The inevitable pragmatic realism that was the bedrock of her personality reasserted itself, as it always did. If he was in control on this aircraft, he would be expecting her to confront him, and the only way around his usually brilliant maneuvering would have to be complete surprise.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The White House (11:45 p.m. EST / 0345 Zulu)
Working from a tiny anteroom off the Oval Office, Paul Wriggle had a phone to each ear coordinating what the president had just approved: securing the Israeli Air Force’s immediate assistance in passing the unlock code to Flight 10’s computers.
“We can do that?” the president had asked. “You built that into the system?”
“Yes, but we’ve never tested it. It’s an operational back door, a way of reaching the computers aboard our aircraft from a radio signal relayed through a fighter flying alongside, one with ultra-high frequency military range capability, which all of them have. With the proper gear, we could even fly the airliner from a second seat in such a fighter, but that was just a contingency. But what we have already built in is the ability to reach the computer and lock out the cockpit with a UHF transmission… and reverse it with the right codes.”
“How fast? Does it take special equipment?”
“As Rube Goldberg as it sounds, sir, all it takes is using the keypad tones from a cell phone… just hold the cell phone’s speaker against the pilot’s microphone, and the all-important string of numbers can be transmitted over the UHF radio. Unlike their flight deck computer screen, you can try as many times as you need and it won’t lock you out if the sequence is wrong. The downside is that we’d have to provide information that is technically illegal to discuss.”
“Executive orders, Paul. Don’t worry about giving the information to the Israelis. Get that arranged as fast as you can.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Aboard Pangia 10 (0350 Zulu)
“Okay, guys, we’ve got about thirty minutes before we find out where we’re going next.”
Jerry Tollefson met the eyes of everyone in the crowded cockpit, including Carol and two of her flight attendants.
“I’ll do another PA announcement as soon as I know whether we’re turning or not, but in the meantime… if we can’t regain control any other way and if we do turn in the wrong direction… I’m going to have everyone strap in and get ready for our last, best move.”
“Jerry… Captain… we’ve got some seriously terrified people back there, including some of my crew. Please talk to them sooner rather than later.”
“I will.”
“And… what you called the nuclear option? Cutting the power?” Carol asked, her voice steady but her features decidedly pasty.
“Yes. If Dan can find it, cutting the main electrical power lead to that damned box.”
Dan and Frank Erlichman quickly descended back into the electronics bay to start pulling as many relay cubes as possible in the hope of finding the one that would restore directional control without turning them upside down. Dan had lost count of the number of times he and Erlichman had descended the small ladder from the cockpit. But once again they were standing in front of the offending cabinet, its mere presence mocking them, the remaining minutes to Tel Aviv ticking by with increasing urgency. Carol was once again scrunched in behind the captain’s seat, kneeling so that she could stick her head down through the hatch to relay any messages to Jerry, who had been out of the captain’s seat no more than twice the entire duration of the cascading emergency.
Jerry looked over at the teenager he’d all but attacked so many hours ago, wanting to say something supportive. But after unsuccessfully punching numbers into the MDCU at random and taking a quick bathroom break, the kid was back nose-down in the MDCU operator’s manual and nodding every few seconds as if the arcane language actually made sense.
“What do you think, Josh?” Jerry asked, unable to restrain himself.
Josh Begich looked up and smiled tentatively. “Sir, I think… I think the unit is actually working and only the screen has been turned off. I was working out how to program a different destination.”
“Really? Have you tried yet?”
“No… where would you like it to take us?”
“New York!” Jerry said, realizing the futility of it with depleted fuel reserves. “Okay, then maybe Tel Aviv. Where we originated.”
Tom Wilson was still positioned behind the copilot’s seat, and he leaned in a bit. “Jerry, aren’t we already headed there?”
“True. Okay, program in the coordinates for Cairo, just to see if it will change course.”
Josh carefully entered the digits and pressed the execute button.
“Nothing,” Jerry pronounced, watching the heading, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, where hours before he would have thrown something out of sheer frustration. Maybe it was weariness, Jerry thought. Maybe his more laid-back demeanor was a dangerous measure of resignation, a realization that he couldn’t necessarily control everything. Whatever it was, in some ways he seemed like a stranger to himself, someone he was watching from a distance, and even amidst the angst and the fright, that fascinated him.
“Jerry,” Carol’s voice reached him from directly behind. “They’re pulling the first breaker now.”
“Thanks. Josh, keep experimenting. Just, as I said before, write down everything you punch in before you hit execute.”
“Yes, sir.”
The startling sound of an air traffic controller giving an inflight instruction to an EgyptAir flight momentarily confused Jerry before he recalled that the main VHF radio had been activated an hour ago, but with no transmit function. Almost absently, he pushed the transmit button on the sidestick controller.
“And Cairo Control, Pangia 10 with you, I just wish you could hear what the hell I’m saying up here, because it would sure be nice to be able to speak to the rest of the known universe, or at least someone in it!”
Jerry relieved pressure on the button, listening absently to what seemed a response.
“Pangia 10! Cairo Control! We do hear you, sir. How are you reading this transmitter?”
Jerry looked down at the VHF control head on the center console, wondering why Dan was taking the time to tap in from below to tease him with a bad accent. Recognition slowly dawned that it wasn’t Dan’s voice at all.
From Bill Breem’s vantage point, Jerry seemed to rise a couple of inches in his command chair, as if re-inflating, glancing around quickly to assure himself no one else was holding a microphone.
“Holy…” He grabbed for the sidestick.
“What was that, Jerry?” Breem asked, but Jerry was already mashing the transmit button.
“Cairo, Pangia 10! If that’s really you, we have you loud and clear on 122.7.”
He turned as far to the right as he could. “Carol! Tell Dan we have two-way VHF restored! And tell him to keep on pulling things!”
“Loud and clear also, Pangia 10,” the Cairo controller was saying. “We are aware of your emergency. How can we assist, sir?”
“Can you patch us into a discreet frequency and set up a telephone relay to our company?”
“Standby, 10, I believe we can arrange that.” The channel remained silent for a few seconds before the controller confirmed it, and Jerry passed the main number for the Operations Control Center in Chicago.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Aboard Pangia 10 (0355 Zulu)
“Pangia 10, your company is calling, and we have them connected,” Cairo Control relayed. “Please go ahead.”