The Dark Trinity (Book 1): Shuffle (6 page)

CHAPTER 4
 
  TURBULENCE

Logan International Airport
Boston, Massachusetts USA
December 15, 2014

Eleven-year-old Melissa Reynolds stood in front of the large
observation windows of the US Airways terminal and watched the planes move back
and forth on the runway. She twirled the tassel of her knit hat. The yellow
happy face sunshine that adorned the front of the cap reflected back at her in
the window. In her other hand, she clutched her favorite teddy bear. Although
she felt too old to be lugging a teddy around, she still carried it on
important trips, especially ones as momentous as this.

Melissa loved airplanes, the way they made thunder in the sky
as they flew above her house. She couldn't believe that she was going to be
able to finally fly in one. Her excitement was almost overwhelming, especially
for her father. Melissa bombarded him with questions about anything relating to
planes, airports, pilots, airline food, and of course, airplane toilets were
among the topics of inquiry.

"So when I flush, does my poop land on somebody on the
ground?" she asked her dad.

"No sweetheart, I told you, it's all kept in a big tank
inside the plane," answered Kyle Reynolds, weary from the constant
interrogation.

"But what happens when the tank gets full?"

"Then the plane has to poop it all out," he
replied.

"Does THAT land on people?"

"Sometimes it does," he said with a mischievous
smirk. "Why do you think dirt is brown? It's all the poop from hundreds of
airplanes flying overhead."

"EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW DAD!" Melissa exclaimed,
scrunching her nose and shaking her head back and forth. "You're
nasty!"

Kyle burst out laughing; grateful that he was able to gross
out his daughter long enough for her to forget any other questions she might
want to ask. They had another two hours before their flight left for Pittsburgh
and he wasn't sure if he could hold out that long with the little inquisitor.

Melissa returned to gazing out the window at the various
planes taxiing to and fro. Kyle took out a bottle of water from his backpack
and took a sip. He reflected on the recent events that had transpired over the
past three months. His wife Terra had left him after thirteen years of
marriage, not only abandoning him, but their daughter as well. Kyle had tried
to be the best husband he could, but it was hard with Terra's job. She was a
partner with an international law firm and had just landed an enormous whale of
a client; a Saudi prince.

The prince had hired Terra and her firm to handle some large
real estate transactions, both here in the States and in Dubai. The prince
insisted on meeting in person for all business matters, and had demanded Terra
fly to Dubai every other week. Each trip seemed to last longer. At first it was
two days, then three, then five. When she wasn't abroad, she worked endless
hours at the office on Boylston Street; often coming home well after Melissa
had gone to bed.

Kyle tried to be a good husband. Tried to be supportive. He
knew that this client alone could keep Terra's firm in business for the next
six years. The managing partner was counting on her to follow through with
whatever it took to keep the Prince happy. He tried to be understanding, but Terra
was drifting away and missing Melissa grow up. He was getting tired of having
to make excuses for why mommy wasn't coming to her piano recital, or why she
couldn't go to the zoo with them. Then one day, it happened.

Kyle had come home after taking Melissa to a Bruins game and
had found Terra in their bedroom packing in a hurry. At first he thought that
she was preparing for another trip, but he realized that she had packed
everything. She had pulled all her clothes from the closet; her dresser drawers
pulled out and empty. Three large suitcases were agape on the bed, piled with
her belongings.

"What are you doing Terra?" he asked.

She looked up at him through wet eyes. "I... I'm leaving
Kyle. I'm moving to Dubai." Her voice was quiet and shaky, as if she were
going to cry at any time, but the crying never came.

"The Prince wishes me to be his bride. He said that if I
refuse, he would break the contract with the firm. I have to go." She
picked up an envelope from the nightstand and tossed it on the bed in front of
Kyle. "He wanted me to give you this."

Kyle opened the envelope and looked at the check inside. Two
million dollars. "Is this a joke?" he asked, trying not to raise his
voice and wake Melissa.

"No. This is not a joke. I'm sorry." She finished
jamming her clothes in the suitcases, closed them, and began hauling them out
of the room.

Kyle froze where he stood; the shock of the situation
preventing him from running after her. Their entire marriage, he had tried to
be everything that Terra needed and wanted. In the end, he couldn't compete
with a prince. Two million dollars was apparently the going rate for an
American wife in Dubai. For two months Kyle had kept the check in the top
drawer of his nightstand. The thought of spending that money made him ill. He
finally gave in, since money became tight now that he couldn't rely on Terra's
salary being there anymore.

Melissa had taken the news of the divorce better than he
thought. It seems the one good thing about Terra's long hours was that it
conditioned his daughter to be without her mother for long periods of time.
This time though, it would be forever.

Kyle shook the thoughts from his head and focused on the
present. He had received an invite from his brother Ty in Pittsburgh to stay
with him and his wife for a few weeks. Ty claimed that a change of scenery
would be good for both him and Melissa. Kyle had accepted, knowing that Ty was
right. When Melissa heard the news of the trip, she immediately beamed with
excitement. She loved her Uncle Ty and only got to see him once or twice a year
when he and Aunt Katie came into town during the holidays. She was even more
excited for the plane ride there.

“Daddy, do shooting stars shoot during the day?" Melissa
asked.

The strange question pulled Kyle away from painful thoughts
of the past and he looked at his daughter. "Sometimes, why do you ask
sweetie?"

"Because there's one right over there," she said as
she pointed at a spot in the sky beyond the big picture window.

Falling from the sky was a bright ball of fire; thick black
smoke trailed behind it. He had no idea what it was. A meteor? Maybe. But
something about it didn't seem like it came from space. It moved too slowly. It
continued to move down towards the horizon, but it was definitely too slow to
be a meteorite. Those suckers traveled thousands of miles per hour.

The fireball cast an eerie light against the dark overcast
sky. It continued to plummet, finally reaching the distant horizon. He couldn't
hear a crash, but he could see a small flicker of light as it disappeared
beyond the tree line.

****************

"Delta-Three-Four-Eight has just fallen off the scope,
sir," a voice from one of the air traffic controllers called across the
room.

"Someone get me the FAA on the line and notify the local
authorities of the situation," Blake McMurry barked. The fifty-two year
old Air Traffic Control Tower supervisor had kept the airspace above Boston
safe for the past 29 years. Just three days away from retirement, the last
thing that he needed was a lost bird on his watch.

"Neil, any chatter coming across the air from
Three-Four-Eight?" he asked the controller to his right. Neil was Blake's
most trusted controller; young, but sharp.

"Negative. We lost radio contact four minutes ago, just
after they requested their approach vector," he replied, beads of sweat
peppering his prematurely receding hairline.

"Charlie-Seven-Two-Niner, you are clear to land 22-Lima,"
Timothy Simms said into the boom mike that protruded from his headset.

"Logan Tower, this is Charlie-Seven-Two-Niner, copy all
clear on 22-Lima." replied the pilot of the British Airways flight,
inbound from Heathrow.

Timothy continued to watch the blip labeled C729 on his radar
screen, besides the dozens of other blips moving around the approaching Airbus
A380. The stress level in the ATCT had shot through the roof as his boss dealt
with the downed plane. The controllers scrambled to keep the airspace as calm
as possible. Pilots radioed into the tower to report and question the fireball.
C729 made its final approach, landing gears extended as it drew closer to the
runway.

****************

Melissa watched the British Airways flight approach the
runway, angling its nose up as it dropped engine power, allowing it to glide to
the ground. She always thought it was cool how planes landed as their big
doughnut tires squished and kicked up puffs of smoke as the plane touched down.

Without warning, the plane's left wing swooped down and
forced the plane perpendicular to the ground. The nose tipped downward and
dropped. The left wingtip caught the ground, tearing off a five foot section of
the wing. The flight careened up onto its nose and sent it and all five hundred
and fifteen passengers into a devastating roll, tail over nose.

The tail section flew over the plane, the cockpit crumpling
under the weight of the fuselage. The right wing spun under the body of the
plane, snapping in half and propelling the craft back up into the air for
another rotation. By some miracle, no fireball erupted as it continued to spin
head over tail as debris flew off of it bit by bit.

Melissa screamed as the plane danced down the runway. Kyle
stood next to his daughter completely dumbfounded. He pulled Melissa back from
the window. They stood about 10 feet from the large observation windows and
watched the scene unfold. The miracle ended when the plane spun again, this
time the fuel tanks caught. The giant A380 exploded in a hell storm, smack dab
in front of Kyle, Melissa, and the entire terminal.

The concussive shock wave from the blast shattered the
one-inch-thick observation windows. Thousands of lethal shards rocketed into
the rows of onlookers. Glass daggers impaled eyes, ears, necks, arms, and
whatever else stood in their path. Kyle wrapped Melissa in his arms and turned
her, placing himself in the path of the danger.

He felt the sting of each shard pelting his back. His leather
jacket provided some protection, but all it did was slow the glass enough to
hurt more as it tore into his flesh. The hail of debris finally ceased, and
although his back was a wreck, he didn't feel as though they hit any vital
organs. He'd live.

Kyle stepped back and looked at Melissa who, although scared,
was otherwise unharmed. He turned to face the gaping windows, only to find one
of the large GP7000 engine turbofans spinning towards the terminal. It bounced
once, breaking at the impact, which sent a large section of the fan hurling
through the large window.

He didn't have a chance, the fan embedded into the center of
his body lengthwise, from pelvis all the way to the top of his head. The
inertia thrust his lifeless body backwards twenty feet, stopping at the
people-mover. Melissa screamed as her father's body twitched reflexively.

****************

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Blake mumbled as he
watched the British Airways flight tear itself apart as it moved down the
runway. The ATCT was in a tense state when Delta348 had gone down. Now that
Charlie729 was gone, along with a good part of the terminal, the ATCT was in
full-blown panic. Phones continued to ring off the hook. Controllers spoke into
the receivers; shouting orders and seeking information around both plane
crashes.

"Sir, I have distress calls coming in from at least a
dozen other inbound contacts," Neil said, with a nervous quiver.

"What are the nature of the emergencies?" Blake
asked. A tightness in his chest wrapped around his torso like a vice.
I
better not have a goddamn heart attack three days from retirement,
he
thought.

“Unknown, sir. But more maydays are coming in by the minute.
Tim's already logged seven since Charlie729 went down."

"Have we heard back yet from the FAA?"

"No, sir. We've been having trouble getting through. It
looks like there have been several other emergencies at other airports around
the country," Neil replied.

"Sir, we have inbound craft on a collision vector!"
a junior controller yelled from the far side of the control room.

"I want everybody to divert all inbound traffic to
Worcester, Manchester, or Providence ASAP," Blake commanded. "We need
to get as many birds clear as we can before we lose more."

No sooner had Blake barked the command, a fireball flared
about a hundred yards west of the tower and about three hundred feet above the
Earth.