Drone Games (23 page)

She took all this in. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. It could be a couple of days or a couple of weeks. Maybe longer.”

“So, I keep quiet, and you give me exclusives,” she summarized. “I’m not a prisoner, though, right? I mean, you don’t expect me to stay locked up?”

“You are not a prisoner. Neither the FBI nor Homeland Security could enforce that. They just want your assurance that your reports won’t compromise the investigation. Neela, you can’t tell anyone about that message. Not yet. In return, you’ll get information that no other news reporter will. Riley and I have agreed to merge investigations. If he can swing it, I’ll be reporting directly to him. You’ll be traveling and working with us hand in hand. We’ll arrange a private workspace where you can assemble your stories. Consider it a special assignment. You’ll attend strategy meetings and have access to frontline discoveries. You’ll know the facts before any other media. Riley needs your silence about that message, and he’ll feel more comfortable if you stay close. So would I.”

“Riley,” she snarled. “I don’t trust him.”

“Jack’s an intense guy. He’s doing what he thinks is best for the country.”

“You’re willing and able to do all this for me?”

“It won’t be easy. I’m talking hotel rooms, long hours, and probably spur-of-the-moment travel. We have to exercise some editorial prerogative over what you release, but you have my word it’ll be fair. Besides, NTSB’s investigative process has a life of its own. It’ll move forward with or without me. I can clear just about anything. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” she asked.

He returned her cell phone. “It looks like someone has found a way to bring down passenger aircraft. If they did it once, they could very well do it again.”

Oval Office, The White House

Washington, DC

A FORMER senator and Naval helicopter pilot, President of the United States Cale Warren was best described as a tempered moderate. His tendency to lose his temper was an admitted personal flaw, but one that had seemingly faded with age. Friends believed that he had simply learned to harness his anger with little internal harm. To a certain extent, it was true. At sixty-eight years old, he still had all his hair.

Chief of Staff Andrew Bard had served Warren for five years as an underling and political advisor. An unremarkable yet loyal aide, Bard spent a minimum of twelve hours each day keeping the president up to date on current events and ensuring that his schedule carried a balance of recreational activities. Right now that meant preparing for the upcoming presidential election, which was just eighteen months away.

“Andrew, this isn’t Hollywood,” the president said, pacing while sipping fresh juice. “Does Samuel know the impact of that?”

“I would certainly hope so,” Bard replied. “He’s not one to overreact, but without solid evidence of this so-called premeditated act, I suggest prudence, sir.”

The president placed his glass on a napkin and sat down. His mind raced with emotions that swelled between rage and grief, controlled, but powerful. Levels he’d not felt in years. Next came a flurry of distasteful decisions he knew might be required. Distasteful because they would involve the entire country and impact the lives of millions of Americans. He drew a breath.

“I want to hear it myself. Irrefutable, clear, and correct facts. We cannot bring the air transportation of this country to a standstill without cause.”

Secretary Bridge and Jack Riley entered the Oval Office.

It was Riley’s first time in the famous room. He was, like all other virgin visitors, immediately mesmerized. A week earlier, Riley and his wife had met with an interior designer to discuss swags and fabric-covered cornices for their living and dining rooms. The designer recommended straight-boarded window treatments that, while offering simple elegance, still carried a hefty price tag. Riley stared in awe at the signature cornice on the windows behind the president’s desk. It followed the building’s contour.

“Morning, Mr. President, Andrew.” Secretary Bridge nodded politely to both men.

The president rose from his desk and eyed Riley suspiciously. It took a few moments to make the connection.

“Your theme park scenario was interesting, son,” he said, putting his hand on Riley’s shoulder. “What was that name again? Ah, yes, Komodo. But I’m afraid you give terrorists too much strategic credit. One would hope that we’d have enough intelligence foresight to identify a group of over one hundred individuals intent on shooting up roller coasters and baseball stadiums. Before long, every public venue will have solid security measures in place, especially sporting events. Don’t you agree?”

“I hope you’re right, sir,” Riley softened his answer. He wanted to say that there was no way private businesses or professional or collegiate sports organizations could afford such measures, and even if they could, they wouldn’t work, but he decided it wasn’t the right time or place to spar with the leader of the free world. The man would have enough on his plate after this briefing.

The men took seats on a set of parallel sofas. The president preferred a stiff wingback chair. His facial expression revealed nothing.

“Gentlemen, there’s a rather large group of reporters gathering on the other side of this building who thinks that something big and breaking is coming. Furthermore, my staff is violating every traffic law in D.C.’s books to get in here this morning. I understand you believe a terror act has been committed against a US airline on US soil. Is that true?”

“Yes, sir,” Bridge responded.

“And you want me to do something about it, up to and including alerting the nation and perhaps even clearing the skies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, Samuel,” the president said matter-of-factly. “For how long?”

“One week,” Bridge ventured, looking to Bard for support. None was forthcoming.

The president nodded thoughtfully, weaving a subtle trap—not to purposely entwine his Secretary of Homeland Security but to simply arrive at a good and right decision. Warren was a man who liked to do that. Not one given to snap judgments, he was known for baiting his senior advisors, pretending to favor one position and then turning 180 degrees for the other. He referred to the process as “reaching factual equilibrium.”

“Does that include domestic and international flights?”

“Yes,” Bridge responded at once. “Passenger and cargo.”

The president turned to Bard. “Andrew?”

“Mr. President, if we do that, then the terrorists win. We should consider the Madrid and London subway bombings in ’04 and ’05. Over two hundred people were killed and fifteen hundred injured. They didn’t shut down their entire transportation systems.”

“The Spanish authorities didn’t have a recorded message announcing the threat either,” Bridge shot back but he quickly corrected himself. “The voice evidence they found was nothing more than mindless chanting.”

“True, but I still think a shutdown is far too drastic,” Bard argued. “You say someone gave two minutes of warning? For all we know, it could be anything from a hoax to misinterpreting a wristwatch. Whenever there’s a major tragedy in the world, I can name at least four terror groups that always try and claim responsibility. This administration would look like the biggest fool of the twenty-first century. I can’t agree.”

“Options, Mr. Riley?”

“I see three, Mr. President. There’s no evidence to support it, but we must assume that an explosive was involved, probably smuggled on board that Delta flight. If we do nothing but step up preflight security and it happens again, the lives of those passengers are on our hands. Our first option is to physically search all commercial aircraft. That would be a nearly impossible task because we have no idea what we’re looking for. It could be a ready-made device or the result of post-flight assembly. Option two, we continue to fly, but under severe restrictions. We hand search all passengers and baggage and stop all carry-ons. Unfortunately, those actions place a tremendous burden on TSA resources, not to mention the airlines.”

“That’s not realistic, Mr. President,” Bard said firmly. “We need confirmation.”

“Like what?” Bridge asked angrily. “Another crash, perhaps in Lake Erie? If we don’t act, then we are potentially exposing the citizens of this country to murder. And I, for one, am not a murderer.”

Bard stood. “Just who are you calling a murderer?”

“Gentlemen, please,” the president calmly interrupted, then turned back to Riley. “Your third option?”

“Ground all carriers,” Riley said, his voice steady and reasonable. “At least until we find an answer. A similar order was issued nationwide for the first time in history after the Pentagon was hit on 9/11. No aircraft were allowed to move anywhere in the country. The FAA term for the event is ‘full groundstop,’ and it means just that—everything heads for the ground and stops. The FAA and TSA would have more insight into the logistics, but generally speaking, some 5,300 mainland airports under their jurisdiction literally freeze. All personnel are then dedicated to bringing airborne flights down to the nearest available runway. On September 11, that meant 4,600 planes.”

“Mr. President, think about the impact to the nation,” Bard warned. “It would be another ground zero.”

“What are you talking about?” Bridge asked, displeased with the choice of words.

“The economy of the United States of America,” Bard said. “Every sector you can think of is touched by the airlines: tourism, inventory and equipment, mail, food supplies . . . the list is endless. The losses would start with coastal fishermen who’d have to eat their daily catches or serve up a free smorgasbord. It simply snowballs inland from there. Airlines need regular income—lots of it, or they’ll all be bankrupt.” He shifted toward the president. “Sir, I don’t need to remind you that this is an election cycle, and the labor market is one we cannot afford to weaken. We’ve built a fragile credibility with the unions on job creation. The economy is rebounding. A shutdown of the airlines would be absolutely devastating. The Russians lost two planes to terrorism in 2004 and didn’t shut down their air travel because they couldn’t afford it. Neither can we.”

“We are not Russia, Mr. President,” Bridge said. “And we cannot take the chance that another aircraft with crew and passengers might be at risk. Jack is absolutely right. If we do nothing and it happens again, the retribution from the American people would be unimaginable. It would be criminal. I cannot stress more firmly that we must shut the system down.”

“What have we put in place up till now?” the president asked Bridge.

“We haven’t made any formal announcement, but all law enforcement agencies are expecting an elevated alert status, requiring the flying public to arrive at departure airports three hours in advance. That alone would mean substantially longer passenger lines. The airlines are prepared for that kind of slowdown. Unfortunately, we still don’t have everyone up and running with the right chemical isolation or scanning equipment.”

“Andrew, I suppose we should move next door,” the president said, referring to the Cabinet Room. He was anticipating Bard’s next question and weighing the need to bring in all fifteen of his Secretaries plus the vice-president. There was no official schedule, but Warren generally tried to meet with his full Cabinet on a weekly basis. Calling an unscheduled meeting was doable; it would simply take time. “Where’s my Attorney General?”

“Sir, Mr. Broderick is recovering from his surgery, but he’s reachable. National Security Advisor Wright is in Tel Aviv. She’ll cancel if you need her. The vice president is leading that nuclear conference on Iran.”

“I want you to get the CEOs of American, Delta, United, and Southwest on a call in half an hour. No foreign carriers yet. And get Norman and Elizabeth in here,” the president ordered. He looked at his watch. “We’ll reconvene in one hour. I’ll make a decision then.”

O’Hare Aerospace Center

Schiller Park, IL

CLEAR SKIES, calm winds. It was a perfect day to fly.

Akil pulled into the north parking lot of the three-building, horseshoe-shaped office complex at the intersection of Lawrence and Scott Street on O’Hare International Airport’s southeast perimeter. Access on the north, south, and west perimeter was especially strict and virtually impenetrable, protected by mounded embankments, heavy foliage, and regularly patrolled fence lines. Wedged between I-294 and Highways 45/12, the Aerospace Center’s runway views and accessibility along the southeastern perimeter, especially for a maneuverable drone, were wide open.