“We’re trying to avoid getting you in the same cauldron of boiling water. Truth is, the president wants to give you a dead end assignment. Strangely enough, he may have unwittingly put you right in the middle of something important.”
He activated the rest of his displays, shaking his head in obvious consternation. “The president didn’t want to hear any of this. He is a political animal with his eye on a different prize. A missing airplane and its five hundred passengers are not on his radar. However, there’s something about this A380 that has me concerned.
“The transcript of the meeting — the meeting you interdicted — details discussions for Al Qaeda-Iran-ISIS cooperation. One specific subject of the meeting that caught our attention was the collection of radioactive medical waste, obviously for use in dirty bombs. ISIS thereafter captured Mosul, the fourth largest city in Iraq, and one of the first things they did was to clear out all the radioactive material in the hospitals.”
“So they are planning on making dirty bombs with medical waste; how do they plan on transporting it and what is the target?”
“That’s what I want to know. It may all be connected.” Gann pointed to the second picture and then the third. “This picture was taken in Tehran several weeks before the meeting: it shows Colonel Nikahd in the company of two Republican Guardsmen, the same two Iranians who boarded Malaysian 666 with stolen passports. The other photo is of Khallida at a café in Kuala Lumpur. The man sitting at the table with him is Abdullereda Hussein, the captain of Malaysian 666; the other man masqueraded as a deadheading pilot on that flight.”
Slade frowned. “So the jet was hijacked with the cooperation of the captain. They would have to land somewhere after they hijacked it. The people would have had to be quartered. It’s one thing to hide a few hostages but almost five hundred people?”
“Unfortunately, we think the passengers are dead,” Gann said heavily. “The flight path clearly shows Malaysian 666 climbing up to forty-one thousand feet and staying there for a prolonged period of time. That was not their flight plan. There was no reason to go that high, especially if all they wanted to do was evade the radar and disappear.”
“So they climbed that high to kill the passengers.”
“Their supplemental Oxygen would have lasted twelve minutes for the passengers and twenty for the flight attendants with walk-around bottles. During that time it would be impossible to even attempt to storm the cockpit. They would be tied to their Oxygen masks until the generators ran dry. Asphyxia would have happened quickly at that altitude.”
“That leaves us to find where they landed. Is it on some remote atoll in the Indian Ocean? If it didn’t crash where do we start looking?”
“Sir, why does it have to be somewhere remote? Why not Singapore or Jakarta?”
“Go on Slade,” the director said, bringing up a map of the region with all the principal airports. Superimposed was the last known flight path of Malaysian 666 and the radius of its fuel range.
“Sir, the region is predominantly Muslim and has a large number of active Al Qaeda cells. Every institution in the country is infiltrated with active members and sympathizers. Even if the air traffic controllers or control towers staff were not sympathizers it would have been easy for the Al Qaeda operatives to intimidate them into staying quiet.”
Gann nodded. “We have unfortunately seen their brutality all too often recently. We’re talking about maintenance people, tower controllers and radar operators — normal folks — when threatened with the rape and beheading of their families I can see why no one would have said a thing. Al Qaeda is an unfortunate everyday reality to those people.”
He walked up to the map and tapped two airports. “Singapore and Jakarta are both controlled by Soekarno, the most powerful industrialist in the world. He controls a network of cooperative enterprises, a cabal if you will, otherwise known as the “Magnificent Thirteen.” Together they control thirty-three percent of the world’s economic activity.”
Gann turned away from the screen and approached Slade. “Up until now, Soekarno has not undertaken any agreements or activities with known terrorist groups. This may constitute a change. I want you to go to Paris.
“Why Paris sir?”
“There are three things involving this mission in Paris right now: Airbus Industries headquarters. I want you to go get a briefing on the aircraft. Fly the simulator, get to know the specs; you know the drill. The second thing is Khallida and Nikahd. They’re in Paris right now. Find out what they’re up to.”
“The third thing?”
Gann put a picture of the Malaysian captain posing with his family. He pointed to the young man standing in front of his father, smiling. “That is Abdulla Hussein, the son of Abdullereda Hussein our captain. The father became a drunken whoremonger, disgracing the family, and that may have been how Khallida lured him into the plot. His son left home to win back the honor of the family name. He joined the jihad. He’s in Paris now as well.”
“Do I have a contact in Paris sir?”
“I’ve alerted the bureau chief there. She knows you’re coming. As far as the French are concerned you’ll have to tread lightly. They have a huge Muslim problem there already. Jean Brueget works for INTERPOL. He’s been our closest contact there since Nine-Eleven. If you need anything he’s the man to deal with.”
“Yes sir, I’ll head out as soon as possible.”
“Slade, one more thing,” the director said, stopping him. Gann seemed uneasy, and Slade waited patiently. “I shouldn’t be concerned, but I am. The president is taking a personal interest in you; a very personal interest. After the assassination of Turgut Ataturk that makes me very uneasy. You remember what happened to SEAL Team Six?”
“Their chopper was shot down,” Slade nodded. “Someone leaked their presence to the Taliban and put them in an old Chinook with no countermeasure protection.”
“There was no investigation,” Gann said. “Even Mertzl couldn’t get an investigation started. The IG is Oetari’s man.” He paused before adding, “Slade, you need to watch your back.”
“I’ll do that sir.”
The director walked him out. Exiting the office they saw the two women talking out back in the garden. “So, any plans to marry her? You make a good looking couple. You’re going to Paris after all.”
“She’s my cousin sir,” Slade replied.
“Right, you might have to go to Kentucky to get a license.” He patted Slade on the back. “Good luck. Report to me directly on this, do you understand? The fewer ears on this outside the Company the better; and I don’t trust all the ears in the Company either. There are too many people gunning for my job.”
“Yes sir.”
The girls rejoined them. Gann said politely, “Well, we’re done. Did you have a nice chat in the garden?”
“I filled Helen in,” Gwen said.
“Oh!” Director Gann exclaimed. He took a long drink from his glass. Helen walked up and took Slade’s arm, a knowing expression on her face.
“We have a lot to talk about Jeremiah,” she said to Slade.
He looked confused.
“Sorry about that Slade,” Gann shrugged. “They always find out. Good night!”
A few hours later in the hot tub, Slade was rubbing Helen’s shoulders. She hadn’t said much after they drove back home, so he hadn’t asked. After years of cohabitation Slade knew enough about his cousin to no force anything out of her. She’d talk when she was ready.