Skyhook

FORTY THREE MONDAY MORNING, DAY 8 SEQUIM, WASHINGTON

Arlie sat in disgust for a few seconds before deciding to search under the hood of his car for the genesis of its refusal to start. He pulled the appropriate T-handle and got out, lifting the hood, eyes falling instantly on something sitting on one side of the engine that he’d never noticed before. It was a cylindrical metallic object roughly ten inches long, and apparently part of the engine assembly. But he couldn’t recall its function, or whether it could be blocking the car’s starter. He reached for the object, his hand touching the metallic surface and triggering a hidden electrical circuit. The psychological impact of a small firecracker exploding from beneath the device caused him to jump back, adrenaline following the shock, a tiny burst of smoke wafting from the object and marking the reality that the harmless device had been wired to wait for his touch.

A small rod had been thrust out of the front carrying a cloth-like appendage with writing, and Arlie squinted to read the message: Bang, it said. You’ve been warned. Next time you’ll be dead.

Arlie yanked the device from the engine and threw it angrily as far into the adjacent field as he could, then slammed the hood closed and walked quickly back to the house, shaking slightly with a confusing mix of anger and apprehension.

Rachel was standing at the center island of the kitchen when he threw open the door. She turned from the task of opening a small package and looked at him, startled at his wild-eyed appearance. “Honey? Back so soon?” she asked, continuing to remove brown wrapping paper from what appeared to be a small cardboard box.

“What’s that?” Arlie asked, leveling a finger at the package, aware that his beautiful wife was inches away and pulling open the top.

“Don’t know,” Rachel replied. “Maybe a gift. It was on our doorstep.”

“NO!” he lunged at the box as a loud crack echoed through the house.

Rachel jumped back as Arlie grabbed the box seconds too late. A similar puff of burned gunpowder assaulted his nose as he recovered his balance and turned around, his eyes meeting Rachel’s, his memory recalling the horrid decapitation of one of the infamous Unabomber’s victims.

“What on earth?” she managed, pushing herself back along the counter.

Arlie looked down at the box, disgusted at the small flag that had emerged: It’s Monday morning. Know where your daughter is?

Rachel read the words as well.

“Is this some sort of stupid joke?” she asked. “If so, it isn’t funny.”

He was shaking his head in spite of himself. “No. No joke. It’s a threat.”

“From whom? About what?”

He laid the box on the counter and came to her, holding her tight, unable to stem the cascade of tears from his eyes.

“Arlie? What’s going on?” she asked, her voice small and strained.

“Baby, get dressed and pack a bag. We’ve got to leave right now. I’ll explain after we’re on the road.”

She pulled back, looking at him. “Where are we going, and why?”

“Trust me. I’ll explain after we’re in the air.”

“In the air?”

“We’re taking the Cherokee. Pack light. Call no one.”

“Arlie—”

“Not now! Just… just trust me. Our lives are in danger.”

The sound of gravel crunching beneath the wheels of a car was growing from the vicinity of the front drive, and Arlie grabbed Rachel’s hand, leading her in a crouched position across the living room toward the bedroom, his mind fixating whether the .357 Magnum he kept under the bed was loaded.

Mac had never been in the office of the FAA administrator before, but somehow he’d envisioned a larger room than the one an aide was ushering him into. The FAA chief, the second woman to hold the position, got to her feet and came around the desk to shake his hand, motioning him to a large chair on the other side of the desk. Laura Busby sat in the companion chair across a small table.

“So, General MacAdams, what can I do for you? All I know so far is that you’re running a very important black project, have a serious problem to grapple with, and can’t tell anyone but me anything more.”

He smiled and opened a leather folder to fish out a two-page briefing sheet with the essential facts, and handed it to her.

“What I can tell you is this. Your enforcement folks are inadvertently creating a major security problem and you could make it go away very quickly. Since this is a serious matter of national security, that’s precisely what I need to ask you to do.”

Busby, a tall, elegant former congresswoman with a full mane of silver hair and a reputation for no-nonsense decisions, cocked her head and studied his eyes.

“Specifically?”

“I need you to sweep aside an emergency license revocation and reinstate the affected senior pilot before his daughter, lawyer, and friends kick open the wrong doors and expose our project prematurely, something that would cause irreparable harm.” Mac explained the basic facts and the newly obtained information on FAA Inspector Harrison’s background.

“Wait,” Laura Busby said, interrupting him. “You say all three charges we’ve raised are bogus? Support that.”

Mac sighed and launched into an explanation.

She was nodding slowly. “How do you know that propellor blade broke?”

“We… have hard evidence. We know precisely what the wreckage looks like, and the proof is undeniable.”

“I see. That’s one out of three, because you haven’t convinced me he wasn’t illegally continuing flight into instrument conditions without a clearance, or that he wasn’t drinking.”

“I need you to trust me on this, since we really don’t have time to go through the normal procedures.”

“I’m a stickler for normal procedures, General.”

“Yes, but this is an extraordinary situation. I seriously doubt you’ve had the Pentagon coordinator of a black project in here begging for an exception since you’ve been in this office.”

“You might be the first. Then again, you might not.”

“Well, considering the national defense harm this could do and the gross overreaction inherent in issuing an emergency license revocation within forty-eight hours of a crash based on almost nothing, coupled with the obvious personal bias of the inspector based on his own bad experience in the past, we’ve got all the ingredients here of a monumental injustice that needs immediate reversal, even if there wasn’t a national security aspect.”

Busby sighed and lowered the hand she’d been using to cup her chin.

“General, when I took over here, one of the things I pledged to my people was that the days of second-guessing and overruling field inspectors for insubstantial or political reasons were over. When I was in the House and on the Aviation Subcommittee, I got sick to death of watching the FAA mollycoddle unsafe operations because they — now we — were afraid of political backlash.”

“I understand. But this involves—”

“National security. I know. I’m not unresponsive or unsympathetic, but what I’m not going to do is just sweep this aside without delving into the details.”

“Time is of the essence here. The man’s family has been pulling out all the stops to disprove your allegations, and they’re getting uncomfortably close to us. If this thing blows into a courtroom, there is even more danger, because of possible media involvement and judicial orders we can’t easily evade. This is a bum charge, and it would be beneath the dignity of the FAA to pursue this, because I promise you, on the other end you’ll be mightily embarrassed. And, the damage to Captain Rosen would be immense. He’s a major airline 747 captain who will stay grounded and unemployed until the license is reinstated.”

She picked up the briefing papers and got to her feet, signaling the end of the discussion. “I’ll look into this as soon as possible, General.”

Mac stood, too, mildly alarmed at what was beginning to smell like a brush-off.

“May I check back with you this afternoon?”

She laughed and shook her head. “You are joking, right? It will take three or four days at best to get all the details assembled on this. I’ll call you when I’ve gathered enough information to make a decision.”

Mac stepped into the elevator, oblivious to the four other men and women already aboard. His focus was almost total. The danger was too real to make the foolish assumption that April Rosen wouldn’t find a way through the carefully woven veil of secrecy around Skyhook, exposing things that must never come to light.

There was one ace in the hole, he knew, and if the FAA refused to cooperate, he would have no choice but to play it as a last resort. But if that moment came, he would need to be right here in Washington.

The planned afternoon return to Anchorage evaporated before his eyes, and he made a mental note to cancel the flight reservation as soon as he returned to his hotel.

Gracie checked her watch for the third time since she’d watched the clerk stamp and accept her filing of the new action against the FAA and disappear into the warrens of the court to answer her impertinent request that one of the judges hear the emergency petition within the next few hours.

She heard footsteps and saw the conservatively attired woman returning, closing a side door behind her as she approached the counter, smiling thinly. Her demeanor carried an air of resentment.

“This is a highly unusual and irregular request, you understand, Counselor.”

“Yes, I do. But the situation is equally unprecedented.”

“I’ve spoken with the appropriate parties, including Judge Walton, and I am instructed to tell you the following. First, serve the Federal Aviation Administration personally and provide return certification of that service. You may call me by phone and confirm you have it, and the judge will hear your petition then at one P.M. sharp.”

“I, ah, suppose it would be impermissible to ask whether the judge is favorably inclined to such petitions?”

The smile vanished. “Ms. Rosen, Judge Walton is seldom favorably inclined to much of anything before lunch. You’re lucky this is set for one o’clock.”

The smile returned with a small wink as the woman turned away.

The cab ride to the FAA’s headquarters was an irritating series of stops and starts through endless traffic signals flashing occasional green lights at a river of gridlocked cars. Forty-five minutes of anxiety had passed with agonizing slowness by the time Gracie escaped from the taxi and dashed into the FAA building in search of the general counsel’s office. The reception was cool, quick, and seemingly unruffled, and she stuffed the signed receipt in her briefcase and rode the elevator to the ground floor to look for another cab as she dialed April on her cell phone to report their progress.

“That felt very strange,” Gracie told her. “I’ve filed lawsuits before, but I’ve never had to walk into a federal agency and essentially slap them with a subpoena.”

“What was the reaction?” April asked.

“Like it happens every hour.”

“Gracie, I just picked up another message from Dad, directing me to stop everything.”

There was a pause and Gracie cleared her throat. “Yeah, I did, too.”

“So what do we do?”

“We listen to Rachel. She called just afterwards, Sunday night, and told me she holds his general power of attorney, and she’s ordering me to continue full bore.”

“Can you do that ethically?”

“Unless my client calls and contravenes those orders, yes.”

“Thank God. I do not understand what Dad’s afraid of.”

“April, let me swing by the hotel and pick you up, then we go to the court and wait until one o’clock, when I get to argue my heart out for the injunction and ask for a show-cause hearing for tomorrow, if at all possible.”

“We can make them move that fast?”

“It always depends on the discretion of the judges, but I’ve made a strong argument for imminent harm. We should get what we’re after. With any luck, we’ll get the show-cause hearing and some government attorney will have to come tell the court who has the wreckage and what’s being done with it. In the meantime, April, I’m praying I can put enough pressure on the FAA to get them to drop the whole thing and reinstate the captain’s license.”

“Could it really be that easy?”

Gracie paused a few seconds too long, and knew April would interpret it badly. “Could be, but… I doubt it. Frankly, I’m going to have to play this by ear, April. We’re in uncharted waters, and I’m a minnow challenging sharks.”