“I don’t know exactly what it is, but let me describe it.” She gave Jake a detailed rundown of the odd-looking device.
“Two small tanks, you say?” he replied. “Any idea what they contain?”
“Not a clue, but there is definitely an aperture in the front and a telescopic sight, so this fires something, and since there are no unusual openings on this bird, it has to be fired through the window. You said the Air Force was voting for a phosphorous warhead on a missile guided by some sort of laser target designator?”
“That’s right.”
“My best guess is we’ve found a target designator, the thing that puts a laser mark on a target so a missile can find it. I’ve never seen one, but it fits.”
“How about identification plates?”
Kat sighed. “No names, but a lot of numbers and some cryptic instructions.”
“What language?”
“You sure you want to know? How secure can we consider this satellite phone line?” Kat asked.
“It’s digital,” he replied, “but it’s commercial and not encrypted. Nothing classified should be discussed.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that. Okay. I’ll just tell you this. There are markings on this contraption, but a much higher pay grade than you or I is going to have to decide what the implications are.”
“Go ahead and tell me, Kat. Time is too critical.”
“Okay. The markings are in English, Jake. Whatever this thing is, it looks American, and it looks military, and it looks like a sophisticated piece of equipment, not some one-of-a-kind backroom zip gun.”
There was a long sigh from Washington. “I was afraid of that.”
“We still don’t know where the missile came from, but the copilot confirms the explosion could indeed have been phosphorous. And one last point before I let you go. I can tell you that this organization, whoever they are, are slick and well-financed and very determined. Can I prove all that in a court of law? No. Not yet. Some of this is intuition and extrapolation, but unless they’ve surfaced with demands, I’d say we’re going to lose more airliners before this is over. Somehow we’ve got to find out the rest of the equation, like where they’re getting the missiles and whether that’s what happened to SeaAir.”
“The NTSB doesn’t think so, Kat. They feel SeaAir couldn’t be the same kind of blinding scenario, and they know from the wreckage it wasn’t actually downed by a direct hit from a missile.”
“Well, maybe they’re varying their tactics, but whatever this organization wants, they haven’t achieved it yet, or they wouldn’t be so incredibly desperate to turn off a potential leak like Robert MacCabe.”
“Understood.”
“Jake, maybe the Air Force could scramble an SR-seventy-one to Anderson Air Force Base to take this thing we found back for analysis. That’s the reason for Guam.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and one other thing. Could you have one of our people check with the NTSB’s investigator in charge of the SeaAir accident and track down whether or not enough of the pilots’ bodies were recovered to analyze the condition of their retinas.”
“Their what?”
“I’m no doctor, but maybe it’s possible to find out whether the pilots’ retinas show any evidence of damage. In other words, can they find any evidence of flash trauma to their eyes. If so, that would conclusively tie these two accidents together.”
Kat disconnected and folded the antenna of the satellite phone after passing on to Jake an estimated arrival time and arranging for an ophthalmologist to meet Dan Wade on arrival. She returned to the cockpit and slid past Robert into the right seat.
They were level at 42,000 feet, flying an odd and unauthorized altitude in order to stay clear of any other air traffic. “We’re probably invisible to all but satellite surveillance right now, because our transponder is off,” she’d explained to Robert out of Pollis’s earshot. “Dan told me how to do it. At worst, we’re a phantom target that keeps appearing and disappearing on various radar scopes.”
She scanned the instrument panel and the electronic flight information system screen, which showed their heading, planned route, and destination, and rechecked the fuel. They had more than enough fuel to make Guam and Anderson Air Force Base, and even enough to make Honolulu, but the West Coast of the U.S. was out of range.
Dallas had come forward twenty minutes before to fill Kat in on the details of what had happened in the cockpit of Meridian 5, as well as the murder of Susan Tash, and the gut-wrenching loss of Britta Franz, whom Kat remembered.
Suddenly, an electronic chirping began somewhere in the cabin, and Dallas came back up.
“’Scuse me, Kat, but there’s a telephone ringing back here, and we’re sort of wondering whether you want to answer it, considering the fact this isn’t our airplane.”
“How far back?”
“Midcabin. You want me to… sit down with Robert and watch things up here while you get it?” Dallas asked, feeling her stomach turn over at the thought of repeating the odyssey she’d been through in the cockpit of Meridian 5.
“Are you okay with that, after what… you know.”
Dallas smiled and nodded. “I’m totally numb. But I’ll be okay as long as you don’t bail out.”
Kat hesitated less than a second before unsnapping her seat belt, wondering whether the phone would keep ringing until she got there.
She recognized the airborne satellite phone as one of the best on the market. The number could be dialed from anywhere in the world, but at considerable expense. Kat reached for the receiver and hesitated, calculating how to handle whomever she encountered on the other end. It could be the real owners, or Jake, or even a wrong number, she thought as she picked it up.
“Yes?”
“Here today, Guam tomorrow, eh, Agent Bronsky?” The voice in her ear was masculine, toxic, and chilling, and the words came at the laconic pace of a death sentence: slow, threatening, and final.
“Who is this?” she asked, trying to sound in command.
“Shall we say, someone who is not appreciative of your sophomoric interference? Or, perhaps, someone who is looking forward to evening the score?”
“Who is this? What do you want?” Kat asked as calmly as possible, his venomous presence and unruffled, emotionless tone sending chills up her spine.
Unhurried and deliberate, the man on the other end hung up the receiver very slowly, the sound of squeaking leather filling her ear as if he had leaned forward in a plush chair, being careful to slowly position the receiver in its cradle — the performance of someone in total control and sending a clear message.
Kat replaced the receiver and looked up to find Robert MacCabe standing beside her, his eyes questioning what had happened. She pulled her hand back to hide the fact that it was shaking, and smiled at him.
“I guess the mastermind doesn’t appreciate our breaking up his plans.”
“What’d he say, Kat? Was it a he?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah! Smoothest, scariest voice I think I’ve ever heard.”
“What did he say?” Robert asked again.
“He’s rather ticked and letting me know we’re dead meat if we land in Guam.”
“He knows we’re headed to Guam?”
Kat nodded. “Yeah. He used a pun: Here today, Guam tomorrow.”
“How could he know we’re headed there?” Robert asked, his eyebrows flaring.
Kat felt her head spinning slightly. How indeed? She hadn’t made the decision where to go until after takeoff. She hadn’t even thought about it. She snapped her eyes toward the cockpit. “Who’s watching the prisoner?”
“Dallas. But I’ve got your gun.”
“Pollis has been under observation every second, right?”