Lockout

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland (10:20 p.m. EST / 0320 Zulu)

Essentially, Lieutenant Colonel Don Danniher realized, he was flying the instrument approach solo.

A cold drizzle made the landing at Andrews a bit more challenging than he had expected, and the presence of a totally preoccupied general in the left seat hadn’t made it any easier. Not that he minded, necessarily. He was well aware of the high stakes and the dilemma that had his boss wholly distracted and tied in knots.

The staff car Sharon Wallace had ordered for the general had pulled up moments after they’d braked to a halt on the transient ramp, but the destination General Wriggle was going to give the driver was one of the bits of information Don assumed neither he nor Sharon Wallace had any immediate need to know.

Paul Wriggle threw off his shoulder straps and seatbelt and disappeared wordlessly into the jet’s main cabin to change into his air force uniform. Sharon had already descended the Gulfstream’s stairs to tell the driver the general would be a few minutes in coming. She returned to the jet then, standing in the entry space behind the cockpit as Don emerged.

“How are you doing?” he asked, knowing well the question had more depth than the words alone would indicate.

She responded with a strained smile, glancing at the closed entry door to the cabin. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew Pangia was talking to their pilots with code in hand, so to speak.”

Don Danniher nodded. “I agree.”

“Can you talk to him?”

“He knows, Sharon.”

“Of course he does, but… time is critical here. This feels like brinksmanship.”

“You know what our legal constraints are on revealing any aspect of this program.”

“Yes. I signed the same papers. Don, talk to him. Please!”

Danniher nodded and opened the cabin door, closing it behind him and slipping into a seat across from where the general was adjusting his tie.

“Don…”

“Sir?”

Paul Wriggle turned to look at his copilot, then pursed his lips and shook his head, deciding not to voice whatever he had been thinking, then changed his mind again and turned back.

“Check my math. That jet… our jet… has an hour and a half to go before reaching Tel Aviv.”

Danniher checked his watch and nodded. “That’s correct, as of the last position we had.”

“How long have we been blasting the disconnect code?”

“The first transmission was at 0252 Zulu, about thirty minutes ago, with no answering transmission. We did trigger transmitters covering the Mediterranean, though.”

“And we have the code now they can punch in manually, right?”

“Well… same caveat as before… it’s what they found in Gail Hunt’s notes. If there isn’t a subsequent change, then that’s it. Sharon put it on your iPad and in your briefcase, with full instructions.”

“And we don’t know whether anyone has direct radio or satellite contact with them? Right? Some way we could verbally pass the code and how to enter it?”

“No sir.” Don shifted forward in the swivel chair. “And, sir, I know we discussed the fact that if we call Pangia directly to find out, they’re not only going to want to know who’s asking, but we may tip off every intelligence service listening to such a call, but…”

“That’s right. That’s why we’re here in DC.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t ask,” Wriggle said, pulling on his tunic and turning. “While I’m gone, fuel us up and get on the secure line back to Dana and the team, and call me the instant they get a confirming response from the jet… if they do.”

“Yes, sir. But in regard to Pangia?”

“I’ve got their CEO’s personal cell number, Don.”

“Yes, sir, but about the possibility of direct contact with the aircraft, I think…”

“No calls to their Command Center yet, okay? But if you discover through any safe channel that the pilots are talking to someone on the ground… a line we can get to, even a VHF radio to one of the air traffic control facilities… let me know immediately and get all the information necessary to pass up to them.”

He could see the troubled look on Danniher’s face.

“What, Don?”

“Begging the general’s pardon, sir, but may I speak very frankly?”

“You always have that authority. Go ahead.”

“Sir, I know the stakes for us are critical, but I don’t think we have the moral right to wait another minute if there’s any way to get hold of that crew. We don’t know whether our broadcasts will work or not, and…”

“I understand that, Don.”

“But, General, every minute that passes that that crew has no control is another rise in international tension, and maybe even brinkmanship. I seriously urge you to make the call to Pangia right now. Sir.”

Paul Wriggle sighed heavily and studied his shoes for a few moments before meeting his executive officer’s eyes again.

“Don, I don’t have time to explain my full reasoning for delaying.”

“My job is to point out…”

“Yes!” Paul replied, pointing his finger in an affirming gesture. “Yes, it is. And it is also your job to trust that your commander knows what he’s doing.”

I wish I could trust your decision not to warn the aircraft, Don thought to himself, forcing a nod.

Wriggle studied his eyes for a second. “Answered without enthusiasm, I see, but the orders stand. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul Wriggle slipped into the back seat of the nondescript town car and passed his destination to the master sergeant at the wheel of the staff car after asking his name and security clearance.

“Should I put the star flag on the front, General?”

“No, but thanks for asking. We want to keep this low key.”

“Yes, sir.”

He pulled out his cell phone and entered the required password before paging down to the phone number he was looking for. The line was answered on the second ring, and he gave his name and rank and an identifying digital “signature” code, waiting impatiently for the individual on the other end to acknowledge.

“We have you and the applicable protocols logged in, sir. How may I assist?”

“I will be at the west entrance in fifteen minutes. I need immediate access to my reporting authority. Highest priority code.”

“You’re certain, sir? Highest code? This is a busy evening.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but absolutely yes. On my authority and accountability.”

“Yes, sir. Understood. An escort will be waiting.”

He punched in a fast dial number then and waited until Colonel Baumgartner had come on the line back in Colorado Springs.

“What have you got, Dana?”

“A mixed bag, Paul. We haven’t located Gail Hunt yet, but we got into her credit card account and found her last charge was for gasoline in Lyons, Colorado, which is a gateway to Estes Park.”

“Nothing beyond that?”

“Nothing. Also, we’ve been blasting the unlock sequence on every network link we have, but we’re getting no answering response, and just a minute before you called, I got the word that our conduit has shut down.”

“Translate that, please.”

“We… transmit the signal to an intermediate location that I think you know, and they boost it on an uplink, and from there it networks out. That primary server has been turned off, or at least is suddenly refusing our signal.”

“Any ideas why?”

“Yes, sir. A few. None of them good. And at least one involves a project compromise.”

“Okay. Keep trying. Dana, were any of us thinking that Gail had something to do with the aircraft switch?”

“I’d hate to think that, but she’s the key, and without her, we don’t even have a clue whether the codes we’ve been blasting are correct. Where the hell is she, you know? Disappearing the very day our airplane is pulled out of the desert doesn’t sit well with me.”

“On the outside chance that… well, she’s involved, try sending a picture of her to Ron Barrett, the owner of Mojave Aircraft… no, on second thought, don’t.”

“You mentioned Mojave… and that’s becoming strange. We had a call from Ron Barrett for you, and he was about a millimeter from hysterical. He said two federal officers from the Transportation Security Administration had shown up there this afternoon to grill him and his lawyer, and the agents reportedly told Barrett that his employee… the one who made the mistake with our machine… was using an alias and now can’t be found.”

“TSA? What the hell would they…”

“Obviously not TSA.”

“Oh. Of course. The Company?”

“CIA, yes.”

“More likely DIA.”

“No, Paul, it makes sense. One of our friendlies in the Beltway tipped me off an hour ago that Langley was kicking over trash cans looking for explanations, and supposedly the Situation Room has been lit up for this.”

“A bit excessive, don’t you think? Any direct bead on us?”

“Negative. Not so far.”

Wriggle sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I’m on the ground in the Beltway now. Where is our jet? I figured an hour and a half out of Tel Aviv.”

“We concur, but it’s slowed down.”

“What? What do mean, ‘slowed down’?”

“By over sixty knots, and before you ask, that’s not explainable by winds at that altitude.”

“Do you think the crew has retaken control?”

“Their heading is still the same, but the speed could indicate something. We’re just not sure what. If they change course, however, depending on where they head, it could mean we’re dealing with something entirely different.”

“Tell me, Dana.”

“Someone could be using our machine and our equipment as a shield for what they’re really up to. You… do know former Prime Minister Moishe Lavi is aboard, right?”

“What? No!”“

Dana Baumgartner filled in the details, and Paul Wriggle felt his head swimming.

“Oh, my dear God! No wonder the Company and the Situation Room is involved!”

“Does that… have a particular meaning to you, Paul? That Lavi is aboard?”

“At the very least it means the diplomatic explosiveness of this is far beyond anything I imagined. Good lord! Okay, Dana, I’d better ring off for the moment.”

“I’ll call the minute we get anything new.”

“Yes. Please.”

He punched the disconnect and sighed, hesitating in deep thought for what seemed like a very long time, before making the decision and pulling out a folded note from his shirt pocket. Don was right, he thought. Further hesitation was unsupportable. He carefully punched in the telephone number on the note and triggered the call, wondering how in hell he was going to verbally navigate the razor edge he would need to walk. He glanced at his watch, calculating the time zone change to Chicago, and almost missed the answering voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“General Rick Hastings, please,” he said.

“This is Rick Hastings. Who is this?”

“Paul Wriggle, Rick. One of your classmates from undergraduate pilot training.”

“Hey, Paul! Kinda late for a telephone reunion, don’t cha think? But it’s good to hear from you. What’s up? I assume you’re not calling to chat about the Cubbies?”

Paul chucked. “I would never chat about the… God, you never give up on the Cubs, do you?”

“Of course not! That’s what sets Cubs fans apart. Eternal mindless optimism. So what’s on your mind, Paul?”

“Short and sweet, okay?”

“Of course.”

“First, I’m still on active duty. I’m a two star now, heading a program I can’t discuss. I know we haven’t talked since you retired as a three star, and I apologize for never formally congratulating you on becoming CEO of Pangia. But that’s the subject: Pangia. You have an airplane in trouble, I may have the solution, but flag rank officer to flag rank officer, I need your immediate assistance and an almost complete absence of questions about how I know what I know.”

Paul could hear Hastings changing hands and almost dropping the receiver.

“Holy moly, Paul! That’s quite a preamble.”

“I know it.”

“Well, I clearly have the fiduciary loyalty to this company to consider now.”

“We’re flag rank, Rick. That never changes. Remember the prime directive about joining the star club? Although I shouldn’t have to mention it.”

“No, you shouldn’t, Paul. A bit rude, I’d say, but I’ll hear you out.”

“Can I get some assurance?”

“Assurance? I’ll do the right thing for our service, and our country, Paul. You don’t have to ask for that.”

“Very well.”

“What is it, man?”

“Do you have any communication with your flight crew?”

“No. We did, sporadically, via a handheld satellite phone, but we think they ran out of battery. We know they’ll call back if they can.”

“So there’s no current means to relay something to them? Not even ACARS?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“I’ve got a code sequence, Rick. If we can get one of the pilots to punch it into what would probably appear to be a dead flight management computer, they’ll probably get back complete control.”

There was a chilling silence on the other end.

“Paul, are you telling me our service is screwing around with that airplane?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Paul Wriggle said, suppressing the small, burning kernel of doubt in his gut that he had a bead on everything that was happening. “What’s happened is a complete electronic accident.”

“You know something about this substituted airplane, don’t you? I just found out a half hour ago.”

“The aircraft swap was a total accident, Rick. Yes, that’s my bird, and she has some special equipment I can’t admit exists.”

“Well, buddy, the whole fucking world is liable to hear about it now!”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I think I have the code that, if punched in, returns the damned thing to normal. If we can get it to the pilots without broadcasting a hint of an explanation…”

“Jesus, I don’t believe I’m hearing this! You know how many passengers are aboard that flight?”

“Yes, and one in particular, whose presence makes getting this solved supercritical. No questions, Rick. We can sort it out later. Can you get to the pilots?”

Another long silence and a deep sigh as Paul noticed the Washington Monument passing off to the left.

“I’ll throw that question back to our operations center. As far as I know, we’ve lost all satellite contact, ACARS telemetry, and sat phone, as I told you. I don’t know what else we can do? But what’s the bloody number?”

It was Paul Wriggle’s turn to sigh. The cell phone was in the open, a non-secure channel, but it was too late to kvetch about that now. They could always change the code in future versions.

“You use the MDCU, the Multifunction Display Control Unit keypad. Select 1 Right, and twelve boxes will open. Type into scratch pad the twelve-digit number sequence I’m going to give you, then line select 1 Right, putting the numbers into boxes. Then select 1 Right again to activate. He read the twelve-digit sequence and forced a read back, stopping himself from mentioning the fact that they’d been blasting the code all over the planet with no response.

“This will do it? Just this?”

“Yes. But, Rick, a very large warning. It has to be entered with absolute precision. After three wrong entries, it permanently locks out the computers.”

“Okay. I’m on it. You realize the questions are going to come like a fire hose, and I can’t stop all of them?”

“Yes. Please do your best. I’ll call back in a little while. I promise you a full explanation. Just… no time now.”

He punched off the phone, aware that the destination was just ahead, and he fumbled around in his back pocket for the appropriate ID, preoccupied with the question of whether he had just committed a federal felony.