Edge of Tomorrow (35 page)

“Shit!” muttered Smitty. “I got an updraft!
Where the fuck did that come from!”

“That news chopper is moving toward us!”
yelled Syd. “They’re going to fuck up everything!”

“Carlos, get that chopper on the horn and
pretend to be a Cuban authority. Tell them to back off or be shot
down!” ordered Hatch.

Smitty pulled Shadow-5 up about ten feet,
fighting the turbulence, so he would not hit the 757. Carlos was
talking rapidly in Spanish to the chopper.

“We’re running out of time here! We’ve got a
plane-load of unconscious people down there, and if those
highjackers wake up, they’ll probably start killing people!” yelled
Hatch.

“The news chopper is moving away, Hatch!”
announced Syd.

“Good work, Carlos! Now, let’s get it done
before they figure out something is wrong!” said Hatch.

Smitty settled back down over the entry spot
until the cloth collar was nearly touching the 757. Carlos put a
suction device on the area where he was going to cut out the entry
hole. The suction cup was connected to a thin, strong cable that
ran up and over a pulley in the ceiling. Using his laser gun, he
quickly cut a circle with a diameter of about two and a half feet.
When he finished the cut, he motioned to Bruno and Shirley to
approach the hatch opening. He slipped on a device which looked
like a gas mask and stood up and threw a switch. The wench motor
whirred and lifted the round piece out of the 757's fuselage and
into the chopper. He pushed the dangling piece aside and dropped a
knotted rope into the hole. The rope was threaded over a second
pulley in Shadow’s roof. Bruno grabbed the rope and lowered himself
quickly into the hole. Shirley followed a few seconds later. Carlos
then threw in a canvas duffel bag with “New York Yankees” stenciled
on it as he retrieved the knotted rope.

“OK, close it up,” said Bruno on his comm
channel. “We’re in control.”

Syd watched as Carlos replaced the round
piece and quickly began welding it back into place with his weird
putty and laser gun. She had her middle screen focused on the Cuban
soldiers and the milling crowd. The soldiers all of sudden snapped
to attention. An officer marched to the side of the formation, all
the while watching the 757.

“I’m watching the soldiers and something is
happening,” announced Syd. “The skin is in the green, so I don’t
know what’s spooking them. Hurry it up, Carlos!”

Carlos finished his job and closed the hatch,
locking it in place.

“The hatch is closed and locked,” he
reported. “Get us out of here, Smitty!”

“Tell Bruno and Shirley to shake a leg,
Hatch! Those soldiers have gone to port arms,” said Syd.

Syd switched her left screen to Offensive
Weapons and selected the gun, then set it to automatic.

I hope this friggin’ thing works! It’s never
been tested! Plus, I’ve never used it! I hope I’m doing this
right!

“I’ve selected the gun! I may have to hose
those soldiers if they point those rifles at the plane! I will not
let them shoot at it as long as Bruno and Shirley are in there!”
she yelled.

“The Cubans are trying to talk to the pilot
and no one is answering,” said Carlos, back to his monitoring of
the tower channel. “They must be getting spooked! They know
something is wrong, just not what.”

Syd felt Shadow-5 start to climb, and felt a
wave of relief. At least Shadow-5 was getting out of the line of
fire! She switched to the channel assigned to Bruno and Shirley in
time to hear Bruno say they were all right, and were working as
fast as they could. They had tied up and gagged three highjackers
and were at the door to the cockpit area.

Over the intercom she heard Smitty drawl,
“Three thousand feet and holding. We should be safe here for the
moment.”

Then they heard Bruno say, “Cover me,
Shirley. I’m going to open the cockpit door.”

“Right behind you, Bruno!” replied
Shirley.

There was ten seconds of silence on the
channel.

“We’re in the cockpit. One more highjacker
secured. Shirley is injecting the pilots with the antidote. Then
she’ll go on back to vent the gas,” reported Bruno.

Syd was still watching the Cuban soldiers,
wondering what they were going to do next. If she had to use the
gun, things would get very tense—if it worked! She could screw up
the entire mission! Get them all killed! Suddenly, she had a flash
of an idea!

“What nationality are those highjackers,
Bruno?” asked Syd.

“I would say they are some brand of towel
head. Muslim extremists of some sort, maybe,” replied Bruno.

“The Cuban in the tower is about to lose it.
They may start shooting if someone doesn’t tell them something,”
interjected Carlos.

Shirley had made her way to the A/C controls
and changed the valve settings, starting the venting process. She
took out her gas meter and watched the needle gradually move to the
normal position. She reset the valves and began getting out of her
HASMAT suit. She stored it in the duffel bag and went back to the
cockpit, taking the duffel bag with her.

“Gas clear,” she announced over the comm
channel.

“The copilot is starting to come around,”
said Bruno as he removed his own HASMAT suit.

“We’re running out of time!” said Syd with
urgency. “Shit! Those soldiers in the front rank are kneeling!
They’re getting ready to do something very foolish! I’m going to
talk to the guy in the tower—try and defuse them! Otherwise, this
may turn into a shooting thing. Like I said, I won’t let them shoot
at that 757!”

Hatch was also tense. He was searching for
some solution other than revealing their presence by shooting at
the Cubans. He did not want any unnecessary bloodshed, but he
agreed with Syd: They couldn’t let the Cubans shoot at the
airliner.

Syd switched to the tower channel and started
talking in Farsi in an excited voice, saying that the highjackers
would blow up the plane if the Cubans did not remain calm. She was
certain no one was able to understand her, but she thought the
sound of a hysterical Arab might cause them to hold up for a
minute. She said the word “bomb” several times in English, but with
a heavy accent. It seemed to be working—the soldiers stood back up
at attention. Their officer was talking into a handheld radio and
looking confused.

In the 757, Shirley held her pistol in her
hand and kept surveying the unconscious passengers, looking for a
ringer—another highjacker among the passengers with a bomb. The
highjackers’ weapons were stacked outside the cockpit door. Bruno
pulled his highjacker out of the cockpit, then put his HASMAT suit
in the duffel bag with Shirley’s. Shirley joined him.

“I haven’t spotted a ringer, but that doesn’t
mean there isn’t one,” Shirley said.

The copilot came awake with a start.

“What happened?” asked the copilot.

“You have your plane back,” said Shirley, who
was, of course, in street clothes now.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Your guardian angel. Get this plane rolling,
we’re out of time,” she said.

The pilot awoke then, confused, shaking his
head.

“What’s going on now? Are you another one?”
he asked.

“No, I’m a white hat. We took care of the
highjackers. Head this thing to Miami! Now!”

The pilots ran through a quick check list and
ran the engines up to full power. The pilot released the brakes and
the aircraft began its takeoff roll. There was a sharp snap as the
APU cable jerked loose from the aircraft.

“So far so good. They’re taking off,” said an
elated Hatch. “Follow that plane, Smitty!”

The crowd on the ground was running around in
confusion. The news chopper followed the 757 down the runway,
filming its departure for the early morning news.

Syd let out a long sigh of relief and slumped
back in her chair. Carlos looked at her and she gave him a thumbs
up while silently mouthing, “Nice job!”

He nodded and returned the salute.

Hatch announced, “Great mission, people!
You’ll see a bonus in your next paychecks!”

• • •

Aboard the 757, Bruno briefed the pilots not
to meet with the press under any circumstances. They were to talk
only to the FBI. The passengers and flight attendants were awake
now and conversations were humming. No one knew how the highjackers
had been overpowered. Shirley and Bruno had stowed their own guns
in the duffel bag and sat in two seats in the first class
cabin.

The head stewardess looked at them with a
question on her face, not recognizing them. Shirley put an index
finger to her lips.

“Don’t ask, ma’am. Just keep the passengers
calm. We’ll be in Miami soon. It’s over,” she said, pointing to the
gagged and bound highjackers.

“Thank you, whoever you are!” she answered,
then went to look after her passengers.

The highjackers were awake, and had wide,
panicked eyes. Shirley reached for the chain around her neck and
pulled up the spray vial which Sara had used on the Iranians. She
held her breath and gave each highjacker a spray up the
nostrils.

“That should hold them for the FBI!” she told
Bruno.

• • •

Aboard Shadow-5, Hatch was talking to the
President on his Blue Phone.

“Yes, sir. The plane should land in Miami in
a few minutes. May I suggest that the press be kept away, and only
the FBI be allowed access to the deplaning process? How this was
done must be kept secret!”

“How in the hell did you do it?” exclaimed
the President. “You’re a miracle man! I’m sorry I ever doubted you!
Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Just keep this between you and me. One more
thing, Mr. President. There will be a man and a woman deplaning
carrying a duffel bag with New York Yankees stenciled on it. They
will also be wearing New York Yankee baseball caps. I want them and
their bag to be escorted—without questions of any kind—to the
American Airlines north exit. A car will be waiting for them. The
car is not to be followed. No pictures of them are to be taken at
any time. Understood?”

“I will give those instructions to the
FBI personally! They won’t like it, or understand it, but I’ll
handle it somehow. Call me if there is ever anything I can do
for
you
! Thank you
again!”

Hatch disconnected and put his phone away. He
unbuckled and went back and sat in the Offensive Weapons Station
next to Syd. She took off her headset and put it on the hook
provided. Their eyes met and they both smiled. He put his left hand
inside her thigh, up against her crotch. She squeezed her thighs
together, trapping his hand there. She put her left hand on his
trapped hand and put her right hand inside his thigh, as he had
done with her. She felt him begin to harden against her hand.

While still looking into his eyes, she said,
“Well, that couldn’t have gone much better, considering we’re all
safe—and apparently undetected.”

“No it couldn’t. It was tense there a couple
of times, though. That was quick thinking on your part to confuse
them with Arabic babble.”

“That wasn’t babble. It was perfectly spoken
Farsi! It was all I could think of to do at the time. I’m glad it
worked!”

She looked at the time that was displayed on
her console.

“There still should be some night left when
we get back,” she whispered. “Are you still going to take me
home?”

“Right after I make sure Shirley and Bruno
are safely on their way home. Then, I’m taking tomorrow off. We
have the rest of tonight—today, actually—and all of tomorrow to be
together,” he whispered back.

“I can hardly wait!” she said as she gave him
a squeeze.

• • •

At 3:37 A.M. the President of the United
States was in a meeting in the library in the West Wing of the
White House. Sitting around the table were some of his most trusted
advisors: Fred Williams, Director of the FBI; T. James Washborn,
Secretary of State; Elton Crenshaw, retired Air Force General, now
National Security Advisor; Francis Finley, Director of Central
Intelligence; Carole Layton, the Attorney General; Ben Garand,
Chief of Staff; and Admiral Thomas Cranberry, Chairman of the Joint
Chiefs.

The President said, “Do we have the
document?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Frank Finley of the CIA.
“We’ve turned it over to Fred’s people so they can put it through
the lab and authenticate it—paper age, et cetera.”

“Good! Let me know as soon as you know
anything, Fred,” said the Chief Executive.

“I will, Mr. President, but I have a whole
bunch of unanswered questions about how we got that airliner back,”
replied the FBI Director.

“So do I,” agreed Secretary of State
Washborn. “Like, why did you have me call the Cubans and twist
their arms to let that Channel 7 news chopper go into Cuban
airspace and film the incident?”

“I didn’t know anything about that!”
interjected Admiral Cranberry. “What’s that all about?”

The President did not know exactly how to
answer the question. He could not mention Bob and the Blue Phone.
He had to dance around the truth if he could, plus, he was not sure
what the truth was.

“I thought seeing what was going on through
the eyes of an American news crew might be important. Particularly,
since none of my august advisors,” he swept his hand, taking them
all in, “had a clue as how to get that plane back.”

He thought putting them on the defensive
might help his cause.

“Did you get a copy of the tapes from that
news crew, Fred?” the President continued.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed it, and it doesn’t
give us a clue as to what happened. Who were those two Yankee fans
you told us to escort out?” asked Fred Williams.

“What’s this?” queried Elton Crenshaw, the
NSA. “Just what is going on here? Carole, do you have a secret Sky
Marshal thing going on that you forgot to tell me about?”