Murray McDonald - Critical Error

“Of course. We’re contacting LaGuardia now and informing them of the emergency.”

“Thank you.”

Johnson was apoplectic and was furious at himself for only having only one-way comms. He had been screaming at the tower until he realized they couldn’t hear him.

“Shit! How long to get to LaGuardia?!”

“Thirty minutes by car and probably ten by helicopter but they’ll shut the airport down with an emergency,” responded one of the CIA hit squad.

“Mother fucker!! Let’s go! They can’t shoot us down!” he screamed at the nearest five men. His chopper was a five minute run away, ten minutes to LaGuardia, he may just make it before they began to disembark.

“American 45, I have LaGuardia, they’ve cleared the runway and will have you down in 5 minutes.”

“Hurry!” screamed Johnson as they tore through the terminal. While one of his men briefed the helicopter pilot, he called the control tower.

The Air Traffic Director answered the call immediately.

“What gate at LaGuardia?!!!” screamed Johnson as he ran.

The Air Traffic Control Director didn’t have a clue. He worked at JFK, although he did know American used the Central Terminal D Concourse. “I know American use the Central Terminal Concourse D…” Johnson cut him off, not letting the Air Traffic Control Director finish his sentence. Rude prick, he thought before turning his attention to the screen full of blips that had just been delayed due to American 45.

As the flight landed perfectly the fire trucks and ambulances chased after the ‘damaged’ plane. As they came to a stop, the Captain instructed the crew to abandon the aircraft. The doors swung open and the slide chutes exploded into action. The Captain exited the cockpit and shook Sam’s hand.

“Best not fly American for a little while, Son,” he offered as advice.

The Captain grabbed the Sky Marshall’s arm as he ran to catch up with Rebecca and Sam as they jumped onto the slide.

“Son, you really don’t want to piss him off. Pararescue Jumpers are the kindest men you’ll ever meet, if you’re on their side. But if you’re not, trust me, those guys are the meanest and most vicious sons of bitches alive!”

Johnson’s pilot had made excellent time and they arrived at LaGuardia Central Terminal just three minutes after the flight had landed. Johnson could smell them. It would have taken more than three minutes for the plane to taxi to a gate. However, after ten minutes, he began to consider there may have been a problem. He called the tower and was informed of the emergency evacuation on the runway and how, in emergency situations, it was fairly standard to get the passengers off the plane.

Had Johnson waited and listened to the Air Traffic Control Director from JFK, he would have said the same thing. Johnson was incandescent. Sam Baker had gone. With a fifteen-minute head-start, it wasn’t even worth trying. Johnson rounded up his men and left. He’d have to explain another failure to the President.

Had Johnson had it his way, he’d have just shot the plane down. It was the President who had insisted on doing it that way.

Sam directed Rebecca towards the subway. Forty-five minutes later and lost to the world, they walked up and out into the afternoon sunshine in Midtown Manhattan. Sam looked around. The streets were packed and there was absolutely no chance they had been followed.

“So what next?” asked Rebecca.

“Walter Koch, John Mellon, Lawrence Harkness and William Hathaway. Take your pick.”

“And the other two?” she asked, surprised he had not included Russell and Johnson.

“Saving them for last.”

“Oh, OK. So where to, Genius? You warned them you were coming.”

“Hmm yes, beginning to regret that a little. Heat of the moment and all that,” mused Sam.

“Shall we grab a bite and have a think?” offered Rebecca.

As they stepped into the diner, her cell phone rang.

“It’s Ben,” she said, looking at the screen on her phone.

Sam wanted to answer and tell whoever the hell this Ben was what he thought of him but Rebecca seemed to be very close to him and had promised Ben would not have sold them out.

“Go on then, see what he’s got to say!” said Sam, unable to disguise his anger.

“Hello?” She put an iciness into her voice, partly to make Sam feel better.

“Why didn’t you call when you landed?” he asked sincerely.

“We were too busy running from the men with guns that were waiting for us!” she said angrily.

“What?” asked Ben, genuinely confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” The accusation was loud and clear.

“I only spoke to the Transportation Secretary and he’s got nothing to do with any of this, I’d vouch for him personally. Whether he’s mentioned to somebody else I don’t know. On your parents lives, I did not do this Rebecca.” It was perhaps the most sincere she had ever heard Ben and certainly the first time he had used her parents graves to emphasize he was being truthful.

She relented and gave a thumbs-up to Sam. Ben was clear.

“I believe you Ben, how are you?”

“Rebecca I couldn’t even begin to tell you how bad I am but that is not your concern, I assume you wish to find the rest of the men?”

“I think that’s a no-brainer. Sam warned them he was coming.”

Ben laughed, the more he heard about Sam, the more he liked him. He’d have to check his background for any Jewish ancestry, he thought. He could certainly use a man as useful as Sam Baker.

“Nice touch,” said Ben. “I like it.”

Rebecca was a little surprised at how much she liked the fact that Ben was impressed by Sam.

“Anyway, I’ve done a little digging. The men are all members of a very elite club, the Alibi Club. Tomorrow evening, they have a poker night, or at least they normally would. I’ll text you the address. It’s in Washington.”

As Rebecca relayed the conversation she had had with Ben, Sam couldn’t help but think it was a trap. A little digging? It all sounded far too good to be true and if something sounded too good to be true, it usually was.

What Sam didn’t realize was that when Ben said a little digging, he was referring to over twenty years’ worth of material he had built up on the Horsemen. Ever since the Horsemen had gottten their hooks into Andrew Russell, Ben had gotten his hooks into them. It was just a shame for them that they didn’t realize just how big his hooks were.

Akram Rayyan looked out onto the empty ocean. They had seen the activity overhead as they ploughed towards Saint John in Newfoundland. Their Northerly course and their Russian flag had kept the Americans and her allies at bay. There were only four days to go before they would strike a blow that the Americans would never forget.

His men had just completed another exercise. The parts had been disassembled and were now being placed back in their water-tight containers. Everything was working perfectly. In fact, better than perfect. They were now down to only 28 minutes. Deif had said that even touching thirty would be superb. Akram would have loved to have told Deif but with no communications, he would just have to wait and inform him on his return, Inshallah, he added quickly. Now was not the time to forget that it was Allah’s will that they were performing.

As his men came bounding towards him, he thought it was time to choose the martyr. It was only fair that a martyr should have time to prepare himself. The guessing as to who of the two would have the honor was becoming a distraction. He considered the two men’s performances and, as he had predicted, it was not possible to choose on skill or ability. He would have to leave it to Allah. He took the coin from his pocket and followed his men down for lunch. One of them was about to discover his name would last for eternity and he would soon have 72 virgins by his side.