Chapter 6 - THE PILOT WHO HAD BEEN DEAD FOR NINE YEARS
Eric Voss opened his eyes.
The bullet had struck his shoulder, not his chest.
Jason restrained him.
I handed Norah to Jillian.
“Take her to the cockpit.”
Norah clung tighter.
“No.”
I crouched.
“Peanut.”
“You said you’d be right here.”
“I know.”
“You keep leaving.”
That sentence hurt more than anything Voss could say.
I touched her cheek.
“One more time.”
She stared at me.
“Promise?”
I almost said yes automatically.
Then stopped.
Promises should not be lies children learn to forgive.
“I promise I will do everything I can to come back.”
Norah nodded slowly.
That was enough.
Jillian took her.
I knelt beside Voss.
He smiled despite the blood.
“Still dramatic, Hayes.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“So are a lot of people.”
“Meridian?”
His smile vanished.
“You have no idea what Meridian is.”
“Educate me.”
“Why? So you can pretend you’re better than us?”
I ignored it.
“Did you sabotage the plane?”
“Partly.”
“Captain?”
“No.”
“Communications?”
“Yes.”
“Hydraulics?”
“We interfered with sensor inputs. Not the actual hydraulic system.”
“Navigation?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep Keane from landing where British authorities could seize his evidence.”
“Who poisoned the captain?”
Voss laughed weakly.
“You should ask your own people.”
I went still.
“What?”
“Chicago followed you here.”
That was impossible.
Only four people in my organization knew my travel schedule.
My consigliere Patrick Sloan.
Security chief Vincent Reed.
My accountant, Leah Morgan.
And my younger brother, Caleb.
Caleb.
No.
Voss watched my face.
“There it is.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“We know your people paid a crew caterer at O’Hare.”
My stomach tightened.
“To poison the captain?”
“Sedative. He was supposed to become ill before takeoff.”
“Why?”
“To delay the flight.”
“Why delay it?”
Voss grinned.
“Ask whoever wanted you kept in Chicago.”
Then alarms sounded.
Cabin altitude.
Aaron’s voice came over the interphone.
“Warren, cockpit now.”
I ran.
Norah sat strapped into the observer seat behind Aaron with Jillian beside her.
The captain remained unconscious.
Aaron pointed to the display.
“We have pressurization loss.”
“How fast?”
“Slow, but increasing.”
“Cause?”
“Unknown.”
Another system compromised.
This time Voss looked surprised when brought forward.
“That wasn’t us.”
I believed him.
Two operations.
Meridian wanted Keane’s evidence.
Someone from Chicago wanted my flight delayed or turned back.
The combination was killing us.
“We need lower altitude,” Aaron said.
“Do it.”
We began descent.
Then a second problem.
Fuel imbalance.
One tank dropping faster.
Possible leak.
Aaron’s face tightened.
“We may not make Shannon.”
Nearest viable runway options changed by the minute.
Then Keane examined the navigation charts.
“Azores?”
“Wrong direction.”
“Iceland?”
“Weather.”
A small airport in western Ireland might work, but runway length and conditions would be marginal.
Then HF communications returned briefly.
A real air traffic controller.
Static-filled.
“Flight 218, if receiving, squawk emergency.”
Aaron did.
Relief.
We were no longer alone.
Then the controller transmitted:
“Flight 218, be advised your company operations reports an unauthorized maintenance command uploaded before departure.”
Aaron looked at me.
“What command?”
Static.
Then:
“Fuel jettison sequence.”
My stomach dropped.
The 787 did not normally dump fuel like some older aircraft.
But somebody had manipulated transfer systems to create the equivalent problem.
We were bleeding usable fuel into an inaccessible configuration.
“How long?”
Aaron calculated.
“Maybe ninety minutes.”
Ireland was possible.
Barely.
Then Jillian received a cabin message.
Voss had asked to speak to me.
I went back.
He was pale from blood loss.
“What?”
“Meridian has a second man onboard.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“He was assigned separately.”
“Purpose?”
“If I failed.”
“To do what?”
Voss looked toward the cockpit.
“Destroy Keane’s evidence.”
“How?”
He smiled faintly.
May you like
“By destroying the airplane.”
Then the cabin lights went out.
