Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller (17 page)

Chapter 23

A woman’s voice
came over the intercom letting them know that the Rome Airways flight to Rome was now boarding. Some of the passengers had already gotten out of their seats and formed a line in front of the door.

Tetrault was at the front of the line. He glanced at Alan briefly before he disappeared through the door that led to the skybridge.

Alvin Harper and Fred Hegge were both posted somewhere outside the security checkpoint. Marshall Evans was on the other side of it, surreptitiously monitoring things as passengers were subjected to the screening process.

Evans’s voice came through over the earpiece Alan wore in his right ear. “Status check.”

Both Hegge and Harper reported Code 4, and Alan did the same, being as discreet as possible. Evans’s said, “Late arrivals are coming through now. All clear here as well.”

Another uneventful ten minutes passed, and the last of the passengers passed through, showing their boarding passes as they stepped through the doors and made their way down the ramp and toward the waiting plane.

“The last of them are boarding. What’s the play?”

Alan didn’t respond. What had they missed? He almost hoped that a clue would arrive out of nowhere; that Morrie Arti would feed them one final breadcrumb, pointing them in the right direction.

“Lamb? I repeat, what’s the play?”

Alan came away from the pillar he had been leaning against and took in his surroundings.

What was the play indeed.

Into his hidden mic, he said, “I’m getting on the plane.”

Chapter 24

Alan flashed his
badge at the woman standing next to the door and hurried past her as he made his way through the skybridge.

In his ear, Evan’s voice said, “
Wait!
”

Alan stopped. Up ahead, he could see the entrance to the plane, several of the flight attendants were greeting the last of the boarding passengers.

“I’ve got something,” Evans said. “They just found Jimenez tied up in the security locker room.”

“Who?”

“Edgar Jimenez. One of my screeners.”

Alan’s mind raced, trying to put it together.

It was just like the others. Howard Sitka…Susan Carville…Teresa Baier…Sean Hammond…Gerard Wilson…and the list went one.

Now it was Edgar Jimenez, a TSA security screener.

I should have known.

It was the first place they should have looked. How else would someone be able to board a plane with dangerous cargo unless they were given safe passage through airport security?

“Where was your man posted?” Alan asked. His head was cocked as he awaited a response.

Silence for a moment.

“We’re running out of time,” Alan said.

“Got it,” Evans said in his ear. “He was posted at the quick passage entrance. It’s where we do expedited screening of the flight crew. Pilots and flight attendants. I already sent some guys to check it out. And that’s what’s got me thinking I just entered The Twilight Zone. Because Jimenez is exactly where he was supposed to be. My guys swear to it, but I’m looking at a man in a t-shirt and boxers right now that sure as hell looks like the real Edgar Jimenez to me.”

“I’ll explain later,” Alan said and continued down the ramp at a run. “It isn’t a passenger. It’s one of the crew.”

Chapter 25

Captain Henry Torrance
had arrived at JFK shortly before eight o’clock that morning, had passed through security screening uneventfully (the screener hadn’t bothered checking the contents of his briefcase), and had proceeded to the pilot’s lounge. He had consulted the computerized checkin system, which provided him flight details, a weather report, the number of passengers that would be on the flight, and the names and titles of the flight crew. For today’s flight, which was set to depart at 10:00 A.M., he would have both first and second officers. The co-pilot was a man by the name of Gregory Peck, just like the actor. The flight engineer (sometimes known as the second officer) was Sam Carrigan.

Torrance spent forty-five minutes in the lounge, drinking coffee from a mug he had taken out of the cupboard above the sink. His briefcase rested on the floor between his feet. For breakfast, he ate a cold danish with raspberry and cream cheese filling. The flat panel TV mounted to the wall opposite the kitchenette was tuned to CNN.

Both Peck and Carrigan arrived at nine o’clock sharp, as Torrance was finishing his cup of coffee. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, but Peck, who had worked with Torrance on several occasions in the past, thought the senior pilot wasn’t acting like his usual self. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly caused him to feel this way, but there was something a little
off
about the man that morning. The Henry Torrance he had come to know was a loquacious man that normally had a joke handy. His jokes weren’t always politically correct, either, but they sat fine with his fellow brothers of the sky. A little bathroom humor could go a long way in soothing the nerves.

“You feeling okay today?” Peck asked. “You don’t seem like your usual self, Henry.”

“Yeah?” Torrance said. “I didn’t get a whole lot’ve sleep last night.”

Peck nodded, but wasn’t entirely convinced. For some reason, a small flower of anxiety blossomed in the pit of his stomach. But he chose to ignore it. He always got a mild case of the nerves before the longer flights. As for Henry Torrance, well, everybody was entitled to the occasional off day.

Peck said, “I can do the heavy lifting if you need me to. Or Sam here. He’s gotten too accustomed to doing nothing.”

“Eat me,” Carrigan said without glancing up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine.” He lifted his empty coffee mug and said, “Just needed the morning dose of wakey-wakey juice.”

“Suit yourself.”

Torrance checked his watch. “We should get going.”

They walked together to the waiting plane, an Airbus A330, and upon entering the cockpit, they checked the various instruments and made certain all the controls were in proper working order.

They met with the rest of the flight crew, and Torrance signed the flight release. After all the passengers had boarded, Torrance received a weather update and an updated passenger count. He also received the pre-flight departure form. After filling out the form, he gave the order for the flight attendants to secure all the doors.

That was when they heard someone yell, “
Wait!”

A moment later, a man holding a gun appeared in the doorway.

Chapter 26

They say that
hindsight is twenty-twenty, and, in retrospect, it all made perfect sense.

This was the thought that went through Alan’s mind as he shoved his way onto the plane, gun drawn, flashing his badge as his eyes went to his right, catching a quick glimpse of rows and rows of seated passengers, and then swept to his left, in the direction of the cockpit.

This was the endgame after all. Which meant, Alan thought, that it would be Morrie Arti’s most elaborate trick yet.

Go big or go home.

On his short and panicked jaunt through the skybridge, everything had fallen into place.

Two men were now in custody.

Each appeared identical to the other.

And both men identified themselves as Edgar Jimenez.

The sole difference between them was this: Only one of the men was telling the truth.

But is it really a lie? Technically, they’re carbon copies of each other. Does that make one of them more real than the other?

According to Evans, Jimenez had been posted at the security checkpoint used exclusively to screen members of the flight crew. Given new legislation, it could hardly be considered a security checkpoint when it allowed for pilots to do little more than flash their ID to gain admittance. Only a handful of personnel would have been permitted to use the crew entrance that morning. Meaning they weren’t looking for a passenger at all. It had to be one of the pilots or one of the flight attendants.

When Alan burst onto the plane, he didn’t know what he was looking for. All he knew for certain was that whoever Morrie Arti had planted on the plane was already on it.

“Sir, can I help you?” one of the flight attendants asked.

Alan ignored her and stepped into the cockpit, fixing his gaze on the three men that occupied it. In his ear, Marshall Evans was listing off the names of the flight crew.

“Pilots,” Alan said.

“That would be Sam Carrigan, Gregory Peck, and…here it is…Henry Torrance. You mind filling me in?”

Alan’s gaze settled on the briefcase tucked between the two pilot seats.

“Whose briefcase?” he asked, barely aware that his Glock was gripped firmly in his right hand.

“Mine,” Torrance said.

“I’m going to need you to open it for me.”

Torrance stared at him, a smile gradually spreading across his face.

Finally, he said, “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

“What exactly is this about?” Peck asked from his seat on the right side of the cockpit.

“We have credible intel that someone has brought a bomb onto this flight,” Alan said. “And all evidence points to it being one of the three of you.”

From his position behind the other two men, Carrigan said, “Are you nuts? You think one of us brought a bomb on our own plane?”

Les Tetrault appeared behind Alan. “Did you figure out who it is?”

Over his shoulder, Alan said, “Working on it.”

Tetrault had produced a firearm from a holster that hugged the left side of his ribcage.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Alan said, bringing up his Glock. “Open the briefcase.”

Torrance continued to smile. He looked neither nervous nor surprised. In fact, the smile he wore seemed to say that things like this happened on a daily basis to a guy like him.

To Alan, there was something naïve about that smile; as though the man he was talking to was a little slow in the head, and his only offering was the goofy grin he wore.

Torrance said, “If I open the briefcase, things might go boom. None of us want that. Do we?”

Both Co-Pilot Peck and Flight Engineer Carrigan stared agape at their captain.

“Just open the damned thing,” Peck said. His eyes hadn’t left the Glock that was now pointed at his colleague’s head.

Carrigan said, “Are you off your rocker? Do what the man says, Hank.”

“I can’t,” Torrance said, turning his head to glance at his fellow pilots. The smile never faltered. “There’s a bomb in that briefcase. And the second I open it, it’ll blow all of us and the people on this plane to smithereens.”

Without removing his gaze from Torrance, Alan said, “Evacuate the plane. Get everyone off. Then alert the bomb squad.”

“What are you going to do?” Tetrault asked.

“I’m going to make sure this lunatic doesn’t blow us all up.”

It took fifteen minutes to get all the passengers off the plane. Alan could hear the whispers and the mumbling and grumbling of over 150 passengers as they shuffled forward, sans carry-on luggage, and made their way onto the skybridge and toward the terminal.

He
heard
all of this rather than saw it because he had had the good sense to keep the door to the cockpit mostly closed. There was no sense in causing panic by having any of the passengers witness him holding the plane’s pilots hostage.

Once the plane had been evacuated, several officers arrived and escorted Peck and Carrigan off the plane. They would be taken in for questioning.

Alan dealt with Torrance himself. For a moment, he and Torrance were alone in the cockpit. The bomb squad had arrived and was waiting on the other side of the cockpit door. With one hand, Alan kept the Glock trained on Torrance, and with the other, he brought out Zip-tie cuffs and bound Torrance’s hands behind his back. All the while, he was careful to not let the man make contact with the briefcase. He also made damn sure he didn’t bump into it himself. Quarters were cramped, and if Torrance had gotten froggy on him, there was a better than good chance that they would have dislodged the briefcase from where it sat between the two pilot seats. He didn’t know how sensitive the device inside was, but he treated it as though it was as fragile as a newborn baby.

“Darrow,” Torrance said.

“What?”

“You want to talk to Darrow.”

“How do you know Darrow?”

Torrance didn’t respond, just went on smiling as though this was all fun and games.

After Torrance was cuffed, Alan swung the man around in a less than graceful one-eighty and then shoved him out of the cockpit and onto the skybridge. After they had exited the plane, the bomb squad went to work.

As Alan escorted Torrance through the skybridge, he said, “What was that you were saying about Darrow?”

“You should give him a call,” Torrance said. “That’s all I was saying.”

Once they were inside the gate, they were greeted by a circus of PAPD officers. Alan released Torrance into one of the Port Authority police officer’s custody, saying he would want to interrogate Torrance later.

Apart from the mass of people that were crowded in the gate, Evans was waiting for him.

“Congratulations,” Evans said and patted Alan on the back. “You were right. There was a bomb in it. Bomb squad’s disarming it now. Nothing too sophisticated by the sounds of it, but it was the real deal.”

“Jesus,” Alan said. His hands were shaking and his heart was racing.

Suddenly, a commotion arose and Evans’s said, “What now?” and when they looked over, they saw Torrance on the ground, surrounded by officers. Torrance was flailing wildly.

“Some kind of seizure?”

“Call the paramedics!”

Torrance flopped back and forth like a beached fish, his back arching up off the floor, white froth spilling out of his open mouth. His eyes turned up in their sockets.

“Get medical goddammit!”

And then the man went still. His mouth bobbed open and closed a final time, and then…nothing.

Alan knew immediately that the man was dead. He and Evans were standing outside the group of officers that had huddled around Torrance’s motionless body. Paramedics arrived and loaded Torrance’s body onto a gurney.

All of it happened in less than two minutes.

“You think he took something?” Evans asked. “Some kind of poison?”

Alan was barely aware that Evans was talking to him. “Maybe.”

“It’s like one of those old spy movies, where if the guy gets caught he has a cyanide capsule hidden in a fake tooth. Christ, I better go and help get this sorted out. I’m going to be doing paperwork until I retire.”

Alan found himself alone. Everything had happened so fast, for a moment he thought he might be dreaming. He was still trying to wrap his head around what Torrance had said right before the end.

You want to talk to Darrow…

…you should give him a call.

He needed to notify Gant of what had happened. Like Evans, he shared the sentiment that he would be neck-deep in paperwork for the foreseeable future. He had just prevented a terrorist act; he had saved the lives of over a hundred innocent passengers. But there was no one there to pat him on the back.

And still, all he could think about was what Torrance had said when it had been only the two of them standing in the plane’s cockpit.

You want to talk to Darrow.

How had Torrance known about Darrow? Darrow was the man in the shadows.

When some of the adrenaline wore off, when his heart no longer threatened to burst from his chest, Alan remembered Darrow’s business card in his wallet. He took it out and examined it, staring at the number written on the otherwise blank card.

He yanked the earpiece from his ear, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the number written on the card.

Alan listened to it ring, and by the third ring he realized that the sound wasn’t only coming from his phone, but that he could hear the sound of a phone ringing somewhere nearby. He looked around, trying to pinpoint the source, and then he spotted a man standing by himself near the row of seats outside the Rome Airways gate.

The man was holding a phone in his hand. The man had short black hair, brown eyes, and Alan put the man at an inch or two taller than himself.

The man was smiling. He had perfect white teeth. Almost too perfect.

Colgate model teeth.

“Darrow.”

Darrow slid his phone into his pocket and began to clap slowly.