TWENTY SEVEN
FRIDAY MORNING, DAY 5 USAF SAM 3994 SPECIAL AIR MISSION, EN ROUTE ANDREWS AFB TO ELMENDORF AFB
Lieutenant Colonel Jon Anderson placed the small laptop computer on the polished tabletop in front of Major General Mac MacAdams and opened the screen.
“I just downloaded the shots the Navy took for you, sir.”
“They got them this fast? Great.”
Anderson sat down in an adjacent seat. “According to the message, they had an unmanned remote submersible available, and they located the wreck quickly—thanks to having the coordinates transmitted by the Albatross itself right before it went in.”
“I heard about that on-board GPS system.”
“One more thing I need to tell you. When the Navy ship carrying the submersible was approaching the area yesterday, they found a small civilian amphibian aircraft sitting over the site and dangling a private submersible camera over the wreckage. In the aircraft was the daughter, April Rosen, and two men.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Yes, sir. Apparently she hired the pilot and his little Grumman amphib—a Widgeon—out of Anchorage, and they got the video equipment from a company in Valdez.”
“So … they’ve now got footage of the wreck. That’s good if it ends her search for a way to get her father off the hook.”
“Well, we’ve kind of intervened. Through the Coast Guard.”
“Meaning?”
Anderson related the boarding and confiscation of the first tape. “When they got the tape aboard the cutter, one of the crewmen had a camcorder with the same format and they played it, but the tape had only a few frames recorded, and they figured—correctly, it turned out—that Rosen had kept the real tape. They had the police catch up with her when her airplane landed in Valdez, and they confiscated the tape there.”
“Confiscated?” Mac sighed. “I’m not a lawyer, but that worries me. I’m not sure we have the legal right to snatch a civilian tape. Do we know what it showed?”
“An oblique view of the wreckage, showing the right engine hanging off its mounts and a badly damaged wing where the right prop tore into it.”
Mac was nodding. “So, Ms. Rosen knows for certain that something happened in the air that probably caused the crash. If I recall correctly, you told me before that she was trying to prove the propeller threw a blade. Was there evidence on that tape of a thrown blade?”
Jon shook his head. “On the tape she got it’s inconclusive, but the Navy’s pictures tell the tale clearly, and there’s no doubt. It threw a blade in flight.”
He punched the keyboard and the image of the Albatross’s right engine filled the screen, one prop blade clearly missing, the other two severely deformed from slicing repeatedly into the right wing.
“So, Ms. Rosen was right.”
“This is the broader view taken by the submersible sitting right in front of the nose,” Anderson said.
“Good lord, look at that wing!” Mac’s eyes traced the damage in the clarity of the picture as he drummed his fingers on the airborne table. “All right. Jon, remember I didn’t want Ms. Rosen or her father pushing for exonerating evidence and accidentally uncovering our project in the process? Well, now that she’s found the wreckage and photographed it, she knows he had a real airborne emergency. But we’ve just snatched that proof away.”
“Yes, sir. Apparently. And it’s far more critical now for them because, based on that FAA inspector’s recommendations, FAA headquarters revoked the father’s pilot license, and the man’s an active airline captain.”
“On what grounds?”
“Reckless operation of an aircraft and violation of visual flight rules, and I understand there’s a charge of flying while intoxicated.”
“Intoxicated? Really? That’s disturbing. Of course, what the wreckage shows is that the reckless operation charge is wrong. What is his name?”
“Captain Arlie Rosen. A senior 747 captain for United.”
“Captain Rosen has to be able to prove that reckless charge false, and without the physical evidence or video evidence, it’s going to be difficult. So what do you think a determined young woman like Ms. Rosen is going to do, Jon?”
“I think she’ll keep on trying.”
“You can bank on it. But how? What can we expect her to do next?”
“Agitate to get her tape back?”
“Correct. From your briefing we know she’s smart. She’s worldly. She knows the Coast Guard has snatched her tape and that there has to be more to it than just flying into the wrong place. She’s probably thinking anything from government cover-ups to conspiracy thoughts right now, and I’ll bet you she has enough experience with the government to know that getting that tape back may take a lot of time. All of which means what?”
“General, you’re sounding more like a professor every day. I don’t know where you’re going with these questions.”
“Well, what I’m getting at, Jon, is that she’s sure to find a way to go out there again, Coast Guard–restricted areas or not. She’ll try to get the same video shots or better. And for us the question then becomes, is there any reason we should stop her?”
“Yes, sir, I’d say there is, if there’s anything on that wreckage that might suggest our Gulfstream and their Albatross traded paint.”
“But, Jon, we looked the Gulfstream over in the hangar, and we couldn’t find any evidence of an impact. Right?”
“Yes, sir, but … I just get the creepy feeling we’re missing something that could badly hurt us.”
Mac sighed and sat forward, his hand out, palm up. “What would it take to raise that plane ourselves?”
“The Navy’s ready to go for it, sir. Wouldn’t take much. They could put it on a small barge and cover it until we get the chance to inspect it.”
Mac sat in thought for a few minutes. “Well, instead, suppose I just pull enough horsepower together to get to the FAA administrator and have her reinstate Captain Rosen’s pilot’s license?”
Jon Anderson winced. “Sir, with all due respect to your ability to make that happen, it would open a lot of doors to a lot of questions and explanations, including the basic one of who you are and why you’re involved and interested. Even pleading national security doesn’t stop the widening of the circle.”
“Well, hell,” Mac said with a snort, “maybe the Navy just happened by with a camera, and here’s the photo. Doesn’t have to involve us.”
“It would take more than that photo, General. I know the FAA very well. To counter an angry FAA inspector who’s managed to convince headquarters to take away an airline captain’s ticket on three different charges, you’d have to give the FAA administrator a very forceful, very direct explanation, and that means pretty much blowing our cover. We’re keeping the majority of the Pentagon in the dark on this project anyway, and we’ve spent a heck of a lot to make sure it doesn’t leak, so … do you really want to involve the FAA’s key people?”
“In other words, you don’t think we can help the Rosens without a potential security breach, even though solving their problem would keep them off our trail?”
Jon nodded. “Yes, sir. In a nutshell.”
Mac sighed and turned away in thought. He turned back suddenly, swiveling the chair around to face Anderson. “Dammit, I know you’re right, Jon. This is just so frustrating. I’m a pilot, and here’s a fellow pilot getting screwed, we’re holding his get-out-of-jail ticket, and we can’t give it to him without revealing we’re here.”
“General, one of the best memos you’ve written in this whole project was the one that asked us to place security considerations above all others. It was eloquent and convincing.”
Mac shook his head, smiling ruefully. “What? You framed it?”
“Well, it wasn’t that timeless, but it was right on point.”
“That leaves poor Captain Rosen and his daughter as unwitting victims.”
“Sir, don’t forget there are two other serious charges agains
t Captain Rosen, and we don’t have a clue whether they’re valid or not.”
Mac sighed. “That point is valid, though it may not be enough to use in good conscience as justification.” He looked at his watch. “Okay. Another two hours and we’ll be there. Everything on time for tonight’s test flight?”
Jon Anderson nodded. “The AWACS is set to launch at six-thirty local with us aboard, and the Gulfstream should be airborne about ten minutes later.”
“This better work,” Mac said, getting to his feet.
UALDEZ, ALASKA
High clouds were moving over Prince William Sound to the west as April left the warmth of Jim Dobler’s office for a few minutes to peer over the edge of the dock, feeling the bracing cold of the zephyrs whipping down the channel and churning the waters in the protected breakwater below. There was a distant noise behind her, and she glanced around at the office window to watch Jim still on the phone, trying hard to clear the way to salvage the wreckage of the Albatross without running afoul of the law or the Coast Guard.
She sighed and shook her head as the image of Scott McDermott floated across her mind again, wondering what had happened in his background to make him back away so quickly from a challenge.
He’s probably back in Anchorage by now, she thought. He’d left hours ago, after Jim had intervened in the heated early morning exchange. She’d pressed a check in his hand, but he refused it at first, accepting it only after she insisted that it was only for the originally contracted charter fee and not his additional efforts on her behalf. For some reason, the distinction had become terribly important to him.
She felt her cell phone vibrating in one of the pockets of her parka and fished it out to find Gracie on the other end.
“April, I’ve just been down to the Federal Building here in Seattle and filed for a temporary restraining order against the Coast Guard and the Alaska State Police to forbid them from monkeying with that tape, and I’ve asked for an expedited hearing for tomorrow morning to demand its immediate return.”
“I thought the D.C. lawyer was going to do that,” April said.
“Yeah, well, I did, too, but I couldn’t reach him, and I was closer to the facts and better equipped to handle it here.”
“You think we’ll get it? That injunction, I mean?”
“Yes, provided they don’t claim that they’ve already lost it or that it was blank. Since we have no idea what’s going on and who’s involved, we really can’t know what to expect. What’s happening there?”
April briefed her on Jim Dobler’s efforts to get permission for a salvage operation. “I’m not optimistic, Gracie. He’s a really nice guy and he’s trying hard, but even before the Coast Guard tackled us, he warned me how difficult it was in these waters to do anything.”
“And you can’t fly out there again?”
“Yeah, well, our flyboy cut and ran. I mean, I shouldn’t be unappreciative of what he did, but … as soon as officialdom moved in, he got spooked.”
“He left?”
“Yep.”
“Damn. Well, if Dobler can’t make it work, I’ll call my client back and see if he has any other ideas. Aside from that, could you, maybe, rent that video equipment and take a boat out there?”
“What if the Coast Guard is watching? They’d see any boat I could use.”
“Not a wooden boat, I’ll bet.”
“Like a rowboat?”
“Yeah.”
“Gracie, this place is out to sea. Even in an outboard I’d run a real risk of capsizing. The waves can get huge and it’s very, very cold water. After all, that’s what almost killed my parents.”
There was silence from Seattle.
“Gracie?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m … just thinking through this to see how we can get this resolved quickly.”
“Is there a greater need for speed than I’m already aware of?”
April could feel her hesitation.
“Gracie? Level with me.”
Gracie sighed. “Okay. Look, the captain’s not taking any of this well.”
“I know. I told you that.”
“No, it’s … worse. Your mom called me and she’s really spooked. She says she’s never seen him this despondent, and … I have to tell you this … the airline’s chief pilot called him up and instead of being supportive, basically threatened him.”
“What?”
“It’s about the alcoholism. He told your dad that if he couldn’t prove there was no alcohol involved, he’d be terminated regardless of the FAA’s ultimate decision on his license. The FAA apparently made sure the airline knows about the liquor purchase in Anchorage.”
“Oh, no!”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, April, but you need to know. We really have to get this solved rapidly. Especially the drinking charge.”
“Dad’s union won’t tolerate that, will they? I mean, everything’s governed by union contract, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’m still going to rattle the airline’s cage. Don’t worry, I’m including the Air Line Pilots Association, and I’ve already warned the head of his union that a life hangs in the balance here.”
“A life?”
“Well, you know. The psychological impact on the captain.”
“Gracie, you’re … not suggesting Dad is suicidal, are you?”
“No! No, I … don’t think so. I’m just … I can’t imagine your dad even despondent. I’ve never seen him like that, and it scares me, too.”
“I’ve never seen him really down, either,” April said quietly.
“Look, I’ll do everything I can on this end, but … you may need to pull a really large rabbit out of a hat there to get that broken prop. Somehow.”
“I hear you.”
ELMENDORF AFB, ALASKA
Ben Cole presented his identification documents to the security gate bordering the hangar at 1 P.M., and by 4 P.M. had all but convinced himself that whoever had loaded the renegade computer code on the Gulfstream’s computers before had failed this time.
Okay, that’s it. There’s simply nowhere else to look.
There were footsteps in the cavernous hangar and Ben got up to stretch and looked out the front entry, waving to the flight crew as they approached the Gulfstream.
“Hey, Ben!” the chief test pilot said with a smile as he started up the built-in airstairs. “Winky ready to go at long last?”
Ben winced at the nickname as the pilot chuckled. “You just hate that, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
They shook hands at the top of the steps.
“Seriously, Ben, are you satisfied that we’re ready?”
“I … yes, in one respect.”
“What’s that?”
“I know the—for want of a better word—virus that was infecting us is not aboard.”
“Thank God.”
“But … are you aware of the new T-handle on the flight deck?”
Ben watched the pilot’s face closely, but the expression never changed. “Yes. It’s supposed to physically pull Winky’s claws off the flight controls if nothing else works. I’ve been warned it will really damage the computer servos if we use it, but not the flight controls.”
“You’re sure it’s operational?” Ben said, his voice steady.
The pilot leaned around the edge of the cockpit door to verify the new handle was still there. “Well, let me grab the maintenance log.” He swung back out with the metal-bound logbook and opened it, flipping through several pages of maintenance write-ups and repairs.
“Here we go. Installation begun … installation canceled.”
Ben was nodding. “That’s what I thought. I—”
“Installation restarted. Modification complete, and here’s the sign-off,” the pilot said, holding up the log for Ben, who studied it for several seconds. “Problem, Ben? You look unconvinced.”
“It’s just that … I was out here on Wednesday and the T-handle was installed but connected to nothing
, and the plans were on the seat with a ‘canceled’ stamp.”
“Well, that’s what it says. They stopped the job, then they restarted it and signed it off.”
“I guess there’s no way to easily test it?”
The pilot was shaking his head. “I’ve been warned. We pull that handle, we’d better be prepared to terminate the test for several days. It’ll disconnect, but it will break things in the process. It’s an extreme emergency backup.”
“Well, good,” Ben said, feeling confusion whirling around his head. “I wish I’d known that they’d finished it,” he added, deciding to avoid mentioning how scared he’d been that the impending flight would end in a fatal crash despite their best efforts.
“What are you planning to do after this, Ben?” the pilot asked.
“After the flight?”
“No, after the project. We get signed off tonight, they start building and deploying the Boomerang devices immediately, and we’re out of a job.”
“I guess I really haven’t thought about it. What do you mean they’ll deploy them immediately?”
The chief test pilot raised his hand and smiled. “Hey, you didn’t hear that from me, okay?”
“But … that’s true?”
The pilot was backing away with a broad smile, his head nodding in the affirmative. “Let the record read the defendant properly refused to answer Dr. Cole’s question because he had no need to know.”
Ben smiled in return and waved him off, returning to his computer console in the cabin in mild alarm.
What does he mean, “immediately”? I thought we’d have several weeks to clean up any remaining problems with the program. The mere thought of a software problem suddenly activating a Boomerang black box in an Air Force bomber during a routine flight was beginning to haunt him almost as much as the presence of the commercial airline data he’d discovered.
UNIWAVE HEADQUARTERS
A half mile from the Uniwave hangar, General Mac MacAdams’s arrival back on the Elmendorf flight line had been carefully coordinated with a staff car to whisk him back to his office in the project headquarters building for several urgent meetings, the last of which had been postponed until nearly 5:30 P.M.
“General, a Sergeant Jacobs dropped a package by for you,” his secretary announced as he came in the door. Mac nodded to a man in a gray business suit and gestured for him to wait a minute as he took the small rectangular box from her and leaned over her desk to scribble a note:
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