Rick Mofina - Free Fall

“Sorry. I’m late and short on time.”

“I need help.”

“This is on your airline story with the email?”

“Yes.”

“What did you learn in London?”

“I learned that Shikra Airlines received an email concerning the crash at Heathrow. I think it’s linked to my Zarathustra email, the crash and the EastCloud flight.” Nick nodded, saying nothing, and Kate continued. “I was told the Shikra email was shared with the FBI. Is that right?”

Nick took his time before answering.

“Kate, give me your assurance that you won’t use anything I tell you.”

“You know you have it.”

“All right. The task force is looking at both emails as potential threats, and we’re assessing their veracity.”

“What about the connection to the flights? They’re linked, right?”

“I didn’t say that. First we have to find the sources of the threats and assess them.”

“Do you believe it’s the same source?”

“Too soon to say.”

“Can I get the FBI spokesperson on the record saying you are investigating the emails in relation to the two flights?”

Nick shook his head.

“Why not, Nick? We nearly lost the EastCloud flight. We’ve got fifteen dead people in London and somebody claiming responsibility in each case. The public has a right to know what’s going on.”

“They also have a right not to be unduly panicked and a right to a thorough investigation. Yes, making a threat is a criminal act, but we don’t have enough to shut down the airline industry based on two vague, unsubstantiated emails. We don’t know what we’re looking for yet. We have no solid evidence. You realize what would happen if this turned out to be a false alarm but got out the wrong way? People wouldn’t get on a plane. The economy would take a serious blow. And we’d be inundated with copycat threats.”

Kate cupped her face in her hands.

“Nick, can you give me an idea how close you are? How much longer before you have something?”

“I can’t answer that but I’ll tell you this. We’re using every resource we can because indications are that whoever is behind these messages is extremely skilled and intelligent.” Varner looked at his watch and patted Kate’s hand. “I have to leave but we’ll keep in touch.”

Kate sat for a moment alone, watching the old men play chess and the seniors continue with Tai Chi, as a jetliner roared over the East River.

Hyattsville, Maryland

The stone bungalow sat back at the end of a dead-end street, sheltered by stands of oak and maples, not far from the University of Maryland.

“Baba O’Riley” thudded from the small, battered Chevy sedan that squeaked to a stop in the driveway. Setting the parking brake and leaving the motor running, the driver collected the insulated pizza bag, trotted to the door and rang the bell.

Veyda Hyde answered.

“That’ll be twenty-five seventy.” The driver slid the box from the bag.

“The pizza’s free.” She held up her phone. “You’re late.”

“No way! There was traffic and the offer says-”

“Delivered in thirty-three minutes or it’s free. You took thirty-nine minutes. I tracked your time from your call center.”

“I know, but the time rule says-”

“Any first-year law student could tell you that your advertised terms and conditions on the time rule are so sloppy they’re invalid. You’re late. The pizza’s free. Don’t argue with me. I’ve just taught you and your company a lesson. Consider that my tip.”

Veyda seized the pizza and shut the door just as the driver raised his middle finger.

Trailing the aroma of baked cheese, onions and pepperoni, she entered the living room where Seth waited on the sofa before a hundred-inch flat-screen TV. She set the pizza down on the coffee table, went to the kitchen and returned with paper plates, sodas and napkins. They pulled the tabs on the cans then dug into the pizza.

“Ready?” Seth chewed on his first bite.

“Okay.”

Seth wiped his fingers on his jeans and grabbed his phone, which he’d programmed to use as the TV’s remote control.

The screen came to life with Newslead’s footage showing the cabin of EastCloud Flight 4990 twisting out of control. Passengers were tossed violently like toys as the jet rolled. Bodies bounced over seats, smashed against walls. People screamed for their lives.

Images cut to news reports and the river of emergency lights in front of LaGuardia’s Terminal C. TV crews jostled with police to crowd around injured passengers on gurneys being loaded into ambulances.

“It was horrible!” one woman told reporters.

Seth finished off his pizza and picked up another slice.

Next, there came footage of the terminal’s baggage claim area, where news cameras had encircled passengers recounting their ordeal.

“People were hurled like rag dolls,” one man said.

With her eyes on the TV, Veyda sipped her ginger ale.

Seth belched and tapped his phone, and new footage ran, showing Shikra Flight 418 plowing into the ground at Heathrow. The right wing and landing gear broke up as the jet cartwheeled. The tail, fuselage and cockpit separated into pieces, scattering passengers before the wreckage ignited. Emergency vehicles sped to the disaster with lights flashing as rescuers worked to save lives, while others draped canvas over the dead.

Then there came news reports showing agonized relatives in Heathrow’s arrival area; some were inconsolable and collapsed.

“And now,” a British news anchor staring into the camera said, “authorities begin their long investigation to determine the cause of this horrific tragedy, the crash of Shikra Airlines Flight Four Eighteen.”

Veyda raised her palm to Seth, who slapped it in a high five.

“I told you we would do it,” she said. “Kate Page disappointed us. We selected her because her work was the best. We thought she was worthy to honor Zarathustra, to be part of history.”

“Her silence was a colossal failure.”

“Shikra was the price to be paid.” Veyda laughed to herself. “We’ll teach her a lesson. Soon she’ll be shouting Zarathustra’s praises to an awestruck world and we will rule the heavens.”

“This is our time, our destiny, baby. Everything’s in motion. For yours is the power…”

Veyda gave Seth a victory kiss, pulled away and said, “And the glory.”

Seth cued more news reports on Heathrow and they continued eating.

As images of the tragedy played out before them, Veyda basked in the knowledge that she and Seth were extraordinary humans who were in the process of making history and enlightening the world. She took quick stock of the bookcase and their new souvenirs: candles from Japan, an incense burner from India, a carving from the Canary Islands. She looked at their worktables across the room with the laptops, large computer monitors and the small desktop flight simulator they’d built. Through the patio doors, she saw the array of satellite dishes in the backyard, which was enclosed by a ten-foot hedge. They’d bought all the things they needed online.

Veyda reached for her ginger ale, reflecting on the triumphs and tragedies of her life.

She’d been six and her mother had been brushing her hair, telling her that she had an exceptionally high IQ. You’re our miracle. You’re going to accomplish monumental things when you grow up, sweetie. I know it in my heart.

Veyda let the memories flow.

Her mother’s teary smile when she’d applauded her from the audience, as she’d taken the auditorium stage to accept another academic award. As Mom had taken pictures, Veyda had searched for Dad, finding his empty chair.