Skyhook

by John J. Nance

  Jamison Hendee laughed. “Don’t worry. You have my word that no software engineers will be harmed in the making of this deal.”

  When April and Gracie had been escorted out of the Cabinet Room, Jamison Hendee motioned Ben to follow him through a series of doors ending in a startlingly familiar office.

  “Have a seat,” Hendee offered, gesturing to a pair of facing couches. Ben gingerly lowered himself into one of them, popping back to his feet as the President of the United States came into the room, shook his hand, and sat in a chair by the fireplace, regarding Ben skeptically. “Sit, please, Dr. Cole,” the President said, motioning him back down. “You’ve been both a bad-boy thorn in our side and a hero, Ben. But now you’re going to tackle a higher duty.”

  “Sir?”

  “The true aim of Skyhook, Ben, is so secret that even the Secretary of Defense doesn’t know its full scope. Everyone else but General MacAdams and a few staffers have been told that Skyhook concerns only military aircraft. Well, I launched it to cover more than that. I launched this project as the last line of defense to forever prevent a repeat of September Eleventh. Fact is, the Boomerang Box you’ve helped to design is scheduled to be installed on every civilian airliner as well.”

  Ben Cole came forward on the couch, his eyes wide. “Really?”

  “All of them,” the President replied. “My goal was simple. With every U.S.-registered airliner secretly equipped, if one ever gets hijacked by two-legged animals wanting a cruise missile, we literally take control from the ground and fly it someplace safe. We may lose people aboard in some sort of bloodbath, but the plane won’t have to be shot down over American cities, and we may end up saving everyone on board. The plan includes pilots standing by twenty-four-seven in a newly designed facility at Offit Air Force Base in the old Strategic Air Command headquarters bunker.”

  “This … wasn’t an Air Force project, then?”

  “We’ll equip our major Air Force assets, like the B-1 and B-2 bombers and C-17 transports, too, just as you were told. But the civil fleet is included as well. We’ve installed eight remote-control cockpits down there and trained a cadre of Air Force pilots to operate them. Three of those cockpits match Air Force aircraft. Five of them match airliners like the Boeing 757 and 747, the MD-80s, and Airbus products.” The President paused, watching recognition grow on the faces of the people before him.

  “I had no idea!” Ben said. “I … I found some strange reference information in the code about the civilian fleet and was afraid it might be evidence of an attack.”

  The President smiled. “No, just evidence of our secret intentions. And you almost blew our cover with your dedication to finding out why that extra code was there.”

  “And the airlines … don’t know?” Ben asked.

  The President shook his head. “No. They know we’ve got a rack already built into the equipment bay of every airliner in America. All FAA-licensed maintenance people have been trained that to disturb that rack or the black box installed there is now a federal felony offense. But they think it’s only an emergency communications device that lets air traffic controllers see and hear what’s happening in the cockpit of a hijacked airliner. Well, that’s right, it will. But that’s not the whole story. Once the new boxes are in place, we’ll have full standby recovery control.”

  The look on Ben Cole’s face was ashen, and the President noticed.

  “Ah … Mr. President … if we’re talking about using this on commercial airliners, I have to tell you I have grave doubts about the reliability of this system.” He described the problems with the tests, and the fact that even though the Gulfstream’s loss of control was due to a bad autopilot, the Boomerang Box had been unable to seize control each time.

  “You’re saying it’s not ready for prime time?” the President asked.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, with apologies to the general,” Ben added, glancing toward MacAdams.

  Mac nodded.

  “So happens,” the President said, “General MacAdams over there has already briefed me on the level of risk we’d be taking putting these boxes in place right now in the civil fleet, and how rushed the tests have been.

  “Mr. President, I … I just don’t see how we can be sure an airliner can be recovered with enough assurance. We need more time, and the pressure has been far too great.”

  The President had his hand up. “I have a radical idea about how to handle this, but I’ve also decided that you’re such a tenacious guy, if I didn’t bring you in on my plan, you’re liable to louse it up and get yourself thrown in the pokey by going public.”

  “Sir, that problem with Captain Rosen is solved, so I …”

  The President was shaking his head. “No, this is different. If you truly believe that this system is too unreliable to be installed in the civilian fleet and somehow the project leaked, you could, with the best of intentions, do great harm by telling the world we had a dangerous system on every airliner.”

  “I guess I’m confused, sir.”

  The President chuckled. “So was Mac at first. Okay. We agree the system isn’t ready to install in airliners, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, and I’ve decided that the system, if delayed in secret, will leave an exposure to terrorism I don’t want after spending billions to develop this fix. But I’ve also come to believe that the deterrent factor is greater than the actual operational value. Ben, ever see those little signs in people’s yards that say they’re protected by such and such security company?”

  Ben nodded.

  “If you’re a burglar, you can’t be sure if they really do have a system or not, so maybe it’s best not to chance it. Deterrence. So with Skyhook we let it leak that we’re installing it, we confirm that we have it on every airliner, we let the pilot unions and the airlines howl with fury, and we stand firm. Anyone planning a hijacking will be on notice that their best efforts can be thwarted by a turn of a switch. So instead of having to seize control someday of an airplane already full of dead and injured people with hijackers in the cockpit, we’ll stand a good chance of not having the hijacking attempt in the first place. In the meantime, we’ll go ahead with the Air Force system when you’re sure it’s ready.”

  “I don’t have the authority to make that determination, Mr. President.”

  “Yes, you do. Joe Davis is retiring as of now. You’re taking over.”

  “I am?”

  “Provided you agree with all this.”

  “And, Uniwave gets enough money to survive?”

  “The check’s in the mail. We’ll keep them afloat, because I may actually decide to put them in later on.”

  “So, we leak information that the Skyhook system—the Boomerang Boxes—are deployed, but we secretly leave them out?”

  “When the media breaks the story we leaked, we announce openly that yes, in fact, the Boomerang system does exist and is operational, and that no future hijacker will ever be successful taking over an airliner. We put on a show and demonstrate the system for the world’s media. The deterrent effect is nearly one hundred percent, we’ve saved billions, and we don’t run the risk of losing an airliner to an electronic glitch, which, if I understand your worries, is your greatest nightmare.”

  “Yes, sir, it is.”

  The President stood up. “Obviously, Ben, you can tell no one else in this life. Not those two determined young women, not your coworkers, not any future wife or lover. No one. Only a handful of people other than us will ever know the truth.”

  Ben stood and took the President’s hand. “You have my word, sir.”

  For April and Gracie, the ride back to the appeals court was taken in stunned silence. Three times April started to pull her cell phone from her purse and call home, but each time the presence of the agents in the front seat intimidated the effort.

  Only Jim Riggs was in the courtroom representing the government when Gracie returned to the counsel table. She glanced at him an
d read in his pleasant expression the phone call he must have received from the White House. There would be things he did not know, of course, but what she was about to present would be no surprise.

  They stood as Judge Williamson entered by himself.

  “We’re back in session, and I understand, Miss O’Brien, that you have another unique motion to present?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Gracie said, mentally toying with the words she had never expected to use. “I doubt Mr. Riggs will object to this, since it’s a motion to dismiss. The petitioner hereby withdraws the petition and requests an order of dismissal.”

  “With prejudice?” Williamson asked, smiling at the deer-in-the-headlights look on Gracie’s face.

  “With, sir. We won’t be refiling.”

  “Very well,” the judge continued. “Case dismissed.”

  Jim Riggs was at Gracie’s side when the judge departed, his hand outstretched and a smile on his face.

  “Very nice job, Gracie, on everything you did. You’re an impressive opponent with a great future.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, still feeling as if she were seeing him and the courtroom through several feet of water.

  April hugged Gracie tightly as she left the counsel table, neither of them noticing that Ben had just returned to the court. “I wonder if I could buy the two of you dinner this evening?” Ben asked.

  Gracie shrugged. “I don’t see why not. When do you have to go back to Anchorage?”

  He smiled. “Now that I’ve got reason to believe I won’t be arrested, I can catch a flight anytime I wish. And you? When do you go back to Seattle?”

  Gracie had found a bench in the hallway. “Scarlett O’Hara’s words come to mind: I’ll think about that tomorrow.” She sat and looked over at Ben Cole. “It may take a lifetime for me to grapple with what’s happened in the past two hours.”

  “One hour and twenty minutes,” Ben corrected.

  She laughed. “Yeah, I forgot. You’re an engineer.”

  “But I’m recovering,” he chuckled, wondering how becoming a high-power executive would feel.

  “By the way, Ben, why did you come?”

  “I guess I just couldn’t picture myself living with the consequences of not doing something for April’s father and … for my project. Too much was wrong. Too many strange things were happening. I didn’t know whom to trust.”

  “Well, that’s one problem solved, right?”

  He grinned. “I’d say so.”

  Gracie looked around at April, who was on her cell phone, then back to Ben as she put a finger to her lips. Ben nodded as April folded her cell phone and came over to sit beside them.

  “I can’t reach them on the satellite phone or the cell, and I’m out of ideas.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Gracie said, pulling out her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?” April asked.

  Gracie finished a string of numbers and punched the transmit button before looking up with a smile. “Sending him a message. You’ve forgotten he never goes anywhere without his beeper.”

  FORTY NINE

  WEDNESDAY, DAY 10 WASHINGTON, D.C. NOON

  At first, Bernie Ashad’s voice failed to register. Gracie pushed her cell phone closer to her ear as she followed April and Ben out of the federal courthouse into the roar of Washington midday traffic.

  “Excuse me, who is this again?” she asked, hunching over. April noticed and caught Ben’s elbow, and both of them turned to wait for her.

  “This is your client, Ms. O’Brien,” the voice said. “Bernie Ashad. Remember me? The guy with the ships.” There was a chuckle in the voice she could hear over the background noise.

  Gracie snapped to full alert. She could see the scowling face of Ben Janssen in her mind as she raced to think of an appropriate—and safe—response.

  “Mr. Ashad, I believe the firm has handed your … affairs off to one of the partners.”

  There was laughter on the other end. “Yes, I’m well aware that Ben is telling wild stories about my defiling all of the women at Janssen and Pruzan, and I can tell you it’s all nonsense. But, if I in any way made you feel uncomfortable, Miss O’Brien, when I proposed a dinner, I humbly apologize.”

  “None required, sir.”

  “Your senior partner thinks he’s a guardian uncle and monk rolled into one.”

  “Well, it was gracious of you to call—”

  “Wait, Ms. O’Brien. We do have some unfinished personal business.”

  Oh no! He’s going to proposition me anyway. Gracie felt the adrenaline pumping into her bloodstream.

  “Your friend’s airplane that crashed in Alaska. You wanted me to try to get one of my ships involved.”

  Relief chased the adrenaline. “Oh, yes! Of course. I really appreciate your considering that, Mr. Ashad, and I apologize to you for making an inappropriate request of a client.”

  “Nonsense. But now that we’ve been successful, we need an address.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I must apologize for being slow to call you. Actually, I called several days ago to talk to Ben Janssen about another matter and he handed me my head over the idea that I had carnal designs on my female lawyer. So, I put the whole thing out of my mind and forgot to check with my captain about it, and I didn’t realize until this morning that he’d been successful.”

  “Successful? I don’t understand.”

  “We recovered the wreckage of your friend’s airplane, Miss O’Brien, and I need to know where to send it after my captain puts it on a barge, or ashore.”

  “You recovered it?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that what you requested?”

  Gracie straightened up in confusion and glanced at April with wide eyes, gesturing silently to the phone.

  “Yes … yes, it is. I had no idea that was going to be possible.”

  “It was very little trouble. Our ship loitered for about an hour, I think, to grapple it aboard, then sailed right on as scheduled. Not a problem. But now he’s in port in Tacoma and needs to get it off the deck.”

  “May I have your number and call you back in ten minutes?”

  He recited the same number clearly displayed on Gracie’s phone, and she thanked him and disconnected.

  She leaned against the wall of the adjacent building to catch her breath. April moved toward her in alarm.

  “What? What is it?”

  “They were telling the truth, April.”

  “Who?”

  “The government. Our government. I hauled them halfway to the Supreme Court and they were innocent all along.”

  “What are you talking about, Gracie?” April asked, holding her forearms.

  “It was one of Bernie Ashad’s ships that fished your dad’s Albatross out of the Gulf of Alaska.”

  “What?”

  Gracie was nodding. “The U.S. government never touched it.”

  Arlie Rosen’s voice on the other end of Gracie’s cell phone was a wonderful sound.

  “I got your message, Gracie. It’s truly over?”

  “We won! The FAA is withdrawing their allegations.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t tell you for certain,” she said, carefully composing her words. “But I think they simply got scared at a high level of how this would look if they were wrong and we got a major court decision out of it.”

  There was a tired sigh on the other end. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “Where are you, Captain?”

  There was a hesitation. “Up in Canada. On the west coast of Vancouver Island. Someone was chasing us.”

  “I heard. That will stop now, too, whatever it was about.”

  “Are you sure, Gracie?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. Highest authority.”

  “Because we’re armed and safe up here.”

  “You’re armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Canada?”

  “Yes.”

  “Captain, get the hell ou
t of there! Fly back immediately. Unless you somehow cleared a hunting rifle with customs, you can’t have guns up there and I don’t want to have to bail you out of a provincial jail.”

  SEATTLE, WASHINGTON FOUR DAYS LATER

  Gracie knew better than to read too much into Ben Janssen’s voice, but it was hopeful that her call for an appointment on return to Seattle had been so cheerfully received.

  She used the circular stairway from her floor to the top floor and rounded the corner to Janssen’s huge office, wondering how closely Ben Janssen might have read the e-mail memo she’d sent from Washington reporting the call from Bernie Ashad in excruciating detail.

  “Well, well, Gracie!” Janssen said. “Come on in. Home from the wars, I see.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Janssen had left his desk to greet her with a handshake and a pat on the shoulder. He motioned her to a dark burgundy leather divan, and settled into an adjacent matching chair around a low coffee table.

  “Tell me what transpired in your case for Rosen,” he said, smiling at her, his demeanor one of ease as he sat back, hands behind his head, and waited for her to chronicle the sequence of events. When she was through, she added the fact that the wreckage had never been in Navy possession, and Janssen nodded, dropping his hands to his lap as he leaned forward.

  “Did you feel a little silly?” he asked, nailing her emotions.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t. We do the best with the facts we’ve got, and I would have arrived at the same conclusion.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “I know a bit more than you think about this,” he added, his smile triggering the unsettling thought that somehow her body language had transmitted a state secret learned in the Oval Office.

  “You do?”

  “Well, I do have a few friends in both low and high places, and one of them called me the other day to say that a particular lawyer from my office had suddenly appeared before him like a sort of feminine cloudburst. Fact is, he said you’d chased him down at a formal dinner, gently but effectively twisted his arm, gained the unprecedented honor of being added to an appellate argument schedule at the last minute, something even solicitor generals can’t do, and filed a well-reasoned brief.”