a list of airports they can use in the surrounding multistate area. And, if you can manage it, get me an aircraft flight manual for that precise model."
"You got it," Lipsky said.
"Frank, could you push them to get me a radio hookup to the aircraft as soon as possible? We need to know what we're dealing with."
She started to turn toward the phone, then looked back at him. "And as soon as you know where you're going to park them on the airport, let me know."
"Why, Kat?" Frank asked with one eyebrow raised.
She looked him squarely in the eye and smiled. "Because I can't build the trust of a hijacker by hiding in a windowless office. I'll need to be out there at some point where the man can see me."
"You're assuming the S.O.B. is male."
She chuckled. "Most S.O.B.'s are."
Frank rolled his eyes. "You worry me, Bronsky."
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90. 11:45 A.M.
Annette had made her way back to the interphone panel as soon as the 737 righted itself, and Ken had answered rapidly.
"You've got to understand, Annette. I've got to do what he tells me as safely as I can. Go sit down now and pray." "Is he listening, Ken?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Mister hijacker, will you please tell us what you want?"
"ANNETTE! Jeez, what are you trying to do? Thank God he found that amusing."
The cockpit interphone clicked off for a second, then back on.
"Annette, look. Go back and sit down and keep an eye on Bostich."
Annette took a deep breath and pressed the interphone button harder.
"What about Bostich, Ken?"
"Say again?"
"You said to watch Mr. Bostich. I'm asking you why. What does he have to do with anything? Is this something personal?"
There was a lengthy pause. "Hold... hold on." His voice diminished as he talked to one side of the interphone handset, apparently to the hijacker.
"Can I tell her? I mean, what the hell's the point of keeping my crew in the dark?"
More silence, then Ken's voice on the line.
"All he'll let me tell you is this. This whole thing is about Rudy Bostich. Bostich isn't the noble individual he appears to be. That's not my deal, that's his."
"I... I don't understand, Ken. If it's about Bostich, why is he hijacking all of us?"
"Enough, Annette! I've got a guy with a gun and a bomb up here, and we're not going to antagonize him, okay? Enough. Go sit down."
"Ken,"
"Now, Annette. NOW?
"Okay. Okay, I will."
She replaced the handset and moved into the front of the first class cabin in total confusion as the P.A. clicked on.
"Ah, folks, all flight attendants are to be seated immediately in the nearest seat. I'm ordered to tell you that, crew. Do it now!"
A large, masculine hand reached out from nowhere and gently guided Annette into one of the plush first class aisle seats. She let herself settle back and closed her eyes for a second before looking over at her rescuer, who was trying to help her with her seatbelt.
"Thank you, Mr. Bostich," she managed.
He smiled thinly. "Don't mention it. The hijacker is probably watching through the peephole."
She drew a long, uneven breath.
"Anything I can do for you, Annette? By the way, I wish you'd call me Rudy."
Annette turned and looked him in the eye, her resolve hovering on a knife edge of momentary indecision. She was supposed to "watch" Bostich. Did that include talking to him? Why shouldn't she warn a future U.S. Attorney General that he was the apparent target of a hijacker?
Prosecutors always had criminals in their past crying foul play.
Maybe he would know what this was really all about.
After all, it isn't Rudy Bostich who's hijacking this aircraft, is it?
"Mr. Bostich... Rudy... I'm not sure how to say this, but the hijacker is saying this whole thing is about yo,u."
"What?"
"That's all I know."
Rudy Bostich swallowed hard and looked at the cockpit door, then shook his head.
"That makes no sense. I have no idea what he means."
Annette's eyes remained fixed on the back of the cockpit door as she sighed and nodded her head. "In any event, we've got to get word to the FBI and m
y company."
Rudy Bostich looked puzzled. "How?"
She fished his tiny cellular phone from the pocket of her flight apron and slipped it in his hand, feeling, more than seeing, the confused look on his face.
"I... thought you said..."
Annette nodded again. "I did. And I think he probably does have a cellular signal detector up there. But I'm guessing he wouldn't blow us up over the first unauthorized use."
Rudy Bostich looked at the phone in his hand as if he'd been handed a live grenade. "Don't you think the FBI already knows, with the unplanned flight to Salt Lake, that there's a hijacker up here?" "I'm sure they do know," Annette said. "But they need to know exactly what's happening up here, and I need some information from them." "What do you mean?" he asked.
John J Nance - The Last Hostage Page 9
