She approached him and touched his shoulder gently. He turned to her, letting her see the pain written on his face. Hollow eyes surrounded by black circles, a creased brow, and an unshaven face. She could barely recognize him; he was falling apart right under their eyes.
“Alex, thank goodness,” he said, taking both her hands into his. “Please help me,” he continued, almost sobbing. “I can’t — I can’t sit like this and do nothing. What if she… Do something, please!”
She stood silent, unsure what she could say. They were all working round the clock, doing the best they could think of.
“Let’s go, let’s just get out there,” he continued his plea. “I–I have every bit of confidence in what you say, and if you say the plane’s in Russia, then let’s just go there, now!” He was squeezing her hands tightly, his tight clasp conveying the same pleading urgency his words did.
“Blake, listen,” she spoke softly. “Russia is a big place… where would we go? Plus, it’s not exactly a tourist resort, you know. We have to be careful. Here, we have equipment, access to the Internet, to technology, to people who own satellites and are willing to share them with you. We have contacts, and we have access to resources.”
His creased brow relaxed a little, as he processed what she was saying. He was, ultimately, a rational man driven by logic, regardless of the all-consuming pain and worry he must have felt.
“But I promise you this,” she added, “The moment I have even the slightest idea of where that plane would have landed, it’s wheels-up for this team. We’re going out there, we’re going to find them, and we’re going to bring them back. That’s a promise.”
He let go of her hands, a little embarrassed for his moment of weakness, and stood, his back still hunched. Then he started pacing the patio slowly, pensively, rubbing his forehead with one hand, the other stuck firmly in his pocket.
“I can only imagine how hard this is for you,” Alex said, “but don’t give up hope. You have to try… we’re making progress. I know it’s hard for you to see that, when you’d like us to go out there guns blazing, but we have so much information now. We have a working theory, and in my line of work, that’s what makes a case.”
He nodded silently.
“OK, let’s go inside,” she summoned him, putting a little more energy in her voice. “The team’s waiting for us. We need to explore this neuroagent scenario, see where it leads us.”
She turned and walked in, heading to the war room, followed closely by Blake. He’d straightened his back and seemed calmer, more hopeful, recomposed. Good!
Tom was making coffee at the small machine in the corner, taking drink orders and delivering them. Lou had just received a cup of Hawaiian blend from his hands, a little uncomfortable having his boss serve him coffee. He needed to relax a little more; probably his military background was driving behaviors in him that would never go away. After all, he still called Alex, “boss.” When she objected, he always said, “Once a SEAL, always a SEAL, ma’am!” and saluted, making them all laugh hard.
They all took seats around the table, except Alex. She remained standing, pacing slowly in a weak attempt to remain calm and focused. Her blood was boiling with every second that passed.
“OK, so let’s talk the chemical warfare scenario,” she said, sounding more confident than she actually felt. What did she know about chemical warfare? Almost nothing, plus a few hours’ worth of Internet research. “Thoughts? I think this could change things a little.”
“Totally,” Lou said. “This could be a national security threat. We need to call people.”
“I agree,” Alex replied, “but who would believe us? When the entire world is looking for this plane at the bottom of the ocean?”
“Exactly,” Blake intervened. “I know, because I tried really hard, using all my influence. And they didn’t even want to hear me out.”
“Unfortunately, I have to agree,” Sam added, putting his already empty coffee cup on the table with a hint of regret. “They’d probably consider us some loony conspiracy theorists and discard us in an instant.”
“Let’s play this out,” Tom said. “Why would they discard our theory that fast?”
“Well, let’s say we call the feds in on this, right?” Sam started explaining. “They give us a few minutes, not more, and that’s even after us having to explain how we got our hands on deep-level background information for 441 people.”
Lou cleared his throat and gulped a little coffee, swallowing hard, then wrung his hands together. “Oh, boy…” he muttered, “not good.”
“Then, they’d call the airline and ask if it’s even remotely possible for that plane to have landed hundreds of miles from where the airline’s searching for it, right?” Sam searched their faces with his scrutinizing eyes, one by one. They all agreed. “What do you think the airline would say? Do you think it would admit that, essentially, it has no clue where the aircraft really is once it takes off? Or would the airline swear that XA233 simply has to be on the bottom of the ocean somewhere?”
They all remained quiet, watching Sam intently.
“Yes, I’d have to agree, it would be a waste of time,” he ended his argument. “The satellites are going operational later today; I’d say let’s keep going on our own. Until we have some solid evidence, we don’t have a case with any one of the law enforcement agencies. Let’s keep in mind that 441 people are out there, and we’re their only hope. We don’t have time to bet on the government. God only knows what’s happening to them right now, or how many are still alive.”
A long, shuddering breath came out of Blake’s chest.
“Blake, man, I’m so sorry,” Sam said, hopping off his chair and squeezing Blake’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, I promise you. I’m such an idiot, jeez…”
Blake looked up and spoke softly, yet firmly, “You can’t keep apologizing, or constantly censoring your communication, trying to shield me. You’re right, you’re her only hope, so please stay focused on finding all of them, and don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”
Steve watched the interaction quietly, but then asked, disrupting the uncomfortable silence that ensued, “Could someone please explain to me what you’re thinking, jumping from an apparently coincidental group of scientists on a return flight from a conference, all the way to chemical warfare and nerve agents? I must be missing something.”
“We had previously established means,” Alex replied, “when we figured out how it could have been done. We still don’t have a confirmed UNSUB identity connected to those means, but at least we’ve established it was possible to hijack a plane like that. But we were missing motive. Why would someone grab a 747 mid-flight? If you recall, we explored the scenarios of a financially, or politically motivated hijacking, but no calls were made that we know of, asking for any trade in return for the plane and its occupants. We were unable to answer the why question until now, especially why XA233, and not any other commercial flight.”
She looked at Steve, but he still looked a little confused. She continued, “But what if you’d like to conduct ultra-secret research on chemical warfare, specifically on neuroagents? What better way than to hijack the plane carrying the world’s leading experts in neurochemistry, and force them to work for you?”
“Oh, I see… What do you think they’re making, what kind of nerve agent?”
“No way of knowing,” she replied.
Silence engulfed the war room again, equally uncomfortable.