Authors: John J. Nance
In a moment, Ken answered. "He says yes, but any tricks or attempted tricks will be fatal. If he asks for the Attorney General and you put someone else on the phone pretending to be the Attorney General, he'll trip the switch and we're--I hate this reference but I'm supposed to use it-we're toast."
"Understood. Reassure him that we will not betray our word, nor any agreements we make. If we say it's a deal, it's a deal, and the full faith and credit of the U.S. government will back it. He's got to agree, however, to wait and talk if he's got any concerns. No one will be sneaking up on you, but something unforeseen could happen that might frighten him, and we've got to be able to have the chance to explain it rapidly. Will he agree to ask first about anything he doesn't fully understand?"
"He says yes." "Okay," Kat said. "I know you're on your way here. We'll talk more on the ground, but I would like to understand, as clearly as I can, what, precisely, he wants us to do first?"
"Give me a phone number. A land line. He wants me to call you from a cell phone."
Kat looked up at the technician, who scribbled an area code and number on the pad in front of her. Kat read it into the phone.
"Stand by. I'll call you."
A long minute and a half crawled by before the appropriate line lit up, and Kat grabbed it.
"Agent Bronsky here."
"Okay, Agent Bronsky. Here's the deal. The first instruction is this.
The FBI must proceed to a trailer park south of Denver and arrest the occupant of a particular trailer."
Kat scribbled the address as it was read.
"Okay. But what if we find more than one person there?"
"Wait a second."
Kat put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to the technician.
"You getting all this?"
He nodded vigorously as the captain's voice returned.
"Okay, he says pray you only find one person there. You're looking for a heavyset male. Any other person would probably be a kidnap victim."
"Okay."
"And, the suspect must be formally booked into a federal holding facility on federal charges of kidnapping and murder. A federal grand jury will have to be brought together in a matter of an hour or so, and they must hand down a formal indictment. And a full trial must be guaranteed. For anyone aboard this airplane to live through this, each and every step must be accomplished."
"Does he want to give me the name of the person he wants arrested, Captain?"
There was another pause of several seconds duration.
"He says to tell you again that there's only one humanoid organism in that trailer. When you've arrested it, he'll have further explanations and instructions."
"Can he tell us who this individual kidnapped and murdered?"
"Negative. Not until the man's arrested."
Kat looked over at Frank Bothell, who had already picked up the open line to FBI headquarters. He raised and lowered his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, a signal Kat understood well. Maybe it could be done, maybe it couldn't. Stall in the meantime.
"Captain, tell him we're starting the process immediately. As soon as you're safely parked down here, we'll talk further. Would you see whether he will permit us to run a private telephone line straight out to your aircraft?"
'I'll ask him. I'll let you know when we're parked. And Agent Bronsky?"
"I'm here."
"Do not, I repeat, do not even think about shooting tires or blocking the airplane or any other direct physical interdiction. He's serious.
He'll detonate his bomb if you try."
"I understand. I'll be right here standing by on your air traffic control frequency if you need me. Just let the controller know, or call the same number on your cell phone."
"Roger," was the only response.
"Kat?" Frank Bothell's voice reached her from across the small room.
Kat stood and handed the phone to an airport police officer who had been standing nearby. "Re-establish the line with Salt Lake Approach and stay glued to this, please. Tell the controller to let you know the instant the captain wants to talk to me. Also, keep this other line open in case he calls by cell phone."
The officer nodded and slid into the same chair Kat had occupied as she moved to Frank's side. "What's up?"
"I've got the two men in Durango you wanted to talk to on line twenty- three, and Salt Lake Air Route Traffic Control Center just called to let us know that another airliner saw Flight Ninety doing aerobatics on the airway a few minutes before you started talking to him."
"Aerobatics?"
"Aerobatics are extreme flight maneuvers like rolls and loops and-"
"I know the term, Frank. What kind of aerobatics?"
"Apparently they're flying slow, and they rolled the aircraft," he replied, indicating the maneuver with his hand.
"So we've got a wild, illegal buzzing of Monument Valley..." Kat began.
"I'd call it more of a surface level fly-through. He was down between those giant buttes."
"Okay, and now he's rolling the aircraft. Does that suggest to you what it suggests to me?"
Frank nodded tentatively. "You're the psychologist, Kat. I'm just a federal cop. The roll sounds like a fight in the cockpit. I don't know what to make of the Monument Valley thing." Frank studied her eyes.
"But... you're discerning something else."
She nodded. "It's not a fight. It may be something far more dangerous.
He could be demonstrating a feeling of liberation which would be inconsistent with his demands so far, or he could be trying to scare everyone aboard. I'm only sure of one thing, Frank. We've got to get that airplane on the ground and keep it nailed there. Whatever's going on, the flying is dangerously unpredictable. They get in the air again, we could lose them."
"Meaning?"
"The hijacker says he's a desperate man and he's demonstrated a type of physical control over the plane that tells me he isn't afraid of the technology. It also tells me he isn't necessarily afraid of dying, and if he's suicidal, he could take them all down in the blink of an eye."
"A purposeful crash, you mean?"
"Frank, from ten thousand feet above the ground, a seven-thirty-seven pushed over to the near-vertical can impact the ground in less than fifteen seconds, and the captain might not be able to prevent it."
"Wonderful. What do you suggest?"
"A heartfelt prayer that he's really going to land."
Kat picked up the telephone handset and punched the button for Durango.
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90. 11 :50 A.M.
As Annette sat down again, a heavily perspiring Rudy Bostich slammed the tiny flip-phone back together with obvious irritation and sat looking stunned.
"Can't get through?" Annette asked him from the adjacent seat. Bostich slowly shook his head no.
"It'll probably improve in a few minutes," Annette added. %
coming up to the Wasatch Mountains right now. As soon as we reach the other side, you should be able to reach a cellular antenna."
Rudy Bostich was staring at the cockpit door, his eyes wide.
"Rudy?"
There was no response.
"Rudy, is... is there anything you're not telling me here?"
He turned toward her suddenly, his face frozen in a panicked expression.
"Annette, you said the captain's name is Ken Wolfe, right?"
She nodded cautiously. "Yes."
"And you said he was from Colorado?"
Annette studied his eyes. There was panic there, and another chill began to make its way down her spine. "I think he lives in Colorado, Rudy. I don't know anything about his background."
"Could he... could he be from Connecticut?"
"Rudy, why are you asking?"
"Does he... did he... have a daughter? Has he ever talked about losing a daughter?"
"Losing? You mean to illness?"
"Whatever."
"Mr. Bostich, you're obviously really worried about something }
What is it? Please tell me."
Bostich was gripping the arms of the first class seat hard enough to whiten his knuckles, his gaze forward.
"Look," Annette began, "I don't know him well enough to know whether he's ever been married. I've heard rumors that he had a terrible family tragedy somewhere, and I recall his saying something once about hating to miss autumn on the East Coast, but I don't kno,a sure."
"I remember that voice," Rudy said. "It is him."
"Ken Wolfe?"
Bostich nodded.
"What about him, though? Are you enemies or something?"
"In a way, yes."
Annette sat in shocked silence, her mind racing through the possibilities. What were the odds of a hijacker who hated Rudy Bostich jumping on perhaps the only aircraft in commercial aviation flown by a captain who was also angry with the same man?
"Annette?"
Bostich's voice didn't penetrate the kaleidoscope of thoughts going through her mind. Annette got to her feet and moved quickly to the galley in search of her purse. She fumbled for several seconds in the bottom of the bag, her fingers closing finally around a single key that had escaped its side compartment.
She moved out from behind the galley privacy curtains. She could feel Rudy Bostich's eyes on her from his window seat, but she didn't look at him. She knew he'd be frozen to his seat, too afraid to interfere.
For several minutes there had been no P.A. announcements and no particular sounds from the cockpit. They could be in flight anywhere, from all appearances, and the apparent normality of the scene made her apprehension seem even more ridiculous.
Annette moved to the cockpit door and put her hand on the doorknob without making a sound.
She rotated the doorknob very slowly, very gently, until it stopped.
With surgical care she lowered the nose of the key into position and gently rested it in the mouth of the keyhole. Slowly, very slowly, she pressed the key forward, letting the internal probes of the tumblers click along the teeth of the key one at a time, none of them producing enough sound to be heard against the slipstream of the jet.
Finally, it would go no farther.
If I'm wrong, I could get a bullet in the face.
The thought stopped her momentarily as she raced over the logic again.
No, I know I'm right. But I have to see for myself Annette looked down. The key was firmly in place.
Oh God, how do I do this? Do I yank all at once, or pull slowly?
It would take several seconds of clicking and turning sounds if she turned it slowly, she realized. The only way to maintain surprise was with a quick pull.
The 737 hit a short stretch of turbulence and Annette braced herself against the restroom door with her shoulder.
Now!
She twisted the key hard in her hand and felt the latch give as she pulled the door open.
Ken Wolfe's head whipped around toward the entryway at the noise with a look of horrified surprise as he recognized Annette and what she had done.
She stood in shock, her mouth open, groping for words. Ken was sitting in the left seat as she had expected.
The right seat was empty.
"What the hell are you doing, Annette?" Ken asked, his face turning red.
She swallowed hard. "The question is, what the hell are you doing, Captain?"
A thin smile played across Ken's face, then disappeared as he looked forward at the instruments, then back at her.
"Hand me that cockpit key, Annette. Then back out, close the door, and call me on the interphone."
She was breathing rapidly, her head swimming. Her own voice sounded distant.
"Ken, whatever you think you're doing, you're scaring the hell out of--"
His booming voice cut her off. "DO EXACTLY AS I TELL YOU!
I'm not kidding about the explosives."
Annette saw his left hand leave the control yoke and come around to show her he was holding a small black object which looked like the remote arming device for a car alarm system.
"This is a trigger, Annette. There's a real package of plastic explosives in my bag in the belly bin. If I'm incapacitated and let go of this for a second, it's all over. We explode. Besides, there are no other pilots aboard. So try to overpower me and everyone dies. Now GET OUT?'
"Ken, WHY? Why are you doing this?"
"Go, dammit. GO! Call me on the interphone."
Annette handed him the key and backed out in confusion, fairly slamming the cockpit door.
She felt her hand at her mouth, her entire body shaking.
She paused, then moved to the interphone.
"Okay, Annette, now calm down."
"I don't understand this," she began, her voice shaking. "You're.. hijacking your own aircraft? Why, Ken? Why? What about your career?"