“Andrew, I suppose we should move next door,” the president said, referring to the Cabinet Room. He was anticipating Bard’s next question and weighing the need to bring in all fifteen of his Secretaries plus the vice-president. There was no official schedule, but Warren generally tried to meet with his full Cabinet on a weekly basis. Calling an unscheduled meeting was doable; it would simply take time. “Where’s my Attorney General?”
“Sir, Mr. Broderick is recovering from his surgery, but he’s reachable. National Security Advisor Wright is in Tel Aviv. She’ll cancel if you need her. The vice president is leading that nuclear conference on Iran.”
“I want you to get the CEOs of American, Delta, United, and Southwest on a call in half an hour. No foreign carriers yet. And get Norman and Elizabeth in here,” the president ordered. He looked at his watch. “We’ll reconvene in one hour. I’ll make a decision then.”
Chapter 26
Clear skies, calm winds. It was a perfect day to fly.
Akil pulled into the north parking lot of the three-building, horseshoe-shaped office complex at the intersection of Lawrence and Scott Street on O’Hare International Airport’s southeast perimeter. Access on the north, south, and west perimeter was especially strict and virtually impenetrable, protected by mounded embankments, heavy foliage, and regularly patrolled fence lines. Wedged between I-294 and Highways 45/12, the Aerospace Center’s runway views and accessibility along the southeastern perimeter, especially for a maneuverable drone, were wide open.
Akil punched in the current numeric month and year, and the lobby door popped open. He perused the wall directory. Ironically, one of his new neighbors was FAA’s O’Hare District Flight Standards Office.
Akil boarded the elevator and checked his watch. The sun would rise in three minutes. The doors opened to a dark reception area. He walked past a row of offices, stopping at one with a magnetic sign on the wall that read “Computer Doctors, LLC.” He entered his personal code on another keypad. At only 283 square feet, the room had basic office furniture and décor. There was a welcome packet on the desk as well as fresh-cut flowers, and a gift certificate from the nearby Rosemont Embassy Suites.
He raised the aluminum mini-blinds and opened the window. His distance-reading binoculars said 307 yards. The air traffic was moving steadily, and he judged the departures on Runway 22L at eight-minute intervals, each plane timed to the inbound approaches on Runway 4R. He scanned the surroundings, visualizing the drone’s flight path in five segments: vacant land, highway, fence, grass, and runway. Across Scott Street, beyond the first airport fence, stood a sprawling Federal Express distribution building and concrete parking structure. He panned the binoculars north to where Scott Street dead-ended into secured airport property. An unmarked, dark-gray sedan sat there idling. A single occupant was reading a newspaper. Akil noted a flock of starlings methodically searching the grass next to Runway 22L’s departure point. Considering that O’Hare was the second-busiest passenger airport in the United States behind Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson, everything seemed to be running smoothly. One by one, the morning flights ferried from the terminals. His target, hopefully on schedule, was due at 6:00 a.m.
Akil turned on his laptop and propped an assembled drone on the window ledge. He rubbed a soft cloth over the camera lens. He snapped the fuel cartridges into place and launched the unit out of the window. It quickly rose to seventy-five feet and headed north. He spotted a clear flight path and angled the drone west, crossing over the sparse traffic on Mannheim Road. Gaining confidence, he played with the toggle stems and observed the drone respond with near bird-like flight. He felt a strange euphoria in the effortless manipulation. It was satisfying to know that he possessed both superior ability and raw power. He was a predator with ultimate control.
Something else also pleased him. It was the ability to kill without having to sense or witness the results. The prey was nothing more than a target to be eliminated — a culture target. This was not real killing because it was not observable. It was simply meting out Allah’s judgment on those who deserved it. It was all too easy. His targets were lambs or rabbits resting in some open meadow, wandering about their daily lives with no reason to fear that which stalked them. A few would be taken, but no matter; there were many others. The predator would feast and rest, and then the pursuit would begin again.
The drone continued onto airport property, lowering to the grass and pacing alongside an Air France jet. A United flight was next in line, just another of O’Hare’s 1,500 daily departures. But it was his flight.
Eyes fixed on the laptop screen, Akil guided the drone into position. The starlings scattered into the air. He smiled at the drone’s color — red. He imagined the worst: a passenger in a window seat of a taxiing plane who just happened to be facing at the right angle, scrutinizing the perimeter grass edging at a brief moment in time. The passenger would then have to be savvy enough to notice something unusual, recognize it as both a drone and a threat to the aircraft as opposed to the blurred image of an early-morning cardinal, and raise enough concern to actually halt the flight.
It was a perfect day to fly.
Jack Riley was sitting alone in the corner of the Cabinet Room, next to a marble bust of George Washington. It seemed like the only place in the West Wing that offered some semblance of calm. He figured the wait would be brief.
He stared at the room’s signature mahogany table, a gift from President Nixon. Each Cabinet member had an assigned seat according to the date the department was established. Members also had the option to keep their chairs after leaving office as a memento of government service. The president’s was in the center.
Riley knew that the commander-in-chief was sworn to protect American lives and therefore had the authority to shut down the nation’s air transportation. There certainly was 9/11 precedent. But even the president had to realize that it was easy to talk about such action in the quiet confines of the White House but completely gutwrenching to actually give an order for the second time since flying was invented in 1903. Riley felt a mild throbbing in his temples from thinking about the logistics of just one airline carrier telling their in-flight pilots to bring their planes down ASAP. Then the real fun would begin.
The hapless passengers, the mega-congestion, the angry vendors, the scheduling chaos, not to mention refunding all those prepaid fees charged to customer credit cards and zero income for the airlines and their employees. The list was huge. Does a carrier contract’s fine print contain force majeure language shielding it from terrorism? he wondered.
On 9/11, stunned pilots frantically prepared to land at the nearest airport. Passengers desperately needed transportation and lodging. In some cases, school and city buses were used. Then came the psychological hits, not only to passengers but also to an oft-forgotten group who probably felt the impact of a shutdown more than any other — the flight crews.
After 9/11, airline unions worked tirelessly to provide support for workers concerned about their futures. When flights resumed three days later, some crews refused, not confident of airport security. Those who did return faced a new threat — layoffs.
Continental quickly cut 12,000 jobs; United and American cut 20,000; Northwest, 10,000; US Airways, 11,000; and Delta, 13,000. If the president issued that order again, he might as well bring in Donald Trump to speak his famous catchphrase to the airline workers.