Rick Mofina - Free Fall

“Sounds weird.”

“Listen, Kate, I’ve got to leave the country again. But I’ve reached out to a guy I know who may be intimate with some classified initiatives in this area.”

“Really? What’s his code name?”

“Very funny. This guy’s extremely sensitive about the press, but I’ve urged him to talk to you and he’ll deny knowing me. That’s our thing.”

“I’ll take any help I can get.”

“I gotta go.”

After hanging up, Kate found herself gazing across the newsroom at the empty workstation where Sloane F. Parkman used to sit.

“Chuck sure is cleaning house.” Reston placed a coffee on Kate’s desk.

“Thanks. Yeah, well, Sloane was no great loss.”

“You heard the latest on Reeka?”

“That she’s taking time off.”

“Word is she’s been told not to come back.”

“Are you serious?”

“I heard they’re working out terms of her departure and keeping it low-key. I’m telling you, little by little, step by step, Chuck Laneer is restoring the integrity of this place.”

Reston’s phone rang and he answered with “Be right there.”

“Gotta go,” he said to Kate.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

It didn’t take long before Kate had disposed of half the emails in her inbox. She’d flagged two to consider later. Before resuming, she reached for her coffee and locked onto the subject line of one email:

YOU FAILED ZARATHUSTRA-A TOLL WILL BE EXACTED

She opened it and read:

We offered you a place in history. We selected you because we regarded only you and your work worthy of the honor. We chose you to announce our triumph with Flight 4990 but you failed. The cost was 15 innocents from Flight 418. Then you insulted our victory with your televised lies. Why did you deny that we have taken control of the skies? Why did you lie? Like Peter’s denial of Christ, it was preordained. We warn you now to tell the ordinary masses that we are extraordinary people destined to soon achieve a monumental victory on a colossal scale, the likes of which the world has never seen. We will take civilization to unprecedented heights, lighting the way forward for all of human existence. We are Zarathustra, Lord of the Heavens.

Kate felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she read the postscript:

Do not doubt the seriousness of our intentions. We know you live with your daughter and sister in Morningside Heights.

Manhattan, New York

They know where we live!

Fear raged through Kate like a wildfire as seconds ticked down and buildings rushed by her cab’s window.

Frantic, she’d shown Zarathustra’s new threat to Chuck. He’d tried to calm her, and he’d made calls, but Kate hadn’t waited. She’d torn out of the building, flagged a taxi and demanded the driver get her uptown to Grace’s school on 115th Street as fast as possible.

Now, as her cab zigzagged through traffic, Kate made her second call to Grace’s school.

“As I’ve said, Ms. Page, we’ve sent an assistant to Mrs. Blake’s class. I assure you that we have nothing unusual to report. Your daughter’s fine.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there to pick her up shortly.”

“Is there something we need to be aware of, Ms. Page?”

Kate didn’t want to alarm the entire school.

“No, I’m sorry. A family emergency’s come up.”

Catching her breath, Kate ended the call then pressed the number for Big Tony DiRenaldo’s Grill, the diner where Vanessa worked. Kate needed to hear her sister’s voice. Needed to know she was safe. The sounds of cutlery and dishes clanking amid the din of conversations spilled into the phone before Vanessa came to the phone.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked.

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when I get to the diner with Grace.”

“You’re coming here with Grace? Kate, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain it all when I see you.”

Kate had to think, had to keep calm. Yes, she’d already been followed by a private investigator. That was one thing, but she’d handled that.

Or had she?

Then there was her feeling that someone had been in her hotel room while she’d been in London.

Could the Zarathustra messages be related? The emails are the bigger issue, a greater unknown. If it’s all real, if Zarathustra has the ability to crash jetliners, then imagine what they could do to us.

Her mind swirled with scenarios and sweat trickled down her back as the cab halted at Grace’s school. Kate told the driver to wait. Her hands trembled as she waited at the school office where a staff member eyed Kate closely over her bifocals.

“Is everything all right, Ms. Page?”

“Yes, a family matter.” Kate turned when Grace arrived.

“Hi, Mom. What’s wrong? Why’re you here? Am I in trouble?”

“No, no, sweetie. I just need to have you with me for the day.” Kate took her hand and then, for the benefit of the staff member, said, “I’ll have you back in school tomorrow.”

Big Tony DiRenaldo’s Grill was on 130th Street.

Again, Kate told the driver to wait knowing she was facing a huge cab fare. The diner was busy, and it took a minute before Vanessa saw them. She led them to a booth and gave Grace a glass of chocolate milk, her favorite.

Kate took Vanessa aside, so Grace couldn’t hear.

“What’s going on, Kate?”

Kate pulled the printed email from her bag. Vanessa read it quickly.

“This isn’t good, Kate.”

“I know.”

“You told me this story was giving you problems. Now someone is trying to scare you.”

“I want you to know because I don’t want to take any risks, okay?”

“I get that, but after all we’ve been through, you know that we don’t scare easily. I don’t like this. It makes me nervous, but I’m not going to let this idiot control my life.”

“Yes, but we’re not taking chances. I want you to text me all the time, where you’re going and when you get there. Be vigilant, be careful, okay?”

Vanessa touched the back of her hand to her moist brow as a bell rang.

“Vanessa!” a man dressed in white called through the small opening to the kitchen after setting two plates on the shelf. “Pick up!”

“Okay?” Kate repeated.

“Okay. I gotta work.”

Kate sat down with Grace, who was blowing chocolaty bubbles through her straw just as Kate’s phone rang.

“It’s Chuck. We need you back in the newsroom.”

Manhattan, New York

The air held traces of men’s cologne in the glass-walled boardroom at Newslead’s headquarters, where Kate joined Chuck Laneer, Graham Lincoln and five other people.

“Everyone, this is Kate Page,” Chuck said. “Kate, I believe you know Nick Varner with the FBI from some of your previous stories. With him, also from the FBI, is Leonard Brock.”

Nick and Brock, an older balding man, nodded, then Kate turned to the two men in rumpled jackets who sat across the table.

“We also have detectives Karl Steiger and Ted Malone of the NYPD.”

Both men wore grim faces. The woman near them wore a dark blazer.

“And we have Helen Swayne, with our legal team.”

Swayne opened her leather-bound notebook, clicked her pen and gave Kate a professional smile. Kate looked beyond the glass at the newsroom, where she’d left Grace at the copy editor’s empty desk. She was doing her homework on her tablet.

Grace was safe.

“To bring you up to speed,” Chuck began, “everyone’s seen both emails, and everyone’s been briefed. Now they have questions and thoughts to share. Nick, if you want to start.”