Rick Mofina - Free Fall

“Our subjects, Veyda Cole and Seth Hagen, landed in Denver. We tracked them to a motel on Colfax Avenue. ERT’s processing their room.”

“Anything?”

“Nothing so far.”

“What about the GPS on the rental?”

Butler nodded big nods.

“Pay dirt. We’ve locked onto it and are setting up for a takedown.”

“Really?”

“The signal shows they’re stopped in the middle of nowhere in Weld County.”

“Maybe they dumped the rental?”

“Maybe. We have no visual and no contact yet. We’re in the process of getting confirmation. Here’s the area.” Butler handed a phone displaying a map to Varner.

“Who’s in on this?”

“Everybody. We’ve got our SWAT out of Denver Colorado Department of Public Safety, State Patrol, and Weld and Morgan County Sheriff’s Departments. We’re still marshaling resources. We’ll be joined there by experts from the NTSB’s Denver office to provide immediate assessment of what we might find related to hacking flight systems. We’re setting up for an operation in a community barn in Galeton. It’s on the map there. That’s where we’re headed now. We should be there in an hour, give or take.”

Varner studied the map.

“What could they do to jetliners out there in the middle of nowhere, Mitch?”

“Anyone’s guess. There’s nothing out there but a whole lot of nothing, except for the Minuteman missile launch sites.”

“Missile launch sites? Are you serious?”

“But they’re empty and inactive, so it couldn’t be that.”

Palmdale, California

Camilla Rosa’s eyes narrowed on her radar screen in the dimly lit room housed by the Los Angeles Air Route Traffic Control Center.

Ever since receiving the FAA’s recent alert, Rosa had been functioning at a heightened sense of awareness at her station.

She was a skilled, conscientious air traffic controller, a ten-year veteran who was ever vigilant, but news stories about the FBI’s search for three people related to the London crash and the troubled EastCloud flight had every controller on edge.

The Los Angeles Center’s reach of responsibility encompassed the southern half of California, southern Nevada, southwestern Utah and western Arizona.

Trans Peak Airlines Flight 2230, nonstop to JFK, was one of the flights in Rosa’s sector. The flight had crossed over Las Vegas and was high above Lake Mead, Nevada. Soon it would be over southwestern Utah and out of her sector.

Rosa was preparing to hand off the flight to Denver Center when she felt a tiny ping of concern. Flight 2230’s altitude was thirty-five thousand feet, the altitude assigned to the flight. But she’d noticed the aircraft was climbing to thirty-six thousand feet.

What’s up with that?

Typically, east-to-west and west-to-east flights were assigned odd-numbered flight levels, while north-to-south and south-to-north flights were assigned even-numbered ones.

No immediate traffic was in Flight 2230’s corridor, but the pilot had not requested to leave his assigned altitude, so Rosa radioed the aircraft.

“TP Twenty-two Thirty, LA Center. You’re at flight level three six zero. Return to flight level three five zero.”

“Twenty-two Thirty. Roger, LA Center. Stand by.”

Rosa allowed sixty seconds. During that time she tended to other flights in her sector while keeping an eye out for 2230 to return to its assigned level. When it didn’t happen, she radioed again.

“TP Twenty-two Thirty, LA Center. You’re still showing level three six zero. Request you return to flight level three five zero as you’re approaching Denver Center sector.”

A full ten seconds passed in silence.

“TP Twenty-two Thirty, LA Center. Did you copy? Return to flight level three five zero.”

“Twenty-two Thirty. Roger, LA Center. Uh, we’re working on it but it seems we’ve got a system issue. Request you clear space until we can correct things.”

“TP Twenty-two Thirty, what is your systems issue?”

“Twenty-two Thirty. LA Center, that’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Rosa scanned the vicinity near Flight 2230. They were clear in their space, but her unease had deepened, and in keeping with the FAA advisory, she pressed a button to summon her supervisor.

Oklahoma

Five minutes after Seattle-bound NorthSun Airlines Flight 118 had flown over Oklahoma City, First Officer Sam Zhang blinked several times while scrutinizing their course readings.

“We seem to be veering slightly,” Zhang said.

Captain Will Miller stuck out his bottom lip after appraising the figures on display.

“Just the autopilot adjusting. Give it another few minutes.”

Five more minutes passed, and Zhang saw nothing change as the plane continued heading off course.

“Still veering,” Zhang said.

“Maybe we’ve got weather up ahead and it’s compensating.”

“But we have no weather issues showing and no advisories.”

Miller nodded and got on the radio.

“Kansas City Center, NorthSun One Eighteen. Have we got weather issues ahead?”

“Negative on weather, One Eighteen, but we show you moving out of your assigned course. Please correct and advise.”

“NorthSun One Eighteen, will do.”

Miller turned to Zhang.

“Sam, see what you can do to adjust it and get us back on the straight and narrow.”

Zhang made a number of inputs calibrating longitude and latitude. All were rejected. He reset and tried again. Nothing happened.

“It’s refusing my adjustments.”

“That’s nuts,” Miller said. “Let me try.”

The captain’s attempts met with the same result.

“How’s our separation?” Miller asked, his tone betraying a degree of frustration as he continued trying to correct the course heading.

“We’re still good,” Zhang said.

“NorthSun One Eighteen, please adjust your heading.”

“NorthSun One Eighteen here. Kansas City Center, we’re on it. Seems we have a sticky issue. We request you clear space until we resolve this.”

“NorthSun One Eighteen, identify your problem.”

“NorthSun One Eighteen. Center, that’s what we’re trying to do. Stand by.”

“Sam, take us off auto and I’ll do this manually.”

Zhang shut off the autopilot then Miller took control of the aircraft.

“All right, Sam, make the correction.”

Zhang input the changes but nothing happened. Miller exchanged a glance with him then tried directing the plane manually.

His commands were refused.

“What the hell?” Miller said. “It’s got to be a bug in the system.”

Zhang’s face was sober with concern.

“I think we should report an anomaly.”

Miller was shaking his head.

“Let’s run a diagnostic first.”

“But that will take too long and who knows where we’ll be then. Sir, I think we should first report an anomaly. We could still run the diagnostic.”

Miller licked his lips and nodded.

“Okay. All right. NorthSun One Eighteen. Kansas City Center, we’re reporting an anomaly with our flight-management system and request you clear space for heading…”

Washington, DC

Jake Hooper gripped his laptop computer under his arm like a football as he joined his supervisor, Anson Fox, and the new IIC, Reed Devlin, in running upstairs to the NTSB chairman’s boardroom.

The alert that two in-air jetliners had confirmed flight-management control trouble moments ago had impelled top national security officials to convene an emergency teleconference to assess the facts and take action.

The NTSB chairman and several board members, along with chiefs from Major Investigations, Research and Engineering, and Aviation Safety were already at the large table. Hooper, Fox and Devlin found seats as the teleconference call got underway.