Chapter 3 - The Secret Behind the Cockpit Door
Claire reacted before anyone else.
“Lock the cockpit.”
Captain Reeves slammed the door controls.
“Elena, everyone seated. Now.”
The flight attendant hurried into the cabin.
Claire looked toward the small security monitor displaying the forward aisle.
A man stood near row eighteen.
Tall.
Baseball cap.
Dark sweater.
He wasn't moving toward the cockpit.
He simply stood there.
Watching.
Then Elena approached him.
Claire couldn't hear the conversation.
The man slowly raised both hands.
A moment later he returned to his seat.
Reeves exhaled.
“False alarm.”
Claire didn't believe in false alarms anymore.
She turned on Thomas.
“You said Evan survived.”
“He ejected.”
“How do you know?”
“Satellite intelligence located a parachute.”
“Why wasn't I told?”
“Harlan classified everything.”
Claire felt rage building again.
“How long did he survive?”
Thomas looked down.
“Months. Maybe longer.”
Her voice broke despite her effort.
“Months?”
“We received fragmented intelligence suggesting he had been captured by a private militia.”
“And nobody rescued him?”
“We tried.”
“You?”
Thomas nodded.
“Quietly.”
Claire laughed once, bitterly.
“You're asking me to believe the same people who abandoned him later tried to save him?”
“Not everyone was involved.”
“What happened?”
“We lost the trail.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Claire stared through the cockpit windshield into endless darkness.
For four years she had mourned Evan.
For four years she had imagined him dying instantly.
Now another possibility tortured her.
He might have survived.
He might have waited.
He might have believed she was coming.
Claire remembered his last transmission.
Raven…
Please.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Captain Reeves touched her shoulder.
“Claire, I need you here.”
She nodded.
Mission first.
Emotion later.
That discipline had never disappeared.
“What's the aircraft status?”
“Stable manually. Autopilot software is unreliable.”
“How long to Madrid?”
“Just under four hours.”
“Nearest diversion?”
Reeves checked.
“Depending on conditions, Shannon or Lisbon eventually. But right now we're still deep Atlantic.”
Claire looked at fuel.
“You have enough.”
“Yes.”
“Then why whoever is doing this wants three hours?”
Reeves looked at Thomas.
Thomas shook his head.
“I don't know.”
The screen changed again.
TURN TO HEADING 143.
Reeves frowned.
“That takes us southeast.”
“Toward what?” Claire asked.
The first officer pulled up charts.
“Nothing.”
“No airport?”
“No.”
Claire leaned closer.
“Follow it.”
Reeves stared.
“You want me to obey whoever hacked the aircraft?”
“For five minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because they're trying to take us somewhere.”
“Exactly.”
“And I want to know where.”
Reeves hesitated.
Then slowly turned Flight 217 toward heading 143.
Passengers wouldn't feel much.
The aircraft banked gently.
Outside, the Atlantic remained black.
Five minutes passed.
Nothing.
Then radar displayed something.
The first officer leaned forward.
“Traffic?”
Reeves shook his head.
“No transponder.”
Claire's instincts sharpened.
A faint object appeared on weather radar.
Then vanished.
Then reappeared.
“What is it?” Reeves asked.
Claire looked through the windshield.
“Kill cockpit lights.”
They dimmed everything possible.
Claire stared into darkness.
At first she saw nothing.
Then—
A tiny light.
Far off the left side.
Moving.
Fast.
Her stomach tightened.
“Aircraft.”
“Commercial?” Reeves asked.
“No.”
“How can you tell?”
“Speed.”
The object approached.
No navigation lights now.
Claire moved toward the left window.
A silhouette emerged against the moonlit clouds.
Sharp wings.
Compact fuselage.
Claire recognized the profile instantly.
“Fighter.”
Reeves stared at her.
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
The fighter slid alongside them.
Close enough that Claire could see the pilot.
Helmet.
Visor.
Oxygen mask.
The aircraft bore no visible national markings.
Claire's pulse hammered.
The fighter pilot turned toward the airliner.
Then raised one gloved hand.
Two fingers.
A gesture.
Claire staggered backward.
Reeves grabbed her arm.
“What?”
Claire whispered, “That signal.”
“What does it mean?”
“It was ours.”
“Whose?”
“Evan and mine.”
During deployments, Claire and Evan had developed stupid little signals.
Two fingers held near the helmet meant one thing.
Still with you.
Claire moved closer to the window.
The fighter remained beside them.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
“Evan?” she whispered.
The fighter rocked its wings.
Once.
Twice.
Claire's throat tightened.
Then the cockpit radio crackled.
Static.
A voice.
Distorted.
“Raven One.”
Claire couldn't breathe.
The voice came again.
“Raven One, acknowledge.”
She knew that voice.
Older.
Rougher.
But unmistakable.
Claire grabbed the microphone.
“Evan?”
Silence.
Then—
“Hello, Claire.”
Her legs nearly failed.
Thomas whispered, “My God.”
Claire gripped the microphone.
“You're alive.”
“Apparently.”
Her eyes burned.
“Where have you been?”
“No time.”
“Evan—”
“No time, Claire.”
The military tone returned instantly.
“Your aircraft is compromised. Someone aboard Flight 217 has physical access to the control architecture.”
Claire looked toward the cabin.
“Passenger?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“How are you here?”
“Later.”
“Evan!”
His voice softened.
“If we get through this, I'll tell you everything.”
Claire stared at his aircraft.
Four years of grief were flying thirty yards away.
“Why the messages?”
“Not me.”
Claire froze.
“What?”
“I didn't send them.”
Everyone in the cockpit went silent.
Claire looked at the screen.
“If you didn't…”
“Whoever compromised your aircraft knows about us.”
Thomas whispered, “Harlan.”
Evan's voice sharpened.
“Thomas Vale is aboard?”
Claire glanced at him.
“Yes.”
“Keep him away from avionics access.”
Thomas stepped forward.
“Evan, listen—”
“Shut up, Thomas.”
Even through radio distortion, the hatred was unmistakable.
Claire stared.
“Evan, what's happening?”
The fighter banked closer.
“The network I discovered during KM-41 never disappeared.”
“The weapons technology?”
“More than weapons.”
“What?”
“Remote aircraft systems. Navigation spoofing. Flight-control interference. They built technology designed to make civilian aircraft accidents look like pilot error.”
Reeves went pale.
“Can they crash us?”
“Not yet.”
Yet again.
Claire hated that word.
Evan continued.
“They need someone physically aboard to complete the link.”
Claire looked at Thomas.
He raised both hands.
“Not me.”
“How do we find them?” Claire asked.
“Check the aft electronics bay.”
Reeves shook his head.
“That area is crew-restricted.”
“Someone opened it twenty-seven minutes after takeoff.”
“How do you know?”
“I'm tracking your aircraft from an external surveillance platform.”
Claire looked at the fighter.
“You're military?”
A pause.
“Not exactly.”
That answer would matter later.
Right now it didn't.
Claire called Elena.
“Do you have any passengers moving near the rear galley after takeoff?”
Elena thought.
“One.”
“Who?”
“A man said he felt sick. He remained near the lavatory for several minutes.”
“Seat?”
“18F.”
Claire looked at the security monitor.
Baseball cap.
The man who had stood earlier.
“What name?”
Elena checked the manifest.
“Marcus Hale.”
Thomas flinched.
Claire saw it.
“You know him.”
Thomas said nothing.
“Thomas.”
“He worked for Harlan.”
Claire's blood went cold.
“What kind of work?”
“Systems engineering.”
Reeves swore quietly.
Claire spoke into the radio.
“Evan, we have him.”
“Do not confront him yet.”
“Why?”
“He may have installed a device.”
“What kind?”
“One that needs manual activation.”
Claire looked toward the cabin.
Three hundred innocent people.
Children.
Parents.
Her hands became steady.
The old Claire had returned completely now.
“Tell me how to stop it.”
Evan hesitated.
“You won't like this.”
“I haven't liked anything tonight.”
“The device is probably in the electronics bay beneath the cabin.”
“And?”
“Someone has to physically disconnect it.”
“Crew?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“Claire…”
She knew that tone.
“Say it.”
“The bay may be electrically compromised.”
Reeves shook his head.
“No.”
Claire looked at him.
“You have another option?”
“We restrain Hale.”
“That doesn't disable whatever he installed.”
Thomas stepped forward.
“I'll go.”
Claire laughed.
“You?”
“I helped develop early versions of the interface.”
Everyone stared.
Claire's voice became deadly calm.
“You what?”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“I didn't know what Harlan planned to use it for.”
“You helped build this?”
“Yes.”
Claire took one step toward him.
“You've been lying since you walked into this cockpit.”
“I've been trying to keep you alive.”
“Four years too late.”
The radio crackled.
“Claire,” Evan said.
She turned.
His fighter remained beside them.
“You need Thomas.”
She closed her eyes.
Of course she did.
Life had a cruel sense of symmetry.
The man who helped destroy her past might be the only one who could save her present.
Claire opened her eyes.
“Tell me what to do.”
But before Evan could answer, the cabin lights went completely dark.
Gasps rose from nearly three hundred passengers.
Emergency lighting flickered on.
Then Marcus Hale stood from seat 18F.
This time he didn't raise his hands.
He held a small black device.
And he looked directly into the nearest security camera.
Then smiled.
May you like
The cockpit screen flashed one final message.
TO SAVE THEM, RAVEN MUST FLY AGAIN.
