“Yes, which is still dependent on the computer. It’ll only work if …” His voice trailed off.
“If what?” she prompted.
He leaned toward her slightly as they walked, wondering if there really was surveillance equipment sophisticated enough to intercept words spoken softly through stiff lips. “Lindsey, I’ve tried to tell everyone that whatever went wrong last night is more than a bad circuit board. It’s somewhere in the software code, and if it happens again, remember that we’ve given this system a whole bunch of pathways to choose in taking over complete control of the airplane.”
“Ben, wait,” she said suddenly as she stopped him. “I’m not making a pass at you or issuing some sexual invitation, okay?”
“What?” he said, his voice sounding like a stammer.
She moved against him. “We’ve got to be very careful not to be caught talking in the open about this, so … this is merely a method of looking somewhat innocuous while whispering.”
“What is?”
“Here,” she said, taking his arm and pulling it to her waist. “Put your arm around me. Hold me close like we’re two lovers walking along, and we’ll alternately whisper in each other’s ears.”
“Oh. Okay.” He complied, sheepishly at first, relishing the feel of her through the wolf-fur coat and forcing himself back to the subject. “As I was saying, Lindsey, what this system is all about is taking over complete control of the jet. So, until I’ve found the problem, we can’t test it without running a huge risk. I left the team back there crunching numbers, but I had to get out here to think.”
“I didn’t track you down to scold you, Ben,” she whispered, “but we’ve got a corporate mandate, and you’re already planning to violate Martin’s direct order. I figured that out when I couldn’t find anyone preparing to fly tonight in your place.”
He was shaking his head, then remembered to lean toward her ear. “I can’t let anyone fly in my place, Lindsey. If anything happened, I could never live with someone who’s taking my place getting hurt just because Martin doesn’t understand.”
She stopped and caught his shoulder, turning him toward her and studying his face. “My God, Ben. You really expect to die tonight, don’t you?”
He turned away, but her grip was firm, and he finally met her eyes once more. “I … think there’s a good chance.”
“Look, if you’re really that worried—”
“Lindsey, you ever have that dream where you’re running from the monster but you can’t seem to move?”
She nodded.
“Okay. This morning, Lindsey, with Martin telling me we’ve got to do it, regardless, and Joe scared to death of General MacAdams, I mean … it was obvious that no one was listening.”
“I am, Ben.”
“But, can you stop this?”
She pulled back and looked him in the eye again. “Convince me.”
“Sorry?”
“Here. Sit.” There was a wooden bench adjacent to the path and she guided him to it and sat backward, beside him, her left arm snaking around his chest, his left arm kept discreetly in his lap. He felt a jumble of conflicting instincts as she leaned her head to his shoulder, almost cheek to cheek, and chuckled. “We may start some serious boy-girl rumors around here, but you’ve got my undivided, nonjudgmental attention. Now, convince me.”
On the adjacent runway and just out of view behind a row of trees, an Air Force C-141B pilot had run his engines to takeoff power and was beginning his takeoff roll, the rumble washing over them as Ben waited, enjoying her nearness.
“In a nutshell,” he said at last, “the computer program leveled us at fifty feet because that corresponds to the difference between the actual and the standard barometric setting. In other words, if the altimeter setting had been precisely twenty-nine, ninety-two inches of mercury, we would have hit the water.”
“So, you’ve found the glitch?”
“No. I just understand what the program’s goal was. I don’t know what part of the program came to that conclusion or how it set that goal, and that’s where the danger lurks. The second the system was engaged, it began descending us. It wasn’t a dive, Lindsey, it was a controlled descent, which means the program logic planned it. But how in the hell? I wrote that program, and there’s nothing in it that would give it the power or the basis to make such a decision.”
“But, the program can descend an airplane for landing.”
“No, the program is supposed to keep the airplane safe while a live pilot using the remote cockpit makes all the decisions on altitude, airspeed, configuration, and everything else. This … this thing was thinking for itself! Now, how the hell can I find and cure that if I don’t have a clue what I’m looking for?”
Lindsey fell silent for a few seconds.
“Ben, you’re not telling me this program has written its own fuzzy logic, are you? You’re not saying it’s making decisions on its own?”
He shook his head and glanced up for a second before answering, tracking the progress of a golden eagle soaring effortlessly in the crisp air overhead. She heard a tired sigh in her ear. “I don’t know what to think. Maybe … just maybe there’s a garbled line of code in there that made it behave like it was coming up with its own solution, but I just don’t know.”
“We have four days to the deadline,” she replied. “And the general has forced a meeting tonight at six where he’ll be demanding a full explanation. If we slip the schedule for twenty-four hours, will it make a difference?”
He snorted and began to chuckle.
“What?” she probed, partially turning toward him, a move that nuzzled his neck and sent a small chill of pleasure up his back. Lindsey smiled involuntarily at the smell of his cologne in her nostrils. “Tell me.”
“Well,” he said, “it’s like a warden asking the condemned if he’d like an extra day to give the governor more time to call. Yeah, an extra day would give me more of a chance to find a solution.”
“Is there anything else we can do to make sure the unit can’t crash the test plane?”
He nodded, partially turning toward her. “Yeah, but MacAdams will never approve it, and it would take some fancy jury-rigging of hardware.”
“Meaning?”
“An emergency disconnect T-handle to physically pull the computer-controlled servos off the control cables. Otherwise, we’re still at the mercy of the program.”
Lindsey patted his shoulder before disengaging. She stood, then leaned back down, her lips to his ear. “Okay, Ben. Joe may fire me for this, but we’re going to get you that extra day, and we’re going to install that emergency T-handle before we fly.”
“And if Martin says no?”
“We’ll do it anyway. If you’re too worried to fly, I’m too worried to let you.”
He turned his head a bit too quickly, and his nose brushed hers. The tantalizing proximity caused him to look into her eyes for a second, wondering how she’d respond if he kissed her.
But she was already pulling away, smiling as she did so.
SIX
TUESDAY, DAY 2 ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
April Rosen closed her cell phone and tried to focus as the streets of Anchorage flew by essentially unseen. She was vaguely aware that the landmark Anchorage Hilton was in view in the distance, but her mind was already at Providence Hospital, as she recalled Gracie’s words from the cell phone conversation when she’d stepped off the flight.
“There’s a Dr. Swift, April. He’s like a parrot saying ‘fine, fine, fine, they’re fine,’ but he won’t give details because my name isn’t Rosen. So I think your mom and dad really are fine, but when you get there, give him a cracker and make him define the word in clinical detail.”
“Okay,” was all April could manage.
“April? Really, they’re going to be okay. You got a grip?”
“I’m gripped,” she’d replied with a small, forced laugh. The three-hour flight after the connection from Vancouver through Seattle had been a
n agony of worry and waiting, even though Gracie’s unexpected appearance at the Seatac Airport gate had helped tremendously.
“I’m not here, you didn’t see me. I’m actually at the office working my buns off in the law library,” Gracie had instructed as she’d guided April to the outbound Alaska Airlines gate for the flight to Anchorage.
“How did you get out here to the gate to meet me without a ticket, Gracie? They don’t let people out here anymore, do they?”
“I bought a ticket,” Gracie had explained. “I’ll cash it in later.”
April looked up suddenly, realizing she was in Anchorage. The man behind the wheel glanced at her with concern. “Are you okay?” They were passing Chilkoot Charlie’s and half a block evaporated before she completely returned to the present and looked at him.
“I’m sorry?”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your thoughts. I just wondered if they’d told you anything about your folks. On the phone just then.”
April shook her head as she looked at him, letting the image register. In the airport he had been just a needed male with a hand-printed sign bearing the name Rosen. But now his image coalesced into an athletic young man in his thirties, sandy hair, large, powerful hands lightly gripping the wheel, and big brown eyes watching her.
“You lift weights, don’t you?” she asked, jolted by the stupidity of her question in light of her mission.
He merely smiled and looked sheepish. “Yeah. More in the winter to avoid terminal boredom.”
“The answer is no,” she said.
“I’m … sorry?” he replied.
She was shaking her head. “I can’t get any details out of them other than that my mother and dad are stable. Hello? What the heck does ‘stable’ mean?”
“Actually, it means they’re not in any serious danger and their condition is steady and not deteriorating.”
The words brought her attention back to him. “You a doctor?”
“No. I was an emergency-med tech while in college.”
“Oh.”
“Ambulances, mainly.”
“I want to thank you, by the way,” she said, her eyes forward again. “I’ve been very rude just using your help and hardly even saying hello.” Her voice was coming out flat and metered, as if she were in a daze, which, she thought, wasn’t far from the truth. “I don’t even recall your name, I’m embarrassed to say.”
“That’s okay, April. It’s Kimo.” He caught her puzzled expression and smiled.
“Kimo,” she repeated. “Is that … Hawaiian?”
He laughed easily. “No, just an old family name. I’m part native.”
“Well, Kimo … thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, dodging a large truck that had stopped too quickly in the middle of the roadway. “And no apologies are necessary. Gracie explained everything.”
“How do you know Gracie?”
She watched him skillfully negotiate an icy corner before looking back at her. A large smile had spread over his face. “Gracie and I were classmates in law school at the University of Washington. She’s … one incredible gal. We studied together, but she was just plain frightening, she was so sharp and … I don’t know … energetic.”
“Gracie is that, all right.”
“I once called her a gerbil on steroids, and I think she kinda liked that.”
“Did you two date?” April asked, trying to keep the conversation going as a shield against the incredible anxiety she was feeling. There was a roaring deep inside her yelling silently at him to step on it, and only her slightly forced questions were keeping it from bursting out as a scream.
Kimo chuckled. “Lord, I wish. Gracie’s a beautiful, desirable woman. But … she was my study partner, and … we just kind of ended up platonic.”
“Bummer,” April managed as she spotted Providence ahead.
She heard him laugh softly. “You have no idea.”
The entrance to the hospital slid up to her door and she threw him a quick smile and a thank-you, took the piece of paper with the number of his cell phone, and bolted inside, almost daring someone to stop her from going straight to room 312 East.
Arlie Rosen heard his daughter’s voice before he could open his eyes. He raised his hand in greeting as she came in and ran to hug him, her face glistening with tears.
“Daddy! Thank God!”
“It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.”
She pulled away and looked him up and down, relieved to see him shift his legs under the sheet.
“Everything’s working, Dad? All your parts are still here?”
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah. If I recall, that was the first question your mom asked.” He shifted position suddenly and winced. “Ow. I gotta remember not to do that.” There was a large butterfly bandage on the right side of his forehead and she leaned over to touch it carefully.
“What’s this, Dad?”
“Just a scratch.” His voice was low and slower than normal, she noted, his pacing a bit leaden. An IV bag was at work, but she saw no casts or traction devices.
“Where is Mom?” April asked, looking at the empty bed next to him and feeling a momentary panic until she remembered he’d already referred to Rachel in the present. Arlie focused on the question and waved away her flash of fear.
“She’s fine. They just took her down for an X ray, but she’s in better shape than I am. Don’t worry.”
April blinked back tears of relief and held her father’s hand as a nurse slipped quietly into the room and introduced herself.
“Would you like to speak with your parents’ doctor, Ms. Rosen? Miss O’Brien said you would.”
April followed her out to the corridor, where a tired-looking, silver-haired physician was working on a set of charts. He put his pen down and turned, offering his hand at the nurse’s introduction.
“They’re still thawing out,” Dr. Swift explained, “but all signs are stable. Your dad has a nasty contusion on his forehead and, I suspect, a light concussion. Your mom may just have a few bruises, but that’s it. They were very lucky. When the chopper crew started warming them up, their body temperatures were in the upper eighties. There wasn’t much time left.”
The memory of the abortive search request to the Coast Guard officer in Juneau a dozen hours before replayed in April’s head.
If Gracie hadn’t been successful, she thought, they would have died.
“When can they go home?” April asked, slowly regaining her balance.
He shrugged. “Contrary to popular belief, we don’t kick everyone out instantly. I’d say tomorrow morning, if they’re feeling up to it. I would prefer to keep them overnight because of the head bumps and hypothermia.”
She thanked him and started to turn when he stopped her. “Oh, Ms. Rosen? Your friend Gracie has called me several times from Seattle.”
“Several?” April said, grinning at him.
“Okay, about ten times. She’s my new best friend, and persistent enough to be a head nurse. I think she wants a call from you when possible.”
April thanked him and punched in Gracie’s number on her cell phone, handing it to her father as she returned to his bedside. He initiated the speakerphone function and placed the phone on his chest.
“Gracie! How’s my favorite surrogate daughter?”
“Well, I’m fine, Captain R, but how the heck are you and Rachel? And what happened? You two scared us to death.”
Arlie chuckled, taking time to breathe before answering. April sensed motion and looked over to see two men, one in a business suit, the other more casually dressed, standing uncomfortably just inside the door.
“Gracie,” Arlie was saying, “I haven’t had time to go over this with April yet, but … we lost the Albatross somehow.”
“I’m so sorry, Captain,” Gracie replied, as April got to her feet and covered the small distance to the two men.
“May I help you?” April asked, already aware that the taller of the two,
a man in his early thirties, was fumbling with something that looked like a wallet. The leather case opened, and she read the words “National Transportation Safety Board” before realizing that the other man was holding up a similar wallet with the familiar logo of the Federal Aviation Administration.
“George Mikulsky, NTSB field investigator for Alaska,” the young man was saying. She took his offered hand without enthusiasm, acutely aware that her father’s voice was filling the room as he began to describe the accident to Gracie.
The FAA inspector appeared to be in his fifties and humorless, a severe expression on his face. He offered his hand as well. “I’m Walter Harrison,” he said, without changing expression.
“Gentlemen, let’s step out in the corridor and give my father some privacy for a few seconds here,” April said, ushering them out and pulling the door closed behind her, muting Arlie’s words. “What can I—can we—help you with?”
Mikulsky and Harrison glanced at each other without expression before the NTSB investigator broke the brief silence.
“Well, there’s apparently been an aviation accident here involving your father and mother, and the loss of their aircraft, and the NTSB is required to investigate all air accidents.”
“I’m aware of that,” April replied, her voice flat and cautious, her demeanor automatically protective. “And you want to interview my father, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Dr. Swift said he was physically able to be interviewed.”
“This is a routine thing, Miss Rosen,” Harrison added a bit too forcefully.
“You know, I just got here myself,” April said. “I’ve hardly had time to hug him, and I haven’t even seen my mom yet. Couldn’t this wait?”
Harrison was shaking his head as Mikulsky answered. “If he was physically unable to talk to us, of course it could, but we’ve got some basic questions we need to have answered, and the sooner the better. After all, this involved a major Coast Guard search-and-rescue operation. We’d appreciate your cooperation.”
April glanced at the nurses’ station, sharing a brief nod with the nurse who had first greeted her before turning back to the two men.
“Okay, you know what? Let me go talk to my dad for a few minutes and make sure he feels up to it. I shouldn’t be making the decision for him.”
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