“I don’t entirely blame the carriers,” Nathan said. “The airport authorities are killing them with high fuel costs, landing fees, admin costs, that sort of thing. I’m surprised more airlines haven’t gone out of business.”
“I just want to see the rest of this news item,” Emily said, eyes back on the TV.
“You and your co-pilot are being hailed as heroes,” the anchor said. “How do you feel about that?”
“The real heroes are the ground crew,” Rothman stated. “If it wasn’t for their prompt action getting all the passengers and crew to safety before the plane was engulfed in flames, well, you can imagine.”
“There were allegedly many injuries to passengers. Would you be prepared to comment on that?”
“Yes, I most certainly would,” Rothman said, with venom. “The check-in counters are turning a blind eye to passengers passing off bulky suitcases as hand luggage. I’ve been fighting with the FAA for years to implement stricter legislation, but it has fallen on deaf ears. Perhaps, they’ll listen now. If you’ll excuse me, this interview is over.” Rothman stormed away.
“That was an earlier interview with flight 761’s Captain, Angela Rothman. First Officer Mateo Rodriguez and spokespersons for Trans-Commercial were unavailable for comment. This is Kendra Kentrel, CNN, reporting live from McCarran International, Las Vegas.”
The scrolling statistics faded into the background and Ms. Kentrel’s award winning smile was replaced by a commercial inciting how much better lifestyles would be, using the advertised product. Some conditions applied.
The news item then repeated.
Billy-Ray Hutchens’s selfie squatting in front of the remains of flight attendant Carolyn Stratton went viral; over three million hits in just six hours. Billy-Ray became an instant hero amongst his small circle of friends. It was also the only successful lead the authorities had on where to search for the bodies of the Everett family.
Deemed as being in very poor taste, Billy-Ray’s post was removed from his primary social media site, but, by that time, it had been reposted repeatedly and would endure; drifting through the internet’s digital circuits, indefinitely.
Dormant and devoid of any threat to national security, a few other selfies of Billy-Ray, having the time of his life, prevailed in the databanks of the NSA and SkyTech◦– selfies sent by Billy-Ray to his now jealous, best friend, Floyd. Both shared an avid obsession towards necrophilia.
Chapter Fifty-Six
One flight down in SkyTech’s cafeteria on the thirtieth floor, Sven and Yvonne made small talk during lunch.
“How did you get involved with Angelo?” he asked.
“Infatuation,” Yvonne said, flushing slightly. She told him of the vacation with some friends in Vegas, their winnings at the slots and the attention she received from Angelo afterwards◦– but without going into too much detail. “He was a true gentleman. I had no idea at the time what he really was.”
“You must hate him,” Sven said.
“My emotions have been in absolute turmoil. Mostly, fear for my girls and possibly never seeing them again. Hatred one moment, revenge the next, but most of all, being torn between Angelo’s demands and Müller’s. It’s soul destroying.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “Well, your girls are safe now.”
“Angelo still frightens the crap out of me,” she said. “What if he tries again?”
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Sven reassured her.
“I guess I shouldn’t dwell on it or hold ill feelings towards him. I do, after all, have two beautiful girls as a result of that unfortunate affair. I still wouldn’t mind getting some revenge for what he did.”
“When they’re back, they’ll be quite safe with Antoine and Amy. No one will know where they are and there’ll be lots for them to do.”
“Yes, James showed me the playroom for when people bring their children to his charity functions. He’s quite a remarkable man.”
Sven’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me a sec,” he said, unclipping it from his belt. He read the text. “The Location app on your NSA phone has just been probed.”
“How would you know that?”
“We made a quick modification to the phone before sending it off to St. Louis.”
“It must be Müller,” she said. “Only a person’s direct superior has authority to do that, and he happens to be mine.”
“He has too much time on his hands,” Sven said. “We need to do something to get you off his radar. I have an idea. If you’ve finished with your lunch, let’s go back upstairs.”
Sven plugged the media room’s computer into the Ethernet. A message immediately scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
WARNING: Computer is connected to the network.
Between mouse-clicks and keyboard commands, Sven was too fast for Yvonne to see exactly what he was doing. Before she realised it, they were looking directly into Müller’s office.
Sitting behind his oversized desk, Müller was staring at his phone with a puzzled expression, and then looked up at his computer screen. He frowned.
“Is this real-time?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Yvonne edged closer to Sven. “I wonder what he’s looking at.”
“I’ve just sent his computer an email notification that he has a potential virus. He’ll be clicking on the embedded link in seconds.”
Müller put his phone on the desk and reached for his mouse.
He clicked.
His face turned to absolute shock.
Yvonne turned to Sven. “What’s happening?”
“He’s watching himself on that rather embarrassing little video we have of him.”
Müller was looking feverishly in all directions.
“We can’t tell from the position of the camera whether or not his office door is closed,” Sven stated the obvious. “I bet he’s looking around to ensure no one’s about to walk in.”
Müller was clicking away profusely. He looked closer at his monitor and his face broke into a smirk.
“He obviously enjoys watching himself,” Yvonne said. “Narcissistic, little prick.”
Yvonne certainly used some colourful expressions, Sven thought. It made a welcomed change. He didn’t particularly care much for prissy and pretentious women. “It’s not that,” he laughed. “He’s just noticed where the email came from.”
Yvonne raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God! Won’t he trace it back here?”
“Not a chance in hell,” Sven said.
Yvonne was beginning to feel like she’d fallen into Alice’s rabbit hole. How was Sven doing all this?
“Yes,” Müller said quietly to himself. He was ecstatic. He’d prove something to those brainless techies and code-breakers. Something that none of them seemed to be able to achieve without a great deal of difficulty. He wondered how the sender could be so senseless, not realising that the Internet Protocol address was included with the email. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, locked his computer and hurried down to the Information Technologies department.
“Sandra,” he said, approaching one of the NSA’s network specialists. She was one of the lesser hopeless cases working here. She was also excellent in bed and didn’t seem to mind the roll-playing games he so enjoyed. Like she had a choice, he thought. Müller was, after all, her superior. “I need to know the location of this IP immediately.”
Sandra looked up at Müller. He seemed very pleased with himself. Pompous asshole she thought. She looked at the piece of paper he handed her. It had something scrawled in his untidy handwriting.