Free Fall (30 page)

Eighty-Four

Washington, DC

A
live radar tracking map filled the big screen at one end of the NTSB meeting room where security had brought Robert Cole.

In the screen's bottom-right quarter, a live video feed showed Jill LaRose and Chet Meyer working on Seth and Veyda's laptops in Colorado.

They were linked in real time to Reed Devlin, Jake Hooper and other top NTSB investigators, along with national security experts and air industry engineers, on teleconference. They'd been feeding calculations to Colorado in a frantic bid to unlock the cyber grip on the two flights.

One by one, each attempt had failed.

Robert Cole was handcuffed and under guard in a corner chair, but he was indicating that he needed his briefcase.

At that moment, four men in FBI Windbreakers entered the large room. One of the building's security people approached them.

At the same time, the joy over the miracle that the two airliners had not collided died as NORAD's situational update was patched to the group. While Flight 118 and its escort were intact, one of Flight 2230's escorts had sustained damage in the crossover maneuver, forcing the pilot to eject.

And more alarmingly, in the wake of the near collision, Flight 2230 had begun to experience excessive pitching and banking before entering into an uncontrolled vertical descent.

“With this angle of descent, terminal impact is in three minutes!” a voice warned through the teleconference speakers.

“Jake!” Cole called out. “The codes you need to regain control of the planes are in my briefcase!”

Hooper seized the case from one of the guards.

The FBI, while being briefed by the security supervisor, watched coldly.

“The blue pages will undo the hack, Jake,” Cole guided him.

“I've got them!”

“Tell your people in Colorado to submit my codes into—into my—” Cole choked on his emotion. “Did they find my daughter? Is Veyda okay?”

“Robert, I don't know—please, how do we submit the codes?”

“Focus on the decision logic of the Omega Protection system and mind the variables. Veyda found a back door into the kill switch network.”

“Jill—” Hooper turned to the big screen “—did you get that?”

“Yes, we'll do it! Give us the coding!”

Hooper began entering the lines of code.

“Stop!” The lead FBI agent pointed at Cole. “That man's wanted for threatening national security! The two planes missed each other, but he could be giving you information to sabotage your rescue! Everyone take your hands off your computers and end your calls, now!”

Hooper kept going, entering the last line of code before hitting Send. He lifted his hands from the keyboard when Jill LaRose in Colorado said, “Got them, Jake!”

Eighty-Five

Colorado

T
he jetliner's nose-down drop continued with increasing speed.

Kate gripped her armrests, the plane's momentum crushing against her as yellow oxygen masks dropped.

Passengers shrieked. Tears streamed from Willa Neal's clenched eyes.

One of the flight attendants suddenly smashed down the aisle. Passengers reached in vain to catch him before he hit a counter in the galley.

Laptops, books, coffee cups, soda cans and bags pelted the passengers and bounced through the cabin.

The jet was pointed straight down, rocking and shaking while plummeting. G-forces had turned Kate's body into a stone weight. Rivets came loose, popping like popcorn and hitting the cabin walls. The whining engines were deafening, mingling with the thudding against the fuselage as parts of it began tearing away.

Kate's stomach felt like a giant hand was forcing it through her mouth. Turning her head against the pressure, she grabbed hold of her most important thoughts and calmly braced for her death.

I love you, Grace. I love you, Vanessa. Thank you for a good life.

The cabin lights began flickering and one passenger screamed.

“Jesus, please help us!”

* * *

It was futile.

Battling the g-forces, Captain Quinn and First Officer Krenski submitted commands for control, but nothing worked.

They'd managed to pull on their oxygen masks, remaining conscious and alert as alarms buzzed and horns blared warnings. The console ignited with flashing lights; counters and dials went haywire.

Quinn and Krenski strained against the intense g-forces as the earth raced toward them with frightening speed.

“Twenty thousand!” Krenski shouted as the plane shook. “The VSI and the altimeter are going crazy!”

Quinn reached for the throttles, shoving them all the way down.

“Respond! Get your nose up you son of a— Dammit! Respond!”

“Fifteen thousand!”

Quinn held tight to the yoke.

“Twelve thousand! Lloyd, we're not going to make it!”

The immense Colorado plain loomed like a waiting graveyard as they rocketed toward the earth.

Quinn's knuckles whitened on the yoke.

“Eleven thousand! Oh God, this is it, Lloyd... Our Father who art in heaven...”

Quinn's arms vibrated against the bucking. He took one last glance at the photo of his wife and daughters, gritted his shaking teeth and begged God for mercy. That's when the lights of the instrument panel blinked then lit up with a different pattern, and the big jet's nose began inching up.

“Something's happening!” Quinn shouted. “Something's happening!”

“Ten thousand!”

The velocity shifted the g-forces, flattening Quinn and Krenski to their seats, quadrupling their body weight. Quinn summoned all of his strength, pulled back on the yoke and the nose continued inching up.

“We've got control, Shawn! We've got control!”

Quinn continued pulling the yoke back.

“Pull back on the throttles, Shawn. Easy!”

Slowly, smoothly, gracefully, the plane began leveling.

* * *

In the cabin screams gave way to gasps and sporadic cheers as the plane pulled out of its dive.

The speed decreased and once the jet leveled a funereal calm fell over the passengers.

Brushing tears from their eyes, Kate and Willa embraced. Most people were shaken, sobbing and trying to aid others when the public-address system was activated.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Quinn. I'm happy to report that we've regained control of the plane. We've been cleared for a priority landing in Denver. We'll have you safe on the ground as soon as possible.”

His words were met with soft applause before he continued.

“Please report injuries to the attendants. We request that anyone aboard who has medical training provide assistance and that everyone else please remain seated and belted.”

A doctor and a nurse helped the injured attendant and the other passengers who were bleeding from being struck by falling items. Parents comforted terrified children, while strangers consoled each other. Observing the compassion of her fellow passengers, Kate acknowledged the palpable tension that was still in the cabin.

No one felt safe because they were still in the air.

Their trust had been shredded. The remedy was to be on the ground.

As the plane descended, Kate and Willa talked about their families while adrenaline coursed through them.

Only when Trans Peak Flight 2230 touched down safely in Denver did people cheer. Kate thrust her face into her trembling hands to cover her gasping sobs of relief. As the plane taxied she blinked at the ceiling, found a measure of composure, turned to the window and whispered her thanks.

Then she reached for her phone.

Grace would still be in school but Kate texted her.

I love you so much, sweetheart. So much! Can't wait to see you!

Then she called Vanessa, not sure if she was at work, at a class. When she got her voice mail, Kate said, “I love you, little sister. So much. We'll talk later.”

Red and blue lights splashed in the cabin's interior. Kate leaned forward and saw ambulances, fire trucks and other emergency vehicles at the gate.

Pulling herself together she called the desk at Newslead.

“Laneer.”

“Chuck, its Kate.”

“Kate! All hell's breaking loose! Where are you?”

Suddenly she was at a loss, not believing what she'd just experienced.

“Kate? Are you all right? Where are you?”

She blinked hard, briefly cupped her hand to her mouth and took a breath.

“Chuck, I'm in Denver and I've got a story coming.”

Epilogue

O
nce the crew of the Seattle-bound NorthSun Flight 118 regained control they were cleared to land in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Two passengers reported heart palpitations, while several others had nausea. That was the extent of the injuries on Flight 118.

In Denver, thirty-nine passengers and crew from Trans Peak Flight 2230 required medical attention. Most serious was the attendant who'd fallen through the cabin—he'd suffered a concussion and broken ribs. Injuries to other passengers ranged from cuts to fractured fingers, hands and arms, as well as mild head wounds.

For her part, Kate had harnessed her shock, working fast. She'd reached Nick Varner, NTSB and FAA officials, collecting facts on the terror that had played out in the skies over Colorado.

After finding a quiet spot in the airport, she'd written a breaking exclusive on the cyber hijacking and near-midair collision of two large passenger planes collectively carrying 1,125 people. The incident, which investigators had told her was linked to the Shikra crash in London and the troubled EastCloud flight in New York, proved that jetliners were vulnerable to hijacking by hackers. Had the cyber hackers, known as Zarathustra, succeeded, the Colorado event would have been the worst disaster in aviation history, she'd written, in what soon became one of the biggest stories in the world.

The events in Colorado, London and New York would become global news for days and weeks.

In that time, Kate had led a team of Newslead reporters in the United States and around the world to produce a multipart series that examined fly-by-wire systems, the secret Operation Overlord, Richlon-Titan, and Robert and Veyda Cole's connection to it all.

Cole had been investigated by the FBI but faced no charges. He was cooperating with all national security agencies in their investigations.

The challenge Kate had faced with the series was that Robert Cole had refused all interview requests. He'd turned down the
New York Times
, CTNB,
The Times
of London, the Associated Press, everybody.

Kate was frustrated but she understood, given Cole's tragic history.

Seth Hagen had died at the scene, but Cole's daughter, Veyda, had survived her gunshot wound in a Denver hospital, the location of which was not made public because the FBI was keeping watch to question her.

Kate's sources had told her that Cole had flown to Denver to be at Veyda's side, as her condition had been critical. On the third day of his bedside vigil she'd woken briefly, and as Cole had taken her hand, she'd said one word: “Daddy.”

Veyda had died an hour later.

The next day Robert Cole had issued a statement.

To all those who have suffered from my daughter's actions, I offer my most profound apology. For the rest of my life, I will live with the irreparable damage and unending sorrow she has caused. Her evil actions are not those of the daughter I knew. I do not ask for understanding, nor do I seek forgiveness. Both are unconscionable in the face of the enormity of the crime. I pray that heaven helps you heal and find peace.

In the time that followed, reporters profiled Cole, Veyda and Seth based on public records and interviews with those who knew them. But nobody was going to get the whole story.

No journalist was going to get to Robert Cole.

The FAA had not ordered a national ground stop of all jetliners because, with the deaths of Seth and Veyda, the immediate threat had been considered neutralized. However, in the days that followed aviation authorities in the United States and around the world rolled out alerts and advisories to the industry for fleets to be grounded in a non-disruptive, scheduled manner to examine and safeguard their systems.

The world's top engineers analyzed what Seth and Veyda had done, while building on the remedy designed by Robert Cole. Plane by plane, airline by airline, security was strengthened on all commercial jetliners.

A number of federal investigations were launched against Richlon-Titan for failing to correct, and concealing, the problem with its systems. Several lawsuits were launched by airlines that had purchased RT systems or aircraft. RT's stock plunged and Hub Wolfeson was fired from his position with the board.

Sloane F. Parkman was disinherited from his wealthy family. Kate learned that he was supporting himself by working part-time at a clothing store in a mall in Albany, New York.

The NTSB and EastCloud had cleared Captain Raymond Matson of any suspected errors in the handling of the Buffalo–to–New York flight. Matson resumed flying with the airline in good standing.

At the NTSB, during Bill Cashill's retirement party, Cashill took Hooper aside and advised him to “Never stop doing what you do, Jake. You do it right. You keep an open mind. You're going to be one helluva IIC.”

Some two weeks later, Kate was in the newsroom when a burst of dispatches from the police scanners made her think of how it had all begun.

Something overheard on the lowly squawk box
.

At that moment her cell phone rang with a call from Nick Varner.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Listen, Kate, we never had this conversation, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Robert Cole wants to talk to the press. Says he needs to get something out there because a lot of the stuff written about him and his daughter is inaccurate.”

Kate sat up.

“You're not serious.”

“I told him he should talk to you and he's willing to do it.”

“Exclusively?”

“Only to you.”

Kate alerted Chuck and while she was still uneasy about getting on a plane, she flew to North Dakota, rented a car at Minot and drove to Clear River, where she met Cole.

Kate shook his hand.

“Mr. Cole, I want to thank you for what you did at the NTSB in Washington. You helped save my life and the lives of more than a thousand people.”

Cole didn't respond.

He was a haunted man; his eyes were pools of pain.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said. “There's something I need to do.”

They climbed into Cole's pickup truck and drove across town, past the historic municipal buildings and storefronts that evoked another time.

“My wife, Elizabeth, grew up here,” was all he said as he guided his truck south over the eternal rolling rangeland.

After a few miles, they took the narrow, paved road that curved to a grove of trees near a creek and stopped at the Riverbend Meadow Cemetery.

He got out, opened the storage bin of the console between the seats and, with care, removed a beautiful wooden box.

“This way.” He motioned for Kate to walk with him through the burial grounds, stopping at the headstone that read “Elizabeth Marie Cole, Beloved Wife and Mother.”

Cole got on his knees.

“These are my daughter's ashes. I want her to be with her mother.”

Cole very tenderly emptied the box's contents, spreading them over his wife's grave.

“I didn't want to get a stone for her because I feared people would come and deface it, given what she did.”

Kate understood.

Cole stared at the ashes and they began to lift as the wind tumbled across the plain.

“I'm to blame for her actions because I was not the father she needed,” he said. “I'm going to tell you our story, the real story. I'm going to tell you everything the world needs to know.”

But Cole didn't move.

The wind strengthened, lifting the ashes from the land, carrying them upward. Cole followed them, looking up just as the straight vapor trail of a passenger jet cut across the clear blue sky.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
EVERY SECOND
by Rick Mofina.