CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Aboard Pangia 10 (0535 Zulu)
Ten minutes before the Iranian border, the digital fuel readouts indicated the engines were seconds from flameout. Jerry asked Josh Begich to return to his seat, touching his arm as he climbed out of the copilot’s chair.
“Josh?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I want to apologize for my conduct hours ago in yelling at you and scaring you.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
“You’ve really helped us up here. I won’t forget that.”
“Thanks. What’s… going to happen now?”
“I’m not sure, Josh, but go back and strap in, grab that little girl’s hand you’re sitting next to and say a few prayers. Carol told me you were trying to impress her, and now’s your chance.”
“I will,” he answered, his face suddenly ashen.
Bill Breem had come off the jumpseat and moved the short distance to Jerry’s side, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Is there anything I can do to assist?” he asked.
Surprised, Jerry shifted as far around as he possibly could.
“No, Captain, other than watch carefully and let me know if I’m missing something.”
“You haven’t so far, Jerry. I…” He was searching for words that didn’t come easily, but there was no time to indulge in an apology.
“Thanks. Okay, everyone strap in.”
With Carol once again on her knees by the hatch, Dan was poised below waiting for the order to cut the power lead, his gloved hands holding the wooden handle of the crash axe. Frank had been sent back to his seat as well, since the time for analysis was long past. This was their last chance, and both men knew it.
What appeared to be a flash of an explosion to the left in the distance with the Israeli fighters apparently engaging an unseen enemy ahead would have unnerved Jerry, if he wasn’t already so numb. Without the ability to hear the tactical channel the Israeli pilots were using, his imagination was being fueled by his own experiences as a navy fighter pilot trying to imagine what was going on: radar lockups, missiles fired, possibility of being engaged by a ground-to-air battery, and basically flying through their own little war with no munitions, no defenses, no chaff, no flares, little visibility even at dawn, and no options. The whole thing would only last a few minutes. He assumed the unseen enemies were Iranian fighters determined to shoot them down. Who else would they be? And against a sky full of armed fighters, Pangia 10 was a fat, sitting duck.
Jerry hadn’t noticed the Israeli F-15 sliding back alongside his left wing, and he had not even imagined the possibility that another Israeli pilot was in trail formation, the targeting icon on his tactical screen locked on Flight 10 as he awaited orders from Tel Aviv.
He caught himself wondering what the last conscious seconds were like for the pilots of Malaysia 17 when they were blasted out of a clear blue Ukrainian sky by a surface-to-air missile. Blessedly, they had had no warning, he thought. But here we are waiting for the end. The cold certainty of death began to enfold him, and despite the determination to fight, somewhere inside he was already letting go.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
The Kirya, Tel Aviv, Israel (7:42 a.m. local / 0542 Zulu)
With one all-consuming thought demanding his attention, the Israeli prime minister closed his eyes to meet it head on. What, exactly, was going through the diseased minds in Tehran? Were all of them nothing but murderous bastards to whom infidel humanity was no more sacrosanct than insects?
Or were the Iranians the insects, and Gershorn the appointed exterminator?
The confidence level was high, he had just been told that control of the nuclear weaponry had not been shifted to outlying commanders. At least, not yet. Was it one of the religious mafia in Tehran hesitating or merely a professional military man using logic and not religious hysteria?
Or could there be, in the midst of that cultish insanity, someone like him, even at this moment weighing the moral as well as the strategic consequences of taking the next step? The mere thought seemed heresy, and with Hamas or ISIS and any other insane collection of genocidal maniacs it would be. But maybe, just maybe, someone in Tehran could still understand the concept, if not the benefits, of restraint.
He glanced again at the screen. No movement at the various missile sites, and especially none at the launch site Mossad had identified as most likely to be carrying what was perhaps their only nuke.
To defuse it, all he had to do was order the missiles off the rails of the fighter trailing Pangia 10. If there was no inbound airliner with Moishe Lavi aboard, there was no reason for launching against Tel Aviv, and no reason for Israel to incinerate Iran.
Airborne, in trail of Pangia 10
The pilot flying Patyish 26 assigned to trail the Pangia Airbus with missiles ready to fire had maintained the radar lock for what seemed an eternity, waiting for an order one way or another. The massive internal battle between the obligation to follow orders and the nightmarish possibility of committing mass murder, even as an instrument of his government, tore at his soul. The thirty-four-year-old father of two was not entirely sure he could squeeze the trigger if given the command.
“Patyish 26, stand by for orders.”
“Roger,” was the correct reply, and all he could manage as he tensed for what was coming next. A cold chill had already enveloped him, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he strained at the silence on the channel.
Pangia 10
“Tell Dan to get ready,” Jerry said.
“He says ‘on your command,’ Captain.”
Jerry glanced at the moving map display. Was there any point in waiting further? Mere minutes of fuel remained.
Jerry reached up and grabbed his sidestick controller perhaps for one last comforting moment of pretense that all was normal and this had been just a nightmare.
He deflected the stick to the right, reacting in absolute disbelief as the big aircraft rolled to the right, obeying his command as if nothing had ever been wrong.
What the hell?
Carol’s voice from just behind his seat partially filtered through his disbelief.
“Captain, Dan says to tell you there was a large noise down here and a lot of relays clicked. Are you ready for him to cut it?”
Jerry looked at the sidestick controller in his left hand as if it had materialized out of the either. For hours it had defied him, and now, suddenly, when it was probably far too late, it decides to work? What the hell?
Her words finally coalesced. Dan was ready to bring an axe down on the power cable below. He forced his body to swivel around as far as he could to make sure Carol heard him. “NO! Tell him do NOT cut it! Do NOT cut it! We have control again somehow! Tell Dan to get up here.”
Jerry could hear Carol getting up from the floor as Dan all but levitated through the hatch, barely believing Carol’s words.
“You have control Jerry?”
“Yes! Get back in the seat.”
“Jesus, yes!” Dan scrambled past Carol, patting her on the butt as he passed in some unconscious form of celebration as he all but leapt in the copilot’s seat.
“How’d you do it, Dan?”
“I didn’t! I have no idea why it let go!”