Dirt and pebbles were being flung into his face as he went forward, hunched over. Men in the helicopter grabbed him and strapped him down, and he looked and saw that his clothes and laptop had joined him. He shouted out questions but the crewmen just tapped the side of their helmets and shook their heads.
Victor thought that he would throw up as the helicopter swooped and dove, and it was a short hop indeed, for now they were flying into an airbase, it looked like, military aircraft. The helicopter landed. Other uniformed men nearly dragged him off it and he tried to ask more questions, but no one would talk to him, nobody at all, as two or three of them dressed him in a flight suit of some sort and a helmet was jammed over his head, and then in front of him was a jet, a fighter aircraft of some sort, and his bags were placed into a small storage bin on the side of the fuselage and good Christ, he was actually hauled up into the open cockpit, put into the seat, straps and hoses were connected and he blinked his eyes very hard as the jet started moving down the runway, and the cockpit canopy started lowering over his head.
‘You okay back there, sir?’ came a crackling voice through the headphones in his helmet.
‘I... I guess so. What in hell is going on?’
‘The name’s Major Hanratty. Sir, my job is to get you to Memphis as soon as possible.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t know, sir. All I can tell you is to hold on back there. Once we’re wheels up, we’re going supersonic for a bit.’
Victor tried to swallow. Tried to swallow three times before he could produce saliva.
‘But...but I thought supersonic wasn’t allowed over civilian areas.’
The major said, ‘Usually you’re right, sir. But not this morning. Word I got is to break as many windows as I wanted, just as long as I got you to Memphis quick, like. You must be some big-ass VIP.’
Victor heard the tremor in his voice. ‘I’m...I’m just a doctor. That’s all.’
The major said quietly, ‘Must be a hell of a medical emergency out there in Memphis, then.’
Victor said nothing, tears springing to his eyes, nausea swelling in his guts, as he knew right then and there that it had all gone wrong.
Final Winter.
May God have mercy on me, he thought.
And as the jet took off, he had a sudden wish that something mechanical would happen, something bad so that this would all end now, in a clean and quick fireball, rather than ending up in Memphis.
But God wasn’t listening to him.
The aircraft took off safely.
Just his luck.
~ * ~
Brian looked to Monty who had just hung up the phone, arranging for Victor to come southwest. It had been a hell of a performance, and Brian wished that some of his commanders back at the NYPD had Monty’s presence and authority. But there was one more thing. Brian said, ‘You better be good, the next few hours.’
‘Only way I can be, son. Why did you say that?’
‘Because the higher-ups are going to want to have their say, have their input, have their command. You and me and Victor and the General, we know what’s happened, what can happen. We don’t have time to bring half the government up to speed on this fuck-up, much as they’re eager to know.’
Monty said, ‘You’ve been reading my mind, pal. Time for another phone call.’
~ * ~
Air Force General Mike McKenna had just received a status report from his adjutant on the deployment of F-16s and F-15s to track the AirBox aircraft when his phone rang. He picked it up, heard from the senior airman who served as his admin aide, and said, ‘All right, put him through.’
There was a click and he said, ‘General McKenna, Northern Command.’
‘Sir, this is Montgomery Zane. Department of Defense representative with Foreign Operations and Liaison Team Seven. Sir, I’m at the Memphis Airport, at the Operations Center for AirBox.’
‘So?’
‘General, please check your standing orders. Especially the Presidential Directive 61-10, issued on September 12, 2001. Sir, I’m the command lead for this incident. You’re not to take any hostile action against those nineteen AirBox aircraft without my authorization. And for purposes of identification my ID code for today is Bravo Bravo Zulu Twelve. I’m lead.’
‘The hell you are.’
‘The hell I’m not, general. Check your standing orders. This baby is mine. You’ll be informed at all times about what’s going on, and I may need you to take action against those aircraft, but right now it’s in my lap.’
General McKenna said, ‘I don’t have time to argue with you, Zane.’
‘Good. Neither do I. Look, we’ve got a situation here: I don’t want to be a hard ass, but check your standing orders.’
McKenna shifted the phone to another ear, scribbled a note, writing down BBZ12. ‘I intend to do just that. And to get those orders changed.’
Zane said, ‘Your prerogative, sir. But I think you’ll find that to change that means going through the White House, and I think the President is kinda busy right now.’
~ * ~
Alexander Bocks felt the iron band of tension around the base of his skull start to ease, just a bit. He looked to Zane and said, ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure.’
‘What branch of the service did you serve in?’
Monty smiled, started making notes on a legal pad in front of him. ‘All of them.’
The police detective interrupted. ‘All of them?’
‘Sure. Special program, set up after 9/11. Besides intelligence communities not talking to one another, there were also problems with branches of the military not talking to each other. Each branch had its own bit of turf, guarded quite jealously. Bunch of us were recruited to spend time with each branch, make contacts, know deep down how each side ticks. Help break down barriers. So I’ve trained and deployed with Army Special Ops, Air Force Special Ops, Navy SEALs ... so forth and so on.’
‘And what branch did you start with?’
Zane said, ‘Coast Guard.’
The detective looked incredulous. ‘No shit?’
‘No shit. But as my mama used to say, let’s look to the future. General Bocks, how much time do we have with your aircraft before they have to land?’
Bocks said, ‘Depending on how far they got before we told them to hold and orbit - four, maybe five hours.’
‘Know this is a wild question, but I’ve got to ask it. Any airborne-refueling capability for your aircraft?’
Bocks shook his head. ‘No. They’re MD-11s, converted to cargo carriers. Pilot and co-pilot for a crew. That’s it. When they get low. on fuel, they’re going to have to come down. No choice about it.’
Monty turned to Randy and said, ‘These canisters - is there any way for the crew to get to them? Any access hatch, inspection plate - any way they can get their hands on them?’
‘No,’ Randy said.
‘Can they be disabled? Power shut off to them – circuit-breaker popped - anything like that?’
A violent shake of the head. ‘No, damn it. . . these canisters - they were designed to operate automatically. The radio-altimeter switch arms the canisters when they go above a certain altitude - and when the aircraft descends to the critical altitude they open up and start spraying. There’s no way to stop it. No fucking way. Guys, let’s face up to it. In a few hours, no matter what we do, those canisters are going to start spraying airborne anthrax over the United States, and there’s not a goddamn thing we can do to stop it.*
~ * ~
Carrie heard Sean work the communications through her earphones. ‘Ah, this is AirBox 107, broadcasting to our F-16 neighbors to port and starboard. How’s it going, guys?’
A male voice, coming through, loud and clear. ‘This is Lance One, lead aircraft here, good morning.’
‘And good morning to you. Where you from, guys?’
‘Ohio ANG, out of Toledo.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Sorry, r
epeat.’
Sean said, ‘Lance One, what’s up? What’s going on?’ His voice rose some. ‘Come on, Lance One. What’s your mission?’
A pause, another hiss of static. ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, we’ve been told to escort. That’s all.’
‘Escort us where?’ Sean demanded.
‘Don’t know yet, AirBox.’
Sean said, ‘Are your weapons hot? Are you? What’s going on with us? Is there a bomb on board? A nuke? A chem weapon?’
‘Ahh...AirBox one-oh-seven, be advised, we’ve been ordered to escort. And that’s all I can say. Lance One, out.’
Sean swore and Carrie looked at him, raised an eyebrow. ‘Goddamn Air Force, eh?’
He said, ‘Days like this, I cheer for the fucking Navy.’
~ * ~
Brian saw the General glare at his machinist guy and heard him say, ‘We’ve got a few hours. And in those few hours, we’ll come up with something.’
Monty said, ‘You got any ideas?’
‘Not a one,’ the General said, suddenly scribbling on his notepad. ‘But there is one thing I’ve got to do.’
‘What’s that?’ Brian asked.
The General stood up, and Brian saw that he was holding a sheet of paper, and that his hand was shaking. ‘Time to be straight with my crews. Time to tell them what’s going on.’
Brian said, ‘Sir, are you sure that—’
Bocks looked pissed. ‘They don’t know because me and you and your goddamn Adrianna thought they didn’t have a right to know. But they sure as hell do have a right to know now. And I’m going to take care of it, right now.’
He went out of the room, striking a chair with his hip as he went out to the main Operations Center. Monty said to Randy, ‘Your boss is one hard charger.’
Randy toyed with a pencil on the conference-room table. ‘The general’s doing just fine. Over a week ago, his biggest worry was whether my union was going to strike his ass over dental care. Now he’s worried about nineteen aircraft and thirty-eight people that work for him, plus the fact that his equipment is getting ready to kill hundreds of thousands of his fellow citizens. So cut the General some fucking slack, all right?’
‘Sure,’ Monty said.
‘Sure,’ Brian said.
~ * ~
The flashing light from the control pedestal caught her eye again, and Sean said, ‘Incoming message, Carrie.’
‘All right, then.’
The ACARS communication coming out was one long goddamn message. The strip of paper came out and came out and came out, and Carrie sighed as Sean reached down and tore it off. She held it up to the light and read:
AB 107
YOUR AIRCRAFT AND EIGHTEEN OTHER AIRBOXES CARRYING TWO CANISTERS IN AIR CONDITIONING PACK EXHAUSTS THAT CONTAIN AIRBORNE ANTHRAX.
REPEAT, YOUR AIRCRAFT CARRYING TWO CANISTERS IN AIR CONDITIONING EXHAUST PACKS THAT CONTAIN AIRBORNE ANTHRAX.
CANISTERS SET TO RELEASE ANTHRAX UPON DESCENT BELOW THREE THOUSAND FEET SORRY TO SAY NO METHOD CURRENTLY AVAILABLE TO ALLOW YOU TO DISABLE OR REMOVE CANISTERS.
CONTINUE TO HOLD CURRENT ALTITUDE. AVOID ICING CONDITIONS, MAXIMIZE FLIGHT ENDURANCE.
WE ARE WORKING TO RESOLVE ISSUE,
GET YOU AND AIRCRAFT SAFELY TO GROUND WITHOUT RELEASING ANTHRAX.
MORE TO FOLLOW.
BOCKS.
Sean read the message and said, ‘Well, the General is there.’
‘Hurray for the General,’ Carrie said, crumpling up the message sheet and letting it fall to the cockpit floor. ‘Notice what he left out?’
‘Huh?’
She pointed out the windscreen, to their quiet escorts. Lance One and Lance Two.
‘He didn’t tell us what we already know. That those fine pilots out there, if they start seeing us descend, are going to blow us out of the sky. That’s what he left out. That if they don’t figure out something, something quick, we and the eighteen others are going to be shot down.’
Ahead of them dawn was breaking.
~ * ~
Brian listened to Monty and Randy debate options, plans, possibilities, and Brian yawned and rubbed at his sore chest and hoped that in the next few hours the Memphis police wouldn’t figure out where he was and come arrest his ass for assaulting that cop and the EMT. And for stealing the cop’s service weapon, one of the worst crimes to commit against a cop.
Monty said, ‘Look, isn’t there any way to get fuel in those wing tanks? Get a guy lowered down from a helicopter or something ... get the cap off.. . get some fuel in. Anything to buy us some time.’
Randy said, ‘No. Shit, man, this isn’t like one of those Airport movies, where you’re going to get somebody dangling from a cable, ten thousand feet up, and ask him to unscrew a fuel cap about seven inches in diameter while the outside air temp is twenty below. Not going to happen. And even if you were able to get those fuel caps off, where is the fuel coming from? Air Force and Air National Guard are the only outfits that have airborne-refueling capability, and only with aircraft that have the refueling ports designed to receive a refueling hose. Otherwise you’d be trying to dangle something like a garden hose into a small hole while traveling at two hundred knots in mid-air. Can’t happen. Trust me, 1 know. I was in the Air Force long enough and my own son is a pilot for a refueling jet, the KC-135.’
Brian said, ‘Okay. Let’s agree that airborne refueling is off the table. We already know that the crew can’t reach the canisters from where they are. Is there any way to block those air-conditioning exhaust vents from the outside?’
‘Oh, sure,’ Randy said, his voice sharp. ‘We’ll just ask for volunteers from my machinists. We’ll go up in an open-cockpit aircraft, like a Sopwith Camel, a two-seater, maybe, and my guy will reach up and plug the vents with chewing gum. Is that what you want?’
Monty leaned forward. ‘No. What I fucking want are some goddamn ideas, that’s what, some suggestions on how to fix this goddamn problem.’
Randy shouted back, ‘It wasn’t our goddamn problem to begin with! We listened to you, we trusted you, and look what the fuck happened! We’re hours away from killing hundreds of thousands of people, and I’m telling you, we can’t get to those canisters! We can’t! And it’s your fucking fault!’
And in the silence following this outburst, a new voice was heard in the room:
‘Excuse me, could somebody tell me what all the screaming is about?’
~ * ~
Somehow, somewhere, the word got out to the news media, and as usual the first stories were a mix of truth and supposition, seasoned with ill-informed speculation. With the story breaking of the color change to red in the Homeland Security threat level - coupled with the story of the evacuation of the President, his Cabinet and Congressional leaders off to secure areas - there was a media frenzy as reporters, assignment editors and network and newspaper executives, some of them awake for less than a hour, worked the phones.
MSNBC was first, followed by Fox and then CNN, reporting that the government was responding to a threat involving AirBox aircraft and airborne anthrax. In addition to this bit of truthful news, the story was also broadcast that the aircraft had been hijacked and were now heading for major metropolitan centers.
And in these same major metropolitan centers, within less than an hour, outbound highways were clogged with American citizens desperate to get away from what they thought was going to be a new Ground Zero. As a result of this unofficial evacuation the very first civilian deaths associated with Final Winter began to occur as traffic accidents happened, the elderly and the ill succumbed to the fear and, in a few cases, police shot looters taking advantage of the chaos.
The unplanned and unanticipated evacuation also meant that instead of being concentrated in target cities the exposed population was now spreading out to the suburbs and countryside, increasing the possible target areas for the still-airborne AirBox aircraft.
~ * ~
Victor Palmer came into the conference room, groggy and confused about wh
at was going on, still feeling weak from the rigors of the flight that had picked him up in Maryland and brought him to Memphis. He went into the room, laptop under his arm, and took a seat. He looked at the faces, recognized them all, and turned to Brian, the only one he felt truly comfortable with. He knew bad news was just seconds away from hitting him, and for some reason he wanted it to come from the police detective. They were experts at passing on bad news.
‘Brian?’ he asked. ‘What went wrong?’
‘Lots, doc. I’m not sure where to begin.’
Victor said, ‘I don’t understand. Adrianna told me two days ago that Final Winter was canceled. That the vaccine wasn’t going to be distributed. What happened?’
Final Winter Page 42
