John Nance - Lockout

“Yes, sir, but there’s always a worry that something explosive could have been sneaked aboard in that cargo pod, something that could explode the aircraft.”

“Evidence?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, what are we scared of, gentlemen, other than losing a plane full of passengers… not to make light of that, even though, to tell the truth, losing Moishe Lavi would probably be a godsend for world peace.”

“Sir, in the broader picture, we’ve got to consider the possibility that somehow this aircraft is being pressed into a mission that could involve Lavi’s repeatedly stated intentions to either launch a first strike on Tehran or provoke an attack that would force an Israeli nuclear response.”

The president of the United States looked incredulously at his CIA team and then searched the eyes of the rest of the men in the room.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re telling me the pilots are loyal, and there’s no way to control this airplane from the ground, and there’s no nuclear material on board, but you’re expecting it to head for Tehran and by looking like a threat, trigger a strike on Israel which would trigger a nuclear response and a Mideast Armageddon? Are we serving hard liquor in here?”

Much to Walt’s relief, the air force colonel came alive. “Mr. President, if that aircraft heads for Tehran with Moishe Lavi aboard they could be flying a Cessna 172 and the Iranians would use it as an excuse to go ballistic. Perhaps literally.”

A long sigh marked the end of the president’s attention.

“Okay, I get that. Get me more facts, guys. I assume you have no recommendations for me at present and we do have some time?”

“Yes sir, we have a couple of hours, and no, sir, we have no immediate recommendations,” James Bergen responded. “Not CIA, at least.”

“Nor the Joint Chiefs, sir,” the admiral chimed in. “At least, not yet.”

The president stood and grinned as he looked at the two uniformed officers. “You fellows also representing DIA in this visit?”

“Not really, sir. We’re reporting for the Joint Chiefs.”

“But… you and DIA and CIA are playing nice, right?” The president swept his eyes back and forth between CIA’s James Bergen and DIA’s General Richard Penick. “No one’s playing games with the information or strategically timing the release of anything to me, right?”

“No, sir,” they said practically in unison.

“Okay. Because to make a lighthearted reference to a very serious subject, I get really cranky when that happens. Don’t forget we’re on the same team. Summon me back down here when you’ve something to recommend, the first lady’s wrath notwithstanding. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the east wing looking appropriately enthralled.” The president turned, then turned back with a finger in the air. “Wait… that’s not fair. I dearly love and respect both Carlos Santana and Yo-Yo Ma. Just… together?”

Cockpit, Pangia 10 (0020 Zulu)

“Goddammit, you talk to them!” Jerry tossed the commandeered satellite phone toward his copilot in deep disgust, and Dan had to lunge to the left to catch it in mid-air. “As far as they’re concerned, if the book doesn’t say it’s there, it isn’t!”

The passenger who’d finally volunteered the satellite phone had held out on them at first, apparently afraid of running up a big bill. But the “can’t fly the airplane” part of Jerry’s PA had changed his mind, and at last they’d scored a steady signal. Dan cleared his throat and raised the phone to his ear, taking care to keep the extendable antenna in the forward window as he identified himself and waited for a reply.

“Dan, this is the maintenance director. The captain was telling us there’s a metal cabinet in the electronics bay, and obviously, if it’s there, it’s there, but we’re completely puzzled back here because according to our information on this bird, there are no cabinets or large enclosures in that compartment. Are there any decals or placards on the side of it?”

“No. I looked carefully,” Dan replied, describing the cabinet. “The thing shocked the hell out of me and knocked me out briefly when I tried to open the side of it. I’m pretty sure that’s a security defense system. Plus, I can tell you it’s firmly attached and engineered into that part of the electronics bay… not just something sitting there loose.” He described the cables running in and out and his growing suspicion that every electronic control in the cockpit had been shunted to whatever was in the box.

“So… in your opinion, that box is not something that could have been added on a quick turnaround or in an hour or so?”

“Hell, no!” Dan said. “The sheer volume of the cables running into the front of this thing along the floor and the solid construction of it means it would have taken major downtime to get it installed, and there would had to have been all sorts of disassembly and reassembly in a maintenance hangar somewhere. I mean, we’re talking weeks, probably! Has she been on the ground somewhere for that long out of our control?”

“We’re checking, Dan. We’ve got our ship routing department as well as the A330 team on another line from Toulouse, and they’re just as mystified as we are. They say there’s never been anything like the cabinet you’re describing engineered into one of their birds, not just the ones they’ve built for us.”

“I’m pretty sure that cabinet holds the key, so to speak.”

“We… have no idea… but I suppose you could be right.”

“So here’s my plan, unless you guys can come up with something else, I’m going to get on thick gloves and a coat and insulate my feet and go back down to see if I can get the side of that box open. If so, maybe there’s a switch inside, or some clue as to whether it’s causing this freaking nightmare… which it has to be.”

Dan could hear the genuine angst on the other end as what had to be a sophisticated speakerphone picked up the group’s reaction.

“We can’t think of anything else to recommend. Just be careful.”

“I will. We don’t have a lot of time. We’re over Croatia now, and I estimate Tel Aviv in three hours. To be brutally frank, if we don’t regain control, we’ll flame out in approximately four hours.”

Dan punched the disconnect button on the satellite phone and sat in silence for a few seconds before looking over at Jerry and across at Bill Breem and Tom Wilson, his copilot.

“You heard?”

“Yeah,” Bill Breem replied. “Enough, at least. But how the hell can I believe that this company somehow doesn’t know about a bus-sized box in the basement of this plane?”

“Bit smaller than a bus…” Jerry said, with a sharpness he immediately regretted.

“You know what I mean,” Breem added.

“Yes, I do.”

Someone was standing in the open cockpit door, and Jerry glanced around to find Carol pointing back over her shoulder.

“Someone wants a word with you. Is it all right to bring him up?”

“Who, Carol?” Jerry asked.

“I believe you spoke with him before, Captain. Moishe Lavi.”

The sigh was more apparent than audible as Jerry’s shoulders slumped slightly even as he nodded approval, but the copilot’s head had jerked around, and Jerry was instantly puzzled to see Dan’s eyes flare in surprise. There was no time to ask questions, however, as Carol stepped aside and the stocky passenger moved into the same space, nodding at both pilots.

“Prime Minister Lavi! I had no idea you were aboard,” Dan managed, extending his hand, which Lavi took gratefully.