John Nance - Lockout

“An analyst? Whoa, wait… an analyst ?”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, I just thought…”

“I’m an analyst just like you, Jenny! I have no training as a spy.”

For a few seconds she found herself forgetting the bizarre nature of their little chat, he astride her in a flower bed, and she stared at him before responding.

“Well… it’s true you sure as hell don’t drive like a spy, you know, someone with… with…”

“High performance driver training?”

“Yes. That. Wait… what operation are you talking about?”

“Yours. I intercepted your call for help this morning. I was supposed to notify an entire chain of people, but I didn’t. Apparently someone found out, or overheard the call, I’m not sure how. But I happen to know DIA has been setting up some very secretive satellite networks, and I’m very suspicious of what they’re doing because no other part of even DIA itself is supposed to know. We don’t operate like the old clandestine cell system, yet that’s the kind of stuff I’ve been picking up. When your call came in, it seemed like an example of precisely what they’ve been whispering about. I thought it might give me a chance to confirm my suspicions and do something about it.”

“What in tarnation are you talking about?”

“The ability to remotely control airliners. Maybe crash them on cue. At least that’s what I think it’s about.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I thought you were working with them , okay? You wrote the code, as I said.”

The code again , she thought, feeling a flash of guilt and foreboding. But who would have had access to that code, and how could she have prevented it? That was years back!

“Let me up, dammit!”

He got to his feet and pulled her up until they stood together between the hedge and the house as she brushed herself off.

“There’s still an airliner…” she began.

“Sh-h-h!” he cautioned. “Keep it low!”

“There’s an airliner about to be toast because of all this,” she continued.

“I know.”

“So, were you trying to keep me from transmitting?”

“No. Hell no! I was trying to find a way to make it work without getting arrested.”

“Okay, well… Will … why don’t we motor on over to 1600 Pennsylvania and let the big guys sort it out. No time for much else.”

“Okay,” he said, defeat in his voice.

“Okay? Really, just… okay? ”

“Yeah, I’m fresh out of clever ideas.”

“I have no reason to trust you, y’know. I mean, no fucking reason!”

“I know it.”

“But I have no time to figure it out, either.”

“I don’t know how we can make it to the White House or anywhere else with everyone looking for us.

“We have to try.”

“True.”

“Maybe we could flag down a cab?”

He shook his head, his eyes cast in the direction of what had to be three helicopters now crisscrossing several blocks distant, the powerful light beams of the police helicopter cutting through the trees and the shrubs they were hiding behind.

“A cab’s not possible. They’ll all be alerted by now.”

“We have less than forty-five minutes, and the release sequence I came up with may be garbage, but if this is as big a crisis as I think it is, they’ll have to listen. If we can get there, that is.”

“There’s a car in the driveway,” Will said, almost under his breath.

“Should we knock on the door and ask for a ride?”

“What? No!”

“Then how can we use their car?”

“We’re going to borrow it.”

“Borrow… wait… I thought you weren’t a spy? You’re telling me you know how to hotwire a modern car and steal it, with all the interlocks?”

“No, but follow me and stay low. Maybe we’ll be lucky.” He pulled her toward the driveway where a small, late model Toyota was parked, letting go of her hand to slip to the driver’s side.

The door was locked.

He checked the darkened front windows of the home once again before carefully triggering a tiny penlight to scan the interior, looking for a way in, oblivious at first to Jenny’s voice which could barely be heard against the noise of helicopters, traffic, and a distant siren.

“Will.”

No response.

“Will!”

He turned to look at her, then puzzled that she was holding what looked in the dim streetlight like a credit card and pointing to the street.

“What?”

“An X car. A community rental car, is right there, right over there by the curb, and I have a membership.”

“A what?”

He followed her gaze to the tiny two-seater and gave chase as she ran to the driver’s side, sliding her membership card to open the locks.

“You know how to drive one of these?” she asked.

“Drive it? I thought you pedaled it!”

“Funny.”

“The thing’s embarrassing.”

“It’s a smart car.”

“It’s a pregnant roller skate, and we could hardly stand out more if this thing was painted international orange and shooting fireworks.”

“Got a better idea, Mr. Bond?”

“No,” he said, pulling the door open and stuffing himself inside just as a police car squealed around the corner in front of them, it’s headlights a split-second from illuminating the interior of the X car as they swept the line of houses.

Jenny and Will ducked toward each other as if on cue, Jenny almost prone to her right, Will leaning left atop her, down barely enough the stay out of the headlights as the cruiser shot past. Jenny was making a conscious effort to keep her foot from touching the brake and flaring the brake lights in the cop’s rearview mirror.

“Clear, you think?” she asked.

“Couple more seconds.”

“If he sees us, just say we were making out.”

“Jenny, this car’s too small for a kiss, let alone anything more.”

“Yeah, but I’m on the bottom again, and you’re enjoying this!”

Will raised up slowly, scanning behind them, finding the street dark, although the beams from the searching police helicopter were less than a block away.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said.

She fired up the tiny engine and put the car in gear, feeling it lurch away from the curb.

“Right turn at the end of the block.”

“I know the way to the White House, Will. We’ve got to hurry and stay on the main roads. Just… just look casual.”

“Casual?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell does one look casual driving a golf cart down a city street at midnight?”

“I don’t know. Stop scowling… look relaxed.”

“I can’t relax. We’ve got half the town after us.”

“And… that could be a problem,” she said.

“What?”

“I forgot these cars report their GPS position constantly. If someone’s been watching my account…”

“Wonderful. They can just monitor us and intercept us.”

“There’s no other choice, is there?” she asked. “We couldn’t outrun a skateboard in this little thing, but at least it’s moving and we have a little over a half hour.”

Aboard Pangia 10 (0410 Zulu)

“They said we’d get an escort, and there they are,” Jerry announced as two Israeli F-15 fighters pulled into wingtip formation, their markings barely visible from the reflection of the lights in the A330’s passenger windows.

“Can we talk to them?” Tom Wilson asked.

“I don’t know. If they have only UHF, we can’t.”

But a male voice cut through the question on the discreet frequency they had set up with Cairo Control.