Free Fall

Epilogue

Once the crew of the Seattle-bound NorthSun Flight 118 regained control they were cleared to land in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Two passengers reported heart palpitations, while several others had nausea. That was the extent of the injuries on Flight 118.

In Denver, thirty-nine passengers and crew from Trans Peak Flight 2230 required medical attention. Most serious was the attendant who’d fallen through the cabin-he’d suffered a concussion and broken ribs. Injuries to other passengers ranged from cuts to fractured fingers, hands and arms, as well as mild head wounds.

For her part, Kate had harnessed her shock, working fast. She’d reached Nick Varner, NTSB and FAA officials, collecting facts on the terror that had played out in the skies over Colorado.

After finding a quiet spot in the airport, she’d written a breaking exclusive on the cyber hijacking and near-midair collision of two large passenger planes collectively carrying 1,125 people. The incident, which investigators had told her was linked to the Shikra crash in London and the troubled EastCloud flight in New York, proved that jetliners were vulnerable to hijacking by hackers. Had the cyber hackers, known as Zarathustra, succeeded, the Colorado event would have been the worst disaster in aviation history, she’d written, in what soon became one of the biggest stories in the world.

The events in Colorado, London and New York would become global news for days and weeks.

In that time, Kate had led a team of Newslead reporters in the United States and around the world to produce a multipart series that examined fly-by-wire systems, the secret Operation Overlord, Richlon-Titan, and Robert and Veyda Cole’s connection to it all.

Cole had been investigated by the FBI but faced no charges. He was cooperating with all national security agencies in their investigations.

The challenge Kate had faced with the series was that Robert Cole had refused all interview requests. He’d turned down the New York Times, CTNB, The Times of London, the Associated Press, everybody.

Kate was frustrated but she understood, given Cole’s tragic history.

Seth Hagen had died at the scene, but Cole’s daughter, Veyda, had survived her gunshot wound in a Denver hospital, the location of which was not made public because the FBI was keeping watch to question her.

Kate’s sources had told her that Cole had flown to Denver to be at Veyda’s side, as her condition had been critical. On the third day of his bedside vigil she’d woken briefly, and as Cole had taken her hand, she’d said one word: “Daddy.”

Veyda had died an hour later.

The next day Robert Cole had issued a statement.

To all those who have suffered from my daughter’s actions, I offer my most profound apology. For the rest of my life, I will live with the irreparable damage and unending sorrow she has caused. Her evil actions are not those of the daughter I knew. I do not ask for understanding, nor do I seek forgiveness. Both are unconscionable in the face of the enormity of the crime. I pray that heaven helps you heal and find peace.

In the time that followed, reporters profiled Cole, Veyda and Seth based on public records and interviews with those who knew them. But nobody was going to get the whole story.

No journalist was going to get to Robert Cole.

The FAA had not ordered a national ground stop of all jetliners because, with the deaths of Seth and Veyda, the immediate threat had been considered neutralized. However, in the days that followed aviation authorities in the United States and around the world rolled out alerts and advisories to the industry for fleets to be grounded in a non-disruptive, scheduled manner to examine and safeguard their systems.

The world’s top engineers analyzed what Seth and Veyda had done, while building on the remedy designed by Robert Cole. Plane by plane, airline by airline, security was strengthened on all commercial jetliners.

A number of federal investigations were launched against Richlon-Titan for failing to correct, and concealing, the problem with its systems. Several lawsuits were launched by airlines that had purchased RT systems or aircraft. RT’s stock plunged and Hub Wolfeson was fired from his position with the board.

Sloane F. Parkman was disinherited from his wealthy family. Kate learned that he was supporting himself by working part-time at a clothing store in a mall in Albany, New York.

The NTSB and EastCloud had cleared Captain Raymond Matson of any suspected errors in the handling of the Buffalo-to-New York flight. Matson resumed flying with the airline in good standing.

At the NTSB, during Bill Cashill’s retirement party, Cashill took Hooper aside and advised him to “Never stop doing what you do, Jake. You do it right. You keep an open mind. You’re going to be one helluva IIC.”

Some two weeks later, Kate was in the newsroom when a burst of dispatches from the police scanners made her think of how it had all begun.

Something overheard on the lowly squawk box.

At that moment her cell phone rang with a call from Nick Varner.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Listen, Kate, we never had this conversation, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Robert Cole wants to talk to the press. Says he needs to get something out there because a lot of the stuff written about him and his daughter is inaccurate.”

Kate sat up.

“You’re not serious.”

“I told him he should talk to you and he’s willing to do it.”

“Exclusively?”

“Only to you.”

Kate alerted Chuck and while she was still uneasy about getting on a plane, she flew to North Dakota, rented a car at Minot and drove to Clear River, where she met Cole.

Kate shook his hand.

“Mr. Cole, I want to thank you for what you did at the NTSB in Washington. You helped save my life and the lives of more than a thousand people.”

Cole didn’t respond.

He was a haunted man; his eyes were pools of pain.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said. “There’s something I need to do.”

They climbed into Cole’s pickup truck and drove across town, past the historic municipal buildings and storefronts that evoked another time.

“My wife, Elizabeth, grew up here,” was all he said as he guided his truck south over the eternal rolling rangeland.

After a few miles, they took the narrow, paved road that curved to a grove of trees near a creek and stopped at the Riverbend Meadow Cemetery.

He got out, opened the storage bin of the console between the seats and, with care, removed a beautiful wooden box.

“This way.” He motioned for Kate to walk with him through the burial grounds, stopping at the headstone that read “Elizabeth Marie Cole, Beloved Wife and Mother.”

Cole got on his knees.

“These are my daughter’s ashes. I want her to be with her mother.”

Cole very tenderly emptied the box’s contents, spreading them over his wife’s grave.

“I didn’t want to get a stone for her because I feared people would come and deface it, given what she did.”

Kate understood.

Cole stared at the ashes and they began to lift as the wind tumbled across the plain.

“I’m to blame for her actions because I was not the father she needed,” he said. “I’m going to tell you our story, the real story. I’m going to tell you everything the world needs to know.”

But Cole didn’t move.

The wind strengthened, lifting the ashes from the land, carrying them upward. Cole followed them, looking up just as the straight vapor trail of a passenger jet cut across the clear blue sky.