In the darkness she made her way into the study. Out of habit, she clicked on the television and muted the volume. By now every set in the house was tuned to CNN. As a commercial ended and the hour’s top stories began, Lauren stood in the middle of the room and waited. Long moments passed as they previewed the upcoming news stories, she felt a small reprieve when Robert Huntington wasn’t mentioned, but then she doubted the news would break in the middle of the night. Whoever had the information would probably wait for maximum impact.
On a nearby table sat her and Donovan’s wedding picture. She tried to remember every perfect detail of that day, but all she could think about were the words: till death do you part. Lauren walked to the table and turned the frame face down. Still clutching her phone, she sat down on the oversized leather sofa, brought her knees up, and curled herself into a ball as if she could somehow make herself a smaller target for all that was about to come. She’d never felt so lost and alone. The tears came quickly, followed by wracking sobs that tore through her entire body. Her sorrow was so overwhelming she had no idea how she was going to make it through the next hour—let alone the rest of her life.
A tiny red light on her phone began blinking. She immediately thought the worst. If someone were trying to reach her at four in the morning the news couldn’t be good, but it was only an e-mail. She opened the screen and as she read the contents a shock ran the entire length of her body.
From: Donovan. URGENT! Reply immediately—need help. Nash.
Lauren tried to imagine how this was possible. What if this was just some sort of a weird delay? She prayed that wasn’t the truth, and through tear-flooded eyes she typed her reply.
Is this really you? I need proof.
The tears rolled down her face as she waited. Her frayed nerves felt as if they were ready to collapse. Could this be some cruel joke? Had someone hacked Donovan’s e-mail account? The light flashed again.
Yes, it’s me. You were right about Kipling. Have been kidnapped and now I’m in the back of the da Vinci—we’re shadowing an airliner. D.C. anthrax attack imminent. Need help. Donovan.
Lauren had her proof. Donovan was using the computer in the back of the da Vinci and he was in trouble. She quickly created a reply.
What can I do?
Find us. I don’t know where we are or what airline. We’re flying underneath an Airbus A330 coming from the Caribbean. Estimate 150 kilograms of anthrax aboard set to be dispersed.
Typing quickly, Lauren pictured the situation.
I’ll find you. Are you able to reach cockpit?
Yes, but any action will cause collision. Somehow need separation from Airbus.
Give me five minutes and I’ll have some answers.
Lauren changed functions on her phone and called a number from her directory. A groggy-sounding Michael picked up on the fourth ring.
“Michael, it’s Lauren. I need your help.”
“Lauren? What the—”
“Donovan’s alive and he’s in trouble. He just e-mailed me from the back of the da Vinci.”
“What?” Michael replied. “He’s where?”
“He’s been kidnapped. He said the da Vinci is flying underneath an airliner, an Airbus A330. There’s anthrax aboard the Gulfstream and D.C. is the target.”
“Oh God. How far out are they?” Michael said, sounding fully alert.
“I’ll know after I make my next phone call.”
“I’m on my way over. Tell your protective detail I’m coming. I don’t want to get shot.”
“Will do.” Lauren severed the connection. Adrenaline was flying through her body as she wiped away the last of her tears, opened the door, and yelled for Buck.
Moments later he appeared. “What’s happening?”
“I just got an e-mail from Donovan. He’s alive.”
“Are you sure it’s him—someone might be trying to draw you out in the open.”
“I’m positive it’s him. He’s in the back of the da Vinci and it’s headed this way. Whoever is flying is planning to release anthrax on D.C.”
“That’s crazy—no unidentified airplane will get within fifty miles of D.C.”
“Donovan says they’re flying underneath an airliner. If he storms the cockpit, he’s afraid there will be a collision, which means they’re flying with virtually zero separation to look like one target on anyone’s radar.”
“I’m calling the Pentagon.” Buck stepped away and pulled out his cell phone.
“No! Buck, can we wait before we make that call? We both have a pretty good idea what their response will be. If you call the Pentagon, they’ll scramble fighters and shoot them down—no questions asked. Am I right?”
“We have credible intelligence about a biological attack.” Buck’s fingers hovered above the keypad. “What would you have me do?”
“Donovan told me he could reach the cockpit, but it would probably cause a collision. Same result. Mission accomplished. Let’s try and find a way to save all those lives.” Lauren snatched the secure phone from its cradle and punched in an unlisted number.
“Who are you calling?”
“The DIA. I already called Michael, he’s on his way over. Can you get him in here as fast as possible?” As she waited she could hardly draw a full breath. There was no time to fully absorb what was happening. All she could do was react to the situation and do it quickly. Donovan was still alive, but if she failed, then she’d have lost him all over again.
“Ops desk, Fletcher speaking.”
“Regan, this is Dr. Lauren McKenna. I need a favor.”
“Dr. McKenna, of course. What can I do for you? Is everything okay?”
“I’ll explain later, but I need you to pull up the FAA data stream and tell me how many A330s there are inbound to the D.C. area from the south, say South America or the Caribbean.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Hang on a sec,” Regan replied. “Okay, that was easy. There’s only one. Liberty Airways Flight 401, en route from São Paulo to Dulles.”
“Can you give me a position for that flight?”
“Let me pull up the NORAD screen. Here we are. Flight 401 is just about to cross overhead Norfolk, Virginia. They’ll be on the ground in about half an hour.”
“Thank you, Regan. Do you happen to know exactly where Liberty Airways Operations is?”
“Yes,” Regan replied. “Concourse B.”
“I thought so. Thanks again, and I’ll see you later.”
“What did you find out?” Buck asked.
“That we have to get to Dulles Airport as fast as possible.”
“Michael Ross just pulled up,” Andy transmitted to Buck over the radio.
“We’re coming out,” Buck replied. “Abigail is your responsibility.”
“Roger that.”
Buck threw a jacket on, covering his holstered weapon, and turned to Lauren.
“Do you have your DIA credentials?”
Lauren grabbed them from the desk drawer. Buck held the front door open for her just as Michael came up the stairs. He was dressed in jeans, loafers, and a dark blue sweatshirt with Eco-Watch printed in gold letters across the front. She could tell that he was in pain; he winced at each impact his foot had with the ground. She hugged him and quickly explained what she knew as the three of them piled into Buck’s SUV.
Buck fired up the throaty V-8, it was a Pentagon vehicle and he lit up the red-and-blue flashers embedded in the grille. He backed out of the driveway, then slammed it into gear and burned rubber as he accelerated down the street.
“Did you find him?” Michael asked.
“Liberty Airways Flight 401, en route from São Paulo, Brazil, to Dulles International,” Lauren said then hesitated. “They’re over Norfolk, Virginia. Which is why we need to get to Liberty Operations.”
“Oh no,” Michael said under his breath as he quickly did the math. “That puts them less than thirty minutes out.”
“I’ve got to make a phone call,” Buck said. “We can’t ignore
this threat.”
“Who are you calling?” Lauren was torn between what she knew was right and how she felt. If Buck sent up the alarm, the Air Force would scramble their fighters, intercept Donovan, and fire on the da Vinci. The protocols had been in place since nine-eleven. Everyone who died would simply be chalked up as an acceptable loss, collateral damage in the war on terror.
“General Porter made it possible for me to take this assignment,” Buck said. “I’m going to report directly to him.”
Lauren looked at her watch. “Are there fighters already airborne or will they have to scramble from their base?”
“That’s classified,” Buck replied.
“I probably have a higher security clearance than you do. What I’m trying to ask is: will they have time to intercept the Airbus before it reaches Washington D.C.?”
“Yeah, there’s time.” Buck said. “Can I at least tell General Porter we’re working on a plan to get control of the Gulfstream? Would I be lying if I told him that?”
“No, you wouldn’t be lying,” Lauren replied.
“What is our plan?”
“We have to get to Operations,” Lauren said. “Concourse B. Donovan said he needs some separation from the Airbus, and then he can storm the cockpit and get control of the airplane.”
Lauren’s phone flashed that she’d received another message. “It’s from Donovan.” She read the message out loud.
This is not the first attempt. We think the Bristol Technologies airplane collided with the Pan Avia 767. The anthrax is from prewar Iraq. The terrorist is Israeli. Nathan Strauss.
“Oh Jesus,” Buck whispered.
“Who’s Nathan Strauss?” Michael asked.
“He’s the man who shot you.” Lauren turned to Buck. “If we can get to Liberty Operations, I think we can communicate directly with the crew aboard the Airbus—without Strauss knowing. Donovan can maintain his element of surprise.”
“She’s right,” Michael said. “This Strauss guy is without a doubt monitoring each and every frequency that the Airbus crew is given. With the equipment in the da Vinci, they can monitor VHF, UHF, as well as HF frequencies. Our only advantage is they don’t think anyone knows they’re there.”
“How can we do that then?” Buck asked. “You already pointed out that the terrorists could be monitoring all of the frequencies.”
“They can’t monitor everything,” Michael said. “There are dedicated data links that can communicate directly with the Airbus. Once we’re inside Liberty Operations, we could send what amounted to a text message, via satellite, to any of their airliners, anywhere in the world. Not only that, the crew could send a message back to Operations the same way. We need that secure data link.”
“I’m sending Donovan a message telling him what we’re doing,” Lauren said.
“I’ve got to make my call,” Buck said. “Tell Donovan he’s going to have company shortly. If I can convince General Porter not to shoot, they may get at least one chance to get control of the airplane.”
“Tell Porter that if they launch a missile, the pressure wave from the explosion will undoubtedly disperse some part of the anthrax into the atmosphere,” Lauren said. “Donovan told me he thinks there’s at least a hundred fifty kilograms of anthrax aboard, that’s roughly three hundred pounds.”
“Is that a lot?” Michael asked. “I mean, how bad is this?”
“It’s apocalyptic,” Lauren replied. “I worked on a project to calculate biological and nuclear fallout models factoring varying atmospheric conditions. We calculated models for this very scenario. There won’t be enough antibiotics stockpiled to cure more than a fraction of the victims. The rest of the people are going to die a horrible death. If they release the full hundred fifty kilograms of anthrax aloft, on a clear, calm night like tonight, the fatalities could reach over a million, maybe even as many as five million. This is why you need to tell General Porter not to shoot them down. If even three percent of the anthrax is dispersed into the atmosphere, the death toll could easily reach into the tens of thousands.”
“I’ll tell him,” Buck said.
Lauren sent her message to Donovan. She took a moment to examine the cloudless night sky. She imagined dozens of armed fighters roaring off into the sky to intercept her husband, their afterburners shattering the predawn calm. She had no idea how much time Donovan had before the Air Force started shooting. She knew enough to understand that after 9/11, the official position of the military was to shoot first, ask questions later. She hoped Buck was persuasive. She looked at her watch—she and Michael now had less than twenty minutes to find a solution or Donovan was going to die.
CHAPTER FORTY
Donovan opened the e-mail:
I’m with Michael. We’re on our way to Liberty Airways Ops. Will forward plan when we arrive on site. Buck forced to call military—company soon. Hoping you’ll get one chance to storm cockpit before fighters intervene.
Donovan typed a quick reply, and then turned toward Montero. “Okay, Lauren found us. They’re on their way to Liberty Airways Operations. She also says that we’re going to have company real soon.”
“What do you mean by company?”
“Air Force fighters.”
“Oh, perfect. Who’s with her, and exactly what is it you think they can do?”
“My wife is an analyst at the Defense Intelligence Agency. She’s got some serious resources. Michael Ross is with her and he knows airplanes, and Buck is the guy you want around when you need some doors opened. I trust all of them with my life.”
“Buck?”
“He’s a former Navy SEAL. I met him several years ago on a joint mission. He’s one of the smartest, most capable men I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t do anything half-assed, do you? Did you tell anyone on the ground that we’ve been infected with anthrax?”
Donovan shook his head. “I think we gave them enough to worry about. It isn’t spread person to person, so it’s not like we’re going to pass it to anyone else.”
“Do you think if we make it down in one piece, we’ll still have time to get treated?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate sitting here and waiting. Alec died without being able to fight back, and I don’t want to go that way. I’m serious. We need to get this over with before those fighters arrive.”
“Let me pose a theoretical question,” Donovan said as he watched Montero continually turn the screwdriver over and over in her hand, her eyes fixed on the cockpit. “If we rushed the cockpit, how fast could we take them both out? I mean, if we took them by surprise, could we neutralize them both where they sat?”
“I’ve been thinking about that very thing,” Montero said in a hushed tone. “There’s only room for one of us to get within striking distance in such a confined space. What you’re asking is: do I think I could kill them both without Strauss flinching and causing us to collide with the other plane?”
“You’re the one with the screwdriver.”
“Realistically, I doubt it. I could probably take out Rafael, but by then I’d have lost the element of surprise. There’s going to be a fight with Strauss, which leaves no one flying the plane. If I took Strauss out first, then I have a fight on my hands with Rafael. Again, there’d be no one flying the plane. I don’t see any way to make it crisp and clean.”
“We need to take Rafael out first and then do something to get Strauss to let go of the controls, just for a few seconds. I’ll reach around you and get us clear of the Airbus. After that, I’ll help you with Strauss.”
“Strauss is going to be a handful. There’s no room up there to apply any leverage.”
“Rafael’s getting up!” Donovan caught the unmistakable movement in the cockpit and whispered the alarm. Montero immediately slid across the aisle, and Donovan snapped the computer shut, threw the blanket over it, and slid it as far under the table as he could. He stretched his arms behind him, and draped his wrists around the table leg and lowered his h
ead as if still unconscious. Across the aisle he saw that Montero had done the same thing. Donovan half closed his eyes and waited.
Cloaked in the shadows under the table, he watched as Rafael rummaged around the galley. He opened a drawer, took out a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and took a long pull. Donovan risked eye contact with Montero and shook his head as if to say that this wasn’t the scenario they needed. She shifted slightly onto her side, the screwdriver visible in her hand.
Donovan shook his head once again—imploring Montero to sit tight. If she bolted, Rafael would see her coming before she reached him. A slight tremor ran through the Gulfstream, followed by the rolling bounce of some light turbulence. Rafael turned his back to the cabin and put out a hand to steady himself.
Montero got up on her knees and gathered her feet under her like a sprinter. Donovan stretched across the aisle and just as she sprang forward, his fingers clutched her belt. She launched herself, but instead of going forward, she went down on the carpet. Donovan pulled her into him, terrified that Rafael would sense what was going on behind him and turn around.
She fought momentarily, but Donovan held her tightly while he kept his eyes on Rafael. Long moments passed before the Israeli finally took his water and slipped back into the cockpit.
“He’s gone.” Donovan could feel her trembling in the darkness.
“Don’t ever grab me again!” Montero’s voice wavered with unchecked anger. “You should have let me take him. He was relaxed and didn’t give us more than a cursory glance!”
“He would have seen you coming.”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it!” Montero hissed. “Look, I don’t have your faith in the others. If we don’t do something now, then someone else will make a decision, and we’ll both die for nothing sitting on our hands.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Donovan whispered. “If we die, it won’t be for nothing. His plan is to kill millions, and it’s not going to happen. We’ve stopped Strauss—he just doesn’t know it yet. But we can’t afford to make a single mistake.”
Zero Separation Page 24
