Lockout

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Aboard Pangia 10 (0345 Zulu)

Jerry had called Dan and Frank out of the electronics bay for a quick strategy conference, fully including Bill Breem, who had been extraordinarily docile. Josh Begich was still sitting in the copilot’s seat looking very young and very frightened, with Tom Wilson, the relief copilot, standing behind him.

Jerry, by contrast, had shed his previous panic and was becoming appropriately analytical and in command, Dan thought. The last PA announcement Jerry had made had bordered on the masterful: calmly and professionally filling the passengers in on precisely what had happened when the aircraft did a complete 360 after scaring everyone to death with the sudden sideslip.

The captain looked at his small team and nodded to Carol to squeeze in as well.

“Okay, guys, I’ve slowed us about as much as I think is safe at this altitude, and that’s bought us some time, but… we’ll be over Tel Aviv in about an hour. We must… we absolutely must… regain control of this ship before then.”

“And if we don’t?” Frank Erlichman asked evenly.

“I’m not entertaining any negatives. You and Dan have worked wonders down there, but we have more to go. Any reason you shouldn’t go back and start yanking everything in sight?”

Dan sighed, shaking his head. “I see no alternative.”

“Nor do I,” Frank added. “I’m glad to be able to help you. Help us, really.”

Jerry glanced at Josh, whose eyes were turned toward the copilot’s flight management computer. The screen was dark, but he was staring at it as if determined to wish it into phosphorescent life, as he randomly punched buttons.

“Josh? Are you with us?” Jerry asked. “You gave us some valuable input before.”

The boy looked up and nodded without enthusiasm as his finger punched yet another button. “Yes.”

“You okay, Josh?” Dan added, surprised when the boy met his gaze reluctantly, unable to hide a tear in his eye and nodding unconvincingly.

“What’s the matter, Josh?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Nor do we.”

“I’ve… I’ve never even… you know.”

“How old are you, Josh?”

“Fifteen. Well… fourteen, actually. Fifteen in two weeks.”

“We’ll get you back on the ground, Josh,” Jerry said, feeling a chill climbing his spine for giving voice to what might well turn out to be a lie.

“And you will live to get laid, my friend,” Dan added, trying to recall the last time he had immersed in such heavenly pleasures himself.

Carol was standing at the back of the cockpit and keeping an absolutely even expression, though Dan could almost feel her wanting to smile.

“Thanks,” Josh replied, looking up as he punched yet another button on the multifunction display control, as unprepared as the rest of them for the Airbus to suddenly and smoothly roll into a thirty-degree right bank.

Jerry turned back forward in his chair, eyes scanning the instruments that had been lying to them for so many hours, then he looked at the whiskey compass. The attitude indicator was showing the turn, and suddenly the entire instrument display shifted around from the fictitious westbound course over the Atlantic to the same heading as the whiskey compass.

“What the hell!”

“Josh, what did you do?” Dan asked the boy, who was wide-eyed and scanning the keyboard he had essentially been playing with.

“I… I punched…”

“What did you punch? Do you remember?”

Josh nodded. The aircraft, still turning, was now more than forty-five degrees off the original heading and turning west.

“Here! I punched this key.”

Dan leaned forward, eyes riveted on the key he was touching. “That’s the execute button. The enter button. But do you recall what you punched before that?”

Josh was shook his head. “I was just pushing them at random because it… it felt good to control something.”

“I get that. But try to recall what sequence. Were you doing numbers on the main pad or… or those squarish buttons along the edge of the screen?”

“The numbers. I remember putting in my phone number.”

“Dan, we’re still turning.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“It might come back around to the same course again.”

“Hopefully, not. Anywhere but back on that heading.”

“Okay,” Jerry said, turning to Josh. “Was it your entire phone number and then the execute key?”

“Yes, I… wanted to call home, you know.”

“Got it,” Jerry replied, feeling a deep pang of guilt for being up here while his wife and children were probably scared to death back home in Evanston. “Okay, write out that number. Dan, see if that could have been interpreted as latitude, longitude, or something, or maybe a compass heading.”

“We’ve done a complete 180,” Dan said, watching the progress. “And we’re still turning.”

“I think he typed in what the box thought were coordinates.”

“Hell, Jerry, we didn’t think the box might be on. The screen was dark…”

“Neither did I.”

Josh handed over a slip of paper with eleven numbers.

“Much longer than a latitude and longitude,” Dan added. “Here, punch in three digits, Josh. Punch zero-zero-five and enter.”

Josh turned to the MDCU and entered the numbers, and they all held their breath, but the aircraft was still turning right, now less than ninety degrees from the original course.

“If this thing steadies out on the same course to Tel Aviv, then all we’ve done is delay things.”

“But that’s something! We just bought, what? Four minutes?”

“Yeah. Josh, punch in your entire phone number one more time and hit execute. Let’s see if it does it again.”

“Dan,” Jerry interrupted, “Look at this! It’s telling us the truth… the instruments, I mean.”

“Try disconnecting autoflight,” Dan said, holding his breath.

“Already did. Nothing. And the sidestick still doesn’t work. But something’s new.”

The aircraft was leveling its wings now, and back on the previous course to Israel.

“Josh?” Jerry said. “Keep punching things and hitting execute, just… just write down what you’re entering each time.”

“Okay,” Josh responded, turning back to the MDCU, visibly relieved to have a mission.

Dan took a loud breath. “Okay, meanwhile, Frank and I are going back down to start pulling relays, starting with anything autoflight related I can get my hands on.”

First Class Cabin, Pangia Flight 10

Ashira Dyan was well aware of her conflicting loyalties: First, there was her lover and employer, Moishe Lavi, but she was with him, in part, because Mossad wanted her to be. And the broader intelligence mission of Mossad was in Israel’s best interests. But precisely where did all those coincide and where did they clash?

She wished she could phone the one who had recruited her so long ago and ask the key question: Is this a coincidence, Moishe being on an electronically hijacked jet apparently headed for Tehran?

Let’s not dance around this, Ashira, she could almost hear her handler say. If the pilots are telling the truth, someone is controlling this airplane, and it has to be Moishe’s doing.

Indeed, what were the odds of an accidental presence?

And, she thought, he’s almost enjoying this!

She knew him so well. He could be as inscrutable as a statue at times, but it was also true that he couldn’t really hide deep upset from her entirely. There were always contradictory signs, as there were now. His refusal to let her volunteer their handheld satellite phone when the crew was begging for them was one, as well as his unusual reluctance to let her see what he had been writing so diligently on his laptop.

That feeling of apprehension again crept past her professional training.

So what if he has engineered all of this, and is determined to start the war so we can finish it? If I could stop him, should I? If he’s behind this, there will be many confederates on the ground, all of them working to make Israel’s launch decision inescapable.”

She should confront him. But then he would merely deny it, and she would be no closer to the truth. Same denial, same amused expression.

No, there seemed to be one choice left, and that was to somehow gain control of his laptop. If he’d used a trigger program to take over the aircraft, perhaps she could find it in time and undo it. She had most of his passwords.

The inevitable pragmatic realism that was the bedrock of her personality reasserted itself, as it always did. If he was in control on this aircraft, he would be expecting her to confront him, and the only way around his usually brilliant maneuvering would have to be complete surprise.