The Puppetmasters (4 page)

She just shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

Carson, having gotten his bearings, quietly inserted wryly, “Paul, it really doesn’t matter at this point. If we live to investigate it, we can ask these questions. Let’s figure out what we can do right now.”

With barely a second to inhale, and his mind racing through their options, he continued, “Let’s try our cell phones.”

He removed his phone from his pants pocket and turned it on.

Fields was nodding his head, “Who are you going to call—security? Mickey?” Damn! He was furious that he had let his regular security team stay behind to attend a high-level FBI-sponsored tactical weapons seminar in DC the next day. Yes, they had done it on the last DC trip, and it had worked out fine. After all, they’d never really had any serious threats to their safety in the past. It just seemed prudent to use security with company assets over several billion dollars … not to mention that the company insurance required it. He felt sick when he recalled the strenuous objections of Mickey to even a five minute gap with no security detail, and how he had overruled him.

“Yeah, I’m calling Mickey at the security patch-through.”

He dialed, listened, frowned, and then slowly looked at each of them in dawning horror. In an even voice, he enunciated each word slowly, “The cell phone service is blocked. They must be using some sort of jammer.”

Carson whispered, “They?”

Fields just glared at him. He was alternately furious that this was happening to him, and that someone had the audacity to think they could outsmart him. Well, they had, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

Carson got up and grabbed one of the courtesy phones on the sidewall near their seats. Shit! It was dead too. He asked the flight attendant if there were any other phones in the interior of the plane or the galley that might have a different line. She was only too happy to help, just so she could take her mind off of the possible gruesome outcome.

“There is one other in the galley. I’ll check it.”

She got up and ran up the aisle to the galley.

Kendall had been quiet during the initial upheaval, taking it all in. She was no longer nervous or intimidated. This was a matter of life and death. Her regular duties involved problem solving and handling would-be crises on a regular basis. She jumped in, saying, “This appears to be a well-planned attack. My guess is that the galley phone has been disengaged as well.” Both men frowned at the logic.

All three were thinking,
But why? What is the plan? Where are we being taken?

The flight attendant ran back, shaking her head, “None of the communications work.”

They stared at each with a mixture of fear and terror.

J
UST THEN, A VOICE COULD
be heard over the intercom. “This is your captain speaking, Abdul Bashar Alam. Please do not be disturbed. I do not wish you any harm. We are en route to my native country—Afghanistan! You are invited guests of our beloved President Mujtaba Shazeb. He has urgent state business needs that require your personal and professional attention. Please sit back and enjoy the trip. In order to ensure your cooperation, I disconnected all communication devices. In these turbulent times with terrorists among us, I did not want to worry the authorities that anything was wrong with this flight. You may wonder if our flight deviation will be noticed by air traffic control. I am a very smart man, and I have successfully overridden the transponder code so this flight appears to be headed to Seattle. Our real course is basically cloaked on radar, and for that reason I must watch out for approaching traffic. Therefore, do not cause any trouble, or we will not safely reach our destination.”

The passengers looked at each other in astonishment. The plane was being hijacked! But for what purpose? If it weren’t so implausible, it might be humorous that the “pilot” referred to terrorists—of which he most certainly was one—in derisive tones. He apparently viewed his mission as nothing less than honorable.

Alam continued, “Uh, unfortunately, in order to persuade the captain and co-pilot to hand over control of this wonderful plane, I was forced to incapacitate them. They do not pose a threat now. I am, however, quite concerned about the rest of you. I have rigged a small explosive to the inside of the cockpit door. If you attempt to open the door, you will be severely injured. Since you Americans seem to always need proof in the face of threats, I will be showing you, in the very near future, that I mean business. I am sorry to have to do this, but these things cannot be helped. It is for the greater good.”

Kendall felt her stomach hit the ground. This was clearly a veiled threat that was intended to be acted upon. What is this deranged man going to do? Something told her to get out of her seat and crouch against the inner wall of the plane—basically making herself invisible to anyone at the front or back of the plane.

All of a sudden the cockpit door flew open, and Alam, having put the plane on autopilot, stepped out. He took several steps towards the passengers, aimed, and shot the flight attendant right between the eyes. She fell forward at the men’s feet.

Alam turned, and with a satisfied and determined look, went back into the cockpit, attached the explosive device to the inside door, and resumed his seat at the controls.

The interior of the plane was deadly silent, its passengers in shock at the sudden, violent act whose consequence now lay at their feet.

Kendall did not see the shooting but concluded that the flight attendant had been murdered. She soon realized that had she been sitting in the attendant’s seat, it could’ve just as easily been she the pilot shot. She knew that the men were most likely safe, since they were the major “assets” of Orion Premier Net Services. That meant that from this point forward she was
excess baggage;
if she wasn’t careful, she could become
collateral damage.
The men reached that same conclusion as they gaped at the lifeless body.

In a low tone, Carson spoke first. “We’ve got to protect Kendall. I think we’re safe in the air, so long as we don’t do anything to piss him off.”

Fields nodded grimly with lips pressed together. “I agree. He’s on a mission, and it doesn’t appear to involve crashing the plane. Therefore, let’s ride this out. Once we’re on the ground, Kendall should be okay.”

They looked back at Kendall and were surprised not to see her. She popped her head up above the seat, scrambled to her feet, and stared open-mouthed at the slumped body of the flight attendant. “Why?” she whispered.

The two men looked at each other, and with uneasy but knowing glances, said nothing. They had a pretty good idea what all of this was about.

Kendall saw the look pass between them and wondered what they knew.

T
HE REMAINDER OF THE FLIGHT
was uneventful. The three passengers regrouped, and Kendall was placed in a row in front of the men, so they could keep an eye on her. She was instructed to recline all the way back to escape visual detection should Alam reappear.

Each person was lost to his own thoughts. Kendall purposely shifted her thoughts to Jeremy.
Will I ever see him again? Would he even care?
That line of thinking just made her angry again, so she pushed it into the recesses of her mind. She began to think about the history of Afghanistan and how it was now impacting her life.

She had only a sketchy knowledge of the Middle East and Asia from her undergrad classes. She thought it was a shame that a few years after the U.S. pulled its troops out of Afghanistan, the country had soon dissolved into anarchy as the tribal warlords took over and fought for power. Eventually, the U.S. closed its local embassy for security reasons. Mujtaba Shazeb, the current leader, was nothing but a ruthless warlord who ended up being the “last man standing.” No
loya jirga
elected him. He soon became a dictator who pillaged Afghanistan’s western-financed modernized oil fields and terrorized the citizens into silent submission. He even engineered the deaths of his own two brothers and a brother-in-law. He trusted no one and imagined that everyone was out to get him.

Shazeb gained power by uniting the Afghan citizens against the reappearance of the Taliban and Al Qaeda in the early days after the Americans and the West had left Afghanistan. He made a power grab in a single-minded purpose, abolishing the two legislative bodies: the
Wolesi Jirga,
the House of the People; and the
Meshrano Jirga,
the House of Elders. He was astute enough to see the usefulness of allowing the western business interests to share its resources, in the form of massive financial contribution, in an effort to modernize and stabilize Afghanistan and ultimately propel the fledgling democratic country out of the dark ages. That was never to be. The western world soon found out that
their fragile partnerships were rife with dishonesty and corruption that began and ended at the top rung of the Afghanistan leadership.

Because of the financial turmoil in the western world in 2008 and continued market upheaval through the next decade, each country had its own unique domestic issues to contend with. The West had simply lost interest in the constant struggles within Afghanistan. The desire to continue the fight had long since been abandoned.

Since the U.S. had experienced no national security issues with Afghanistan under Shazeb’s rule, the West largely ignored and tolerated the despot. The West was relieved that he had thoroughly modernized, organized, and built the vast oil fields so that money had, for some time now, been flowing in.

Most importantly, there were no requests for international assistance of any kind—troops, money, or counsel. Afghanistan appeared to be quiet and self-sufficient, and desirous of being left alone. The Americans and the rest of the West were only too happy to oblige and overlook reports of Shazeb’s overzealous handling of his citizens.

In reality, Afghanistan was a ticking time bomb. Lately, the wealthy nations realized that once again there was a huge heroin problem. For years it was known to be coming from either Columbia or Burma, but the word on the street now was that the current product was purer and more deadly. A new source was suspected. The West was beginning to take a look at Afghanistan.

Kendall focused her razor sharp instincts and pondered Shazeb’s intentions. She replayed the events of the last couple of hours and realized that with Alam’s command of the English language and customs, he had most certainly been educated in the West. He must have resided in the West for a long time. He was likely nothing more than Shazeb’s lackey. But why would a man such as Alam, so clearly educated in the West, turn against it in single-minded devotion to his leader? One had only to review the events of September 11 to understand that mindset.

She stopped, realizing she was making some possibly erroneous assumptions. Perhaps there was more to the story. Maybe Alam wasn’t an enemy of the West.
An enemy of Orion Premier Net Services?
That thought gave her pause. Yes, Orion was a powerful high-tech company that had been in business now for fifteen years and was a leader in net services, including web design, installation, maintenance, and repair.

Additionally, Orion Premier owned the most popular and stable web browser. It was the most secure browser in the market and had never been compromised. The technical code was so proprietary and sought after, that no single employee of Orion had access to the original master source code.

In the last year, Orion Premier had introduced an impressive USB thumb
drive that could be switched off and de-activated, rendering it useless to an unknown party should they come across a lost device. The thumb drive basically operated as a micro-computer and could perform tasks that were unknown to the ordinary user, not to mention most of the Orion employees. In fact, much of Orion’s layered technology was known only to a few in the R & D department.

T
HE PLANE LANDED WITHOUT INCIDENT
in Kabul after making a quick refueling stopover on some unknown island. Since the refueling had been without incident, with no one—not even the pilot—leaving their seats, Kendall figured the brief touchdown had been pre-arranged with a “friendly” nation. She looked out the window and saw a few flickering lights on what appeared to be a private landing strip. She had lost track of time, but it was dark and obviously evening.

The plane pulled up to a banged-up, rusted warehouse-like structure that served as a hangar, and it was immediately surrounded by twenty-five grim-faced uniformed guards carrying bayoneted military rifles. A middle-aged, portly soldier, who scowled as if he had been interrupted during dinner, broke away from the group and approached the plane, his hand on his weapon.

The cockpit door flew open, and Alam quickly stepped out, yelling, “Do not move!” He strode to the exit door, opened it, and pushed the stairway down into position. His pistol was trained on the passengers, and they remained frozen in their seats.

The annoyed-looking military man rushed up the stairs, stepped into the plane, marched down the aisle, nodded his head at the passengers, and spoke in a clipped, no-nonsense, loud voice.

“Good evening, my name is General Faisal Omar, at your service. You will stand up … now!”

The three weary Orion Premier employees struggled to their feet, dumbstruck with fear. They noted the general also spoke English, albeit with a distinct accent.

Paul Fields’ mind was racing. It dawned on him that the country of Afghanistan had certainly made more progress than he realized. That Orion should make a concerted effort to establish a local sales team, particularly given the English that seemed to be spoken by a lot of Afghans, from what he had seen so far. He even thought that maybe he could help get the three of them out of
this unfortunate ordeal by turning the whole event into a sales pitch. He began to breathe normally, and realized that he needed to gain control—get the upper hand—and maybe use a little charm later, which did not come naturally to him.