“The unlock code is just about to go up, sir, on your order.”
“Do it! Now! Are you sure it’s the right sequence?”
There was a telling hesitation. “No, sir, we’re not. It’s our best guess, based on Gail’s notes.”
“Had she changed the numbers before?”
“Yes. Often. For security.”
“Blast the disconnect code out there, and let’s hope it’s the right one.”
“Yes sir. Transmission in sixty seconds, and we think we now have the Med covered.”
Aboard Pangia Flight 10 (0254 Zulu)
Dan held the two halves of the connector and hesitated, wondering whether there was any other aspect he hadn’t considered.
A fleeting memory of an impromptu lecture he had once given to his employees in the early days of his company came out of nowhere, an admonition for them to listen to intuition, but he couldn’t tell whether it was intuition or the shock of the aircraft’s earlier reaction to the pulled relay that was staying his hand.
Is there any reason I can think of why we’d want to maintain this connection? Somewhere there seemed to be an answer to that question, but he couldn’t get his mind around it, whatever it was. Something was definitely tugging at him, yet the logic was inescapable: If someone was controlling them from below, this would solve the problem!
Dan took a deep breath and pulled the two halves apart, totally isolating the satcom receiver.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland (10:20 p.m. EST / 0320 Zulu)
Essentially, Lieutenant Colonel Don Danniher realized, he was flying the instrument approach solo.
A cold drizzle made the landing at Andrews a bit more challenging than he had expected, and the presence of a totally preoccupied general in the left seat hadn’t made it any easier. Not that he minded, necessarily. He was well aware of the high stakes and the dilemma that had his boss wholly distracted and tied in knots.
The staff car Sharon Wallace had ordered for the general had pulled up moments after they’d braked to a halt on the transient ramp, but the destination General Wriggle was going to give the driver was one of the bits of information Don assumed neither he nor Sharon Wallace had any immediate need to know.
Paul Wriggle threw off his shoulder straps and seatbelt and disappeared wordlessly into the jet’s main cabin to change into his air force uniform. Sharon had already descended the Gulfstream’s stairs to tell the driver the general would be a few minutes in coming. She returned to the jet then, standing in the entry space behind the cockpit as Don emerged.
“How are you doing?” he asked, knowing well the question had more depth than the words alone would indicate.
She responded with a strained smile, glancing at the closed entry door to the cabin. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew Pangia was talking to their pilots with code in hand, so to speak.”
Don Danniher nodded. “I agree.”
“Can you talk to him?”
“He knows, Sharon.”
“Of course he does, but… time is critical here. This feels like brinksmanship.”
“You know what our legal constraints are on revealing any aspect of this program.”
“Yes. I signed the same papers. Don, talk to him. Please!”
Danniher nodded and opened the cabin door, closing it behind him and slipping into a seat across from where the general was adjusting his tie.
“Don…”
“Sir?”
Paul Wriggle turned to look at his copilot, then pursed his lips and shook his head, deciding not to voice whatever he had been thinking, then changed his mind again and turned back.
“Check my math. That jet… our jet… has an hour and a half to go before reaching Tel Aviv.”
Danniher checked his watch and nodded. “That’s correct, as of the last position we had.”
“How long have we been blasting the disconnect code?”
“The first transmission was at 0252 Zulu, about thirty minutes ago, with no answering transmission. We did trigger transmitters covering the Mediterranean, though.”
“And we have the code now they can punch in manually, right?”
“Well… same caveat as before… it’s what they found in Gail Hunt’s notes. If there isn’t a subsequent change, then that’s it. Sharon put it on your iPad and in your briefcase, with full instructions.”
“And we don’t know whether anyone has direct radio or satellite contact with them? Right? Some way we could verbally pass the code and how to enter it?”
“No sir.” Don shifted forward in the swivel chair. “And, sir, I know we discussed the fact that if we call Pangia directly to find out, they’re not only going to want to know who’s asking, but we may tip off every intelligence service listening to such a call, but…”
“That’s right. That’s why we’re here in DC.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t ask,” Wriggle said, pulling on his tunic and turning. “While I’m gone, fuel us up and get on the secure line back to Dana and the team, and call me the instant they get a confirming response from the jet… if they do.”
“Yes, sir. But in regard to Pangia?”
“I’ve got their CEO’s personal cell number, Don.”
“Yes, sir, but about the possibility of direct contact with the aircraft, I think…”
“No calls to their Command Center yet, okay? But if you discover through any safe channel that the pilots are talking to someone on the ground… a line we can get to, even a VHF radio to one of the air traffic control facilities… let me know immediately and get all the information necessary to pass up to them.”
He could see the troubled look on Danniher’s face.
“What, Don?”
“Begging the general’s pardon, sir, but may I speak very frankly?”
“You always have that authority. Go ahead.”
“Sir, I know the stakes for us are critical, but I don’t think we have the moral right to wait another minute if there’s any way to get hold of that crew. We don’t know whether our broadcasts will work or not, and…”
“I understand that, Don.”
“But, General, every minute that passes that that crew has no control is another rise in international tension, and maybe even brinkmanship. I seriously urge you to make the call to Pangia right now. Sir.”
Paul Wriggle sighed heavily and studied his shoes for a few moments before meeting his executive officer’s eyes again.
“Don, I don’t have time to explain my full reasoning for delaying.”
“My job is to point out…”
“Yes!” Paul replied, pointing his finger in an affirming gesture. “Yes, it is. And it is also your job to trust that your commander knows what he’s doing.”
I wish I could trust your decision not to warn the aircraft, Don thought to himself, forcing a nod.
Wriggle studied his eyes for a second. “Answered without enthusiasm, I see, but the orders stand. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Paul Wriggle slipped into the back seat of the nondescript town car and passed his destination to the master sergeant at the wheel of the staff car after asking his name and security clearance.
“Should I put the star flag on the front, General?”
“No, but thanks for asking. We want to keep this low key.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pulled out his cell phone and entered the required password before paging down to the phone number he was looking for. The line was answered on the second ring, and he gave his name and rank and an identifying digital “signature” code, waiting impatiently for the individual on the other end to acknowledge.