Murray McDonald - Critical Error

“They’ll be there within the hour,” promised the President.

Walter realized he had not mentioned one thing. “Sorry, they’re in Paris, Mr President, so the next few hours will be OK.” He’d rather wait and get the best than the first few men that came to hand.

“What, James is sitting dying in Paris as we speak?”

“Yes!”

“Have you not called an ambulance or a doctor?”

“We don’t know where he is, we just know he’s in Paris!”

“Dear God!” Although the more he thought about it, the more he thought it couldn’t happen to nicer guy. James Lawson was a particularly unpleasant man.

As President, he could probably pass the videoconference link onto the NSA and they’d track him down but he also didn’t want to tie himself to Lawson’s death in any way. He closed his laptop and began to worry about himself, not some old cantankerous prick that was beyond saving in any event.

He called Johnson. He had missed again and as a result, he would need to get the men to cover the remaining Horsemen. He then called the Secret Service and requested his own security be doubled. Thinking better of the request, he trebled it.

Sam and Rebecca arrived at Charles de Gaulle in plenty of time to catch the first transatlantic flight of the day, the 8.20 Air France to New York. While Rebecca went to buy two tickets, Sam wondered what had happened. The airport had taken on the look of a refugee camp. Sleeping bodies were strewn everywhere and queues seemed to stretch off in every direction. He checked his watch. It was 5.30 am. Rebecca returned and Sam could see she was sporting a quizzical look similar to his own.

“There’s not a plane available for a week!”

“Sorry?” Sam was certain he had misheard her.

“Every single transatlantic flight is full for the next forty eight hours.”

“But you said a week?”

“Yep and then there aren’t any!” she said bewildered.

“What the hell do you mean there aren’t any?!”

“Something about a solar flare. All planes are being grounded for the rest of the week.”

“Jesus, we could take the train to London…”

“No, all flights across the world are being stopped,” she interrupted, realizing she hadn’t explained fully.

“I’ll call Ben,” she offered.

“Would that be the same Ben that gave up the address of where my sister-in-law had been hiding?”

“We don’t know that for sure. Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

“Ben?”

“Rebecca, I’m sorry I don’t have much time, I need to get to a meeting.”

Rebecca quickly explained the predicament. Five minutes later, she received a call back. They had two first class seats on the American Airlines flight leaving at 11.05 am to JFK.

“Excellent,” announced Sam, making his way to the executive lounge. There was just enough time for a shower and a good breakfast before they boarded.

The US Secretary of Transportation had relayed Ben’s request directly to the CEO of American Airlines, despite the late hour. As ever, the request was granted. Two American Airline crew were going to be spending a little more time in Paris than they had thought and two Million Miles members weren’t going to get the free upgrade they had craved and was grudgingly awarded by the airline.

The conversation, despite the unsocial hour, was business-like and as it came to an end, the Secretary expected at least some reference to the upcoming grounding of the aviation industry but it never came. The Secretary of Transportation sat back in his chair and stared at the phone. For days he had sat waiting for the onslaught from the airline chiefs but it had never happened. Four or five days’ grounding of all their flights had hardly elicited a squeak from them, despite the fact he knew they were being lambasted by the public at large. It just didn’t make sense. The volcanic ash debacle had cost him nights of sleep as every transatlantic carrier stormed his office by mail, phone and in person. His own scientists were telling him the chance of any issues occurring as a result of a solar storm were around one in a billion but the papers and all the media were convinced it was a cataclysmic event that would bring planes down. As such, they had no option but to go with the majority and like every other air traffic control network around the world, they had to close their skies.

Was he missing something? Despite the hour, he called the CEO of American Airlines back. He had to know what was going on.

“Chris, I’m sorry to call again.”

“Not at all, Mr Secretary.”

“I just wondered, when the ash thing happened, you were almost camped on my doorstep.”

“Yep, cost us millions!”

“But surely the solar storm is the same?”

“You’re winding me up aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not? Why would you say that?”

The US Secretary listened in disbelief before thanking the CEO profusely and arranging his driver to take him to the White House first thing in the morning.

At 7 am, the Secretary of Transportation waited in the anteroom for the Oval Office for his President. He had been there since 6.30 am and the President had been informed of his arrival.

“Come on in,” he offered as he entered the office.

“Thank you, Mr President.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised to see you, I imagine it’s chaos over at transportation,” said the President offering the Secretary a seat on the sofa across from him.

“That’s why I’m here, Mr President, I’m here because it’s not chaos.”

“Sorry?” Russell had lived through the ash storm and as VP with the President’s ear, he had received almost as many calls as the Secretary of Transportation.

“Exactly. However, I got a call from Ben Meir this morning. He needed a couple of seats on a plane. I called the CEO of American and managed to get a couple of seats for him but at no point did the CEO moan about the solar storm. Then it hit me full on, nobody’s moaning about the grounding. Well, a few from some small companies but none of the big boys, American, Delta, United, Continental, not a peep. Not one mention of lost revenue, disaster, bankruptcy, nothing. ”

“None of them?” questioned Russell, having spoken to them all at least three times a day during the ash crisis. He was stunned and the ash crisis had hardly impacted America, mainly just Transatlantic flights.

“Not one. So I called him back and asked the question and you’ll never guess what he said?”

“You’re right I won’t, so tell me!” Russell wasn’t a guessing type of President.

“What did they have to moan about? Their planes were all chartered, they were going to make a killing.”

“Who to?” demanded Russell, sitting up straight in shock as the news.

“Us.”

“Us?”

“As far as he was aware, it was some top secret government thing and we’ve hired all his planes and used this Solar flare nonsense as a cover.”

“What?”

“Yep and he’s over the moon, reckons the profits they’ll make in the next four days will sort out a number of long term issues they’ve had.”

“I’ll contact Defense and see if they know anything about it but I’m sure they would have told me!” said the President, still coming to terms with the news. Although the more he thought about it, the more one thing came to mind but there was no way that they were linked. Shutting down the world’s airline industry was not within their power, surely.

The Secretary of Transportation got up and walked towards the door. His bit was done, it was the President’s problem now.

“Oh, how was Ben?” The President asked as an after-thought.

“Fine, you know Ben, always in a rush”