John J Nance - The Last Hostage

by The Last Hostage(lit)

  "I remember that voice," Rudy said. "It is him."

  "Ken Wolfe?"

  Bostich nodded.

  "What about him, though? Are you enemies or something?"

  "In a way, yes."

  Annette sat in shocked silence, her mind racing through the possibilities. What were the odds of a hijacker who hated Rudy Bostich jumping on perhaps the only aircraft in commercial aviation flown by a captain who was also angry with the same man?

  "Annette?"

  Bostich's voice didn't penetrate the kaleidoscope of thoughts going through her mind. Annette got to her feet and moved quickly to the galley in search of her purse. She fumbled for several seconds in the bottom of the bag, her fingers closing finally around a single key that had escaped its side compartment.

  She moved out from behind the galley privacy curtains. She could feel Rudy Bostich's eyes on her from his window seat, but she didn't look at him. She knew he'd be frozen to his seat, too afraid to interfere.

  For several minutes there had been no P.A. announcements and no particular sounds from the cockpit. They could be in flight anywhere, from all appearances, and the apparent normality of the scene made her apprehension seem even more ridiculous.

  Annette moved to the cockpit door and put her hand on the doorknob without making a sound.

  She rotated the doorknob very slowly, very gently, until it stopped.

  With surgical care she lowered the nose of the key into position and gently rested it in the mouth of the keyhole. Slowly, very slowly, she pressed the key forward, letting the internal probes of the tumblers click along the teeth of the key one at a time, none of them producing enough sound to be heard against the slipstream of the jet.

  Finally, it would go no farther.

  If I'm wrong, I could get a bullet in the face.

  The thought stopped her momentarily as she raced over the logic again.

  No, I know I'm right. But I have to see for myself Annette looked down. The key was firmly in place.

  Oh God, how do I do this? Do I yank all at once, or pull slowly?

  It would take several seconds of clicking and turning sounds if she turned it slowly, she realized. The only way to maintain surprise was with a quick pull.

  The 737 hit a short stretch of turbulence and Annette braced herself against the restroom door with her shoulder.

  Now!

  She twisted the key hard in her hand and felt the latch give as she pulled the door open.

  Ken Wolfe's head whipped around toward the entryway at the noise with a look of horrified surprise as he recognized Annette and what she had done.

  She stood in shock, her mouth open, groping for words. Ken was sitting in the left seat as she had expected.

  The right seat was empty.

  "What the hell are you doing, Annette?" Ken asked, his face turning red.

  She swallowed hard. "The question is, what the hell are you doing, Captain?"

  A thin smile played across Ken's face, then disappeared as he looked forward at the instruments, then back at her.

  "Hand me that cockpit key, Annette. Then back out, close the door, and call me on the interphone."

  She was breathing rapidly, her head swimming. Her own voice sounded distant.

  "Ken, whatever you think you're doing, you're scaring the hell out of--"

  His booming voice cut her off. "DO EXACTLY AS I TELL YOU!

  I'm not kidding about the explosives."

  Annette saw his left hand leave the control yoke and come around to show her he was holding a small black object which looked like the remote arming device for a car alarm system.

  "This is a trigger, Annette. There's a real package of plastic explosives in my bag in the belly bin. If I'm incapacitated and let go of this for a second, it's all over. We explode. Besides, there are no other pilots aboard. So try to overpower me and everyone dies. Now GET OUT?'

  "Ken, WHY? Why are you doing this?"

  "Go, dammit. GO! Call me on the interphone."

  Annette handed him the key and backed out in confusion, fairly slamming the cockpit door.

  She felt her hand at her mouth, her entire body shaking.

  She paused, then moved to the interphone.

  "Okay, Annette, now calm down."

  "I don't understand this," she began, her voice shaking. "You're.. hijacking your own aircraft? Why, Ken? Why? What about your career?"

  "Annette, you want answers, and I'm not ready to give you answers.

  But I do have a question. Do you really know who that scumbag is in first class?"

  The words rolled off her ears at first. Her mind was dominated by the question Why?, her mind racing to find some rationale.

  "What?"

  "Do you know who Bostich is?"

  "Yes. He's probably going to be the next U.S. Attorney General."

  "Not if I can help it."

  His words sent a jolt down her spine.

  "what are you talking about, Ken?"

  "Bostich is the cause of this, Annette. whatever happens, don't you ever forget that."

  She felt completely overwhelmed. The captain's words were making no sense.

  "what do you have against Mr. Bostich?"

  "Don't call that animal 'mister' in my presence, understand? Bostich is the cause of all this. I'll explain later--to everyone. Meantime, you keep that bastard under tight control. He's involved in this. He's a damn criminal! Serve him nothing. Give him nothing. Tell him nothing.

  Tell that pile of walking shit to stay in his seat or the captain will arrest him on the spot and the hijacker may shoot him."

  "Hijacker? But you're the hijacker, Ken."

  "That's the point, isn't it?"

  "What's the point? Dammit, what is the point? I don't understand the point! I don't understand what you want." She felt tears on her cheeks.

  Pilots could be trusted. Pilots didn't turn on their crews. She couldn't have spent a quarter of a century trusting her life to pilots and accept this.

  This just can't be happening!

  FBI "Command Post," Salt Lake City International Airport.

  12:10 A.M.

  Agent Kat Bronsky replaced the telephone handset and sat back in stunned silence, the voice of the abandoned copilot in Durango still playing in her mind. His description of the captain's strange behavior in Colorado Springs had created a small knot of fear in her stomach, and it was growing.

  She glanced around the twenty-five-by-thirty-foot room at the various desks. Agents were hunched over telephones and computers in all directions and several airport police officers were moving in and out on various errands, all in feverish preparation for the arrival of the hijacked airliner.

  The adjective seemed too precise. Kat drummed her fingers unconsciously on the rim of the desk, rolling the concept over in her mind, trying to decide why it felt so wrong. She'd learned to trust her gut reactions, and her instincts and intuition seldom failed her. But now, real lives were in the balance. She hoped she had the courage to keep listening to herself.

  Kat sat forward suddenly, grabbed the telephone handset, punched up the line to Salt Lake Approach, and asked the controller for reconnection to AirBridge 90, as she turned toward Frank Bothell.

  "Frank, you want to put on a headset? I'm going to talk to him again."

  He turned and nodded cautiously.

  Ken Wolfe's voice replied within thirty seconds.

  "Captain, this is Agent Bronsky. I've been ordered by my superiors to speak directly to your hijacker. Put him on, please.".

  Kat could see Frank's eyebrows rising in her peripheral vision.

  The reply from the cockpit of AirBridge 90 came almost instantly.

  "No."

  Kat drummed her fingers on the back of the receiver for a few seconds in thought. In the distance, Frank Bothell huddled over a desk, his hands pressing both sides of a headset to his ears. He caught her eye and arched both eyebrows, but she looked away, not wanting to be dissuaded.

  "Captai
n, you know from your training that in a situation involving the hijacking of a civil aircraft in the United States, we are required to validate the presence of the hijacker, as well as validate the presence of any weaponry as best we can. So far, I've heard only your voice, and while I know the hijacker is sitting next to you, we absolutely must talk directly to him and hear his voice before we can begin to comply with his demands. This is not optional, do you understand that?"

  Nearly thirty seconds ticked by before the frequency came alive with the captain's voice once again.

  "Are you nuts down there, Bronsky? Don't you understand the basic situation here?" Ken Wolfe asked. "This fellow isn't in any mood to be dictated to, and he doesn't give a damn about your requirements."

  "Captain, ask him if he really wants us to meet his demands."

  More silence.

  "He says that's a dumb question. Of course he does, but he doesn't want to talk to you. He wants me to do the talking."

  "Captain, I know he's listening, so I'm going to say this right to his ear. Sir, if you refuse to talk to me, no one in Colorado is going to be arrested, and no one in the United States government is going to lift a finger to even consider your demands, regardless of your threats, because we don't officially believe you exist. To change that, all you have to do is talk to me. Just a few words. I need you to help me so I can help you. Okay?"

  No response. Kat felt her heart pounding. She was all too aware of the chance she was taking, but she had to know.

  A full minute ticked by, then two. Kat found herself longing to hear just the captain's voice again, anything to confirm they were still okay.

  My God, what if I just pushed a madman over the edge?

  The sound of a transmitter clicking on filled her ear, and for a moment she was too lost in relief to realize she was hearing a new voice. Gruff, deep, and masculine, it growled at her.

  "Listen you stupid broad. I don't wanna talk to you or anyone! The captain will relay for me. You put this kind of pressure on me again, I'll detonate this seven-three and you hotshot feds can spend the rest of your lives wishing you'd listened to me."

  Silence again.

  Kat snapped her head around toward the technician. "You get that?"

  He nodded, "Loud and clear."

  "Agent Bronsky?" The captain's voice had returned, and Kat pressed the phone hard to her right ear.

  "Go ahead, Captain."

  "I hope you're satisfied with that answer, because you really made him mad. I'd recommend you not try that again if your purpose is helping us survive this."

  "We've filled the square, sir. We'll talk with just you from here on."

  Kat replaced the receiver and glanced at Frank Bothell, who looked deeply worried as he pulled off his headset. He stood up and moved to her side, speaking quietly.

  "What in hell was all that about, Kat?"

  She looked him in the eye. "I was following a hunch, Frank."

  "You needed the bastard's voice on tape that bad?"

  She nodded. "I'll fill you in shortly."

  Frank nodded and began to turn away, then looked back at her, speaking softly out of the corner of his mouth as he leaned near her shoulder. "Don't freelance too much, Kat. The world, and more important, the Bureau, is watching, and you're the new kid on the block.

  Okay?"

  "Okay."

  As Frank moved away, Kat caught the technician's eye and walked quickly to the desk holding his recording equipment.

  "Larry, can you run an analysis on both those voices?" she asked. "What, you mean a stress analysis?"

  "That, and more. Can you digitalize the voices and run a comparison of the voice prints?"

  The technician studied her face, trying to discern her meaning.

  "I'd have to feed this through the phone to the lab in D.C. I don't have the equipment here."

  "Okay. As soon as you can."

  "But, Kat, you've got to tell me what you're looking for."

  "Just tell them to compare the voice prints, analyze the stress in each, and make certain we're.., dealing with two different larynxes."

  The technician drew back slightly and searched her eyes. "You want to make certain the voices come from different people?"

  She looked down at the table and nodded. "Don't make a big deal of this, okay? Just get it to the lab guys with that request. This is just a precaution, not a theory," she fibbed.

  The technician took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. You've got it. It's a simple procedure."

  "How long?"

  "Ten minutes. Fifteen on the outside."

  ."Let me know."

  Kat walked quickly across the room to where Frank was huddling with several newly arrived members of the Bureau's Regional SWAT team.

  "Frank? Can I borrow you for a minute?"

  He turned and gestured to the three men. "These fellows are providing the SWAT team from Salt Lake Police, Kat."

  She smiled at them and raised an index finger. "Forgive my manners, gentlemen. We'll meet formally later." She grabbed Frank's arm and steered him a few feet away.

  "I need some quick research done without raising questions. Do we have agents at AirBridge headquarters in Colorado Springs, yet?"

  Frank nodded. "Two agents. They arrived maybe five minutes ago and checked in with me. Why?"

  "How can I reach them?"

  Frank sighed and looked down for a moment before finding her eyes again. "Kat, tell me what you want them to do and I'll make it happen, but don't be coy with me. I need to know exactly what you're thinking."

  "I'm not being coy, Frank. I'm being cautious. Something's very wrong here."

  "What?"

  "About the captain. About this whole scenario. Something doesn't ring true and I need as much information about this captain as I can get."

  Frank massaged his chin for a few seconds as he studied her face.

  "Okay, Kat, spit it out. What do you suspect?"

  She looked around, then sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Frank. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I just talked to the copilot who was left behind in Durango, and I talked to the passenger they left. Frank, this captain was acting very odd this morning in Colorado Springs on the aircraft and in Durango. There's reason to believe that he may have been trying to get rid of any other pilots, including passengers who were pilots."

  "Why?"

  "I wish I knew. There's apparently a big-shot politician on board, but I don't know for certain that he's got anything to do with this."

  Frank was nodding. "Yeah. Rudy Bostich, U.S. Attorney from Connecticut.

  He's up for Attorney General." She nodded. "Frank, the copilot said that the captain came unglued this morning when he discovered Bostich was aboard. He witnessed some very weird reactions at the gate in Colorado Springs, and then there's this sudden engine shutdown out of the blue, and a convenient hijacker, and he gets all the pilots off the plane who might be able to land it."

  "What's the bottom line here, Kat?"

  Kat studied his face for a few seconds before answering. "I think the captain may be alone in that cockpit."

  "I'm not following you."

  "It's possible the captain is the hijacker."

  "Jesus Christ!"

  "Larry's feeding the voice tape to the lab right now to find out. I need background on this guy, any evidence of instability, or myopic allegiance to some weird cause."

  "Kat, are you saying that second voice sounded phony to you?"

  "Not really, but everything else points to the possibility, and whoever owns the hijacker's voice knows about airplanes. Did you catch his reference to the Boeing?"

  Frank looked puzzled. "What reference?"

  "The average person would call it a jet, or a jetliner, or a Boeing, or if they were really specific, a seven-thirty-seven..He called it a 'seven- three.' That's pilot talk, Frank. If there's a second person on that flight deck, he's either a pilot or he's very knowledgeable about the aviation community."

  "Tha
t's hardly conclusive," Frank replied.

  "But it's consistent with the impression we already had that the hijacker is not afraid of aviation."

  An airport police officer appeared at Kat's side. "Excuse me, Agent Bronsky?"