Code Black (3 page)

“You guys about here? We need to leave this winter-wonderland behind before we’re stuck here until spring.”

“Michael—there’s been a—” Lauren swallowed hard and gazed up at the ceiling. “Donovan’s plane…I think maybe something happened to Donovan’s plane.”

“What!” Michael’s tone changed immediately. “What happened? What do you mean?”

“He called me from the airplane.” Lauren spoke in a rush of words. “We were talking when all of the sudden I could hear screams in the background. When I asked him what was wrong all he told me was that there was another airplane—that he thought they were going to hit. Then I lost the connection.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in the restaurant at the O’Hare Hilton.”

“Okay, we’re not going to find out anything with you there. I think you should go to the Wayfarer ticket counter and find someone in charge, anyone who will listen to you. Do whatever it takes to get their attention—make them talk to you.”

“I will.” A sense of purpose began to flow through Lauren’s body. At least she had a plan. Anything was preferable to just sitting and quietly falling apart.

“I’ll call you the second I find out anything firm and you do the same. And Lauren, I want you to understand that it’s virtually impossible for two airplanes to collide. There are multiple systems in place to keep that from happening. Too many things would have to fail for that to be a reality. So don’t dwell on the worst quite yet, okay?”

“I’ll try not to. I’m headed for the terminal now. I’ll talk to you in a little bit.”

“I’m on my way,” Michael said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. When I’m close, I’ll call so I know where to find you.”

“Please hurry.” Lauren ended the call and quickly gathered her things. She put some bills on the table and left the hotel. Snow swirled and billowed against the large plate glass windows. If anything, it was beginning to come down even harder than when she was talking to Donovan.

As she made her way through the underground tunnel that connected the hotel to the terminal, Lauren’s thoughts whirled in her head as she thought of their upcoming wedding. It was scheduled for the following Saturday in Florida. Lauren thought of their daughter Abigail, and suddenly she felt like she might be sick. She was finally forced to stop in the underground walkway. She leaned against the cold brick wall. Her world was shattering and she didn’t know how to make it stop. Lauren couldn’t help but question the reasons that Donovan was even on the airliner in the first place. Their usual mode of transportation was aboard one of Eco-Watch’s Gulfstream jets. She, Donovan and Michael Ross had just finished the acceptance flights on the new Gulfstream in Dallas. The
Galileo II
had been delivered less than a week ago. It was a hurried replacement for the first
Galileo
that was now lying at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. The plan had been to drop her off in Chicago, and then Donovan and Michael were to fly on to Dulles. She was supposed to travel home on a commercial flight after the conference. But upon landing at Midway Airport, the new airplane had lost a hydraulic pump. With the jet grounded, Donovan had flown back to Washington to take care of some Eco-Watch business. Lauren choked back her tears. If the
Galileo II
hadn’t been grounded, it would be her on a commercial flight from Chicago to Washington. Donovan would be waiting for her there—none of this would be happening.

“Excuse me, miss. Are you okay?”

Lauren turned and discovered an elderly gentleman with kind eyes standing next to her.

“Yes,” Lauren lied. “Thank you. I just needed to stop for a moment.”

“These airports are so confusing, plus they make us walk awfully far sometimes. Which way are you headed?”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m just going up to the Wayfarer ticket counter. I know the way. It’s not much further.”

“Okay, I hope your flight isn’t affected by the weather. Have a good day.”

Lauren watched as the man shuffled away. She forced herself to start walking until she located the escalators that would take her up into terminal three. As she neared the top of the rise, the noise level began to increase steadily. Five steps before the end and she could finally see across the large, high-ceilinged room. To her horror, hundreds of people stood, queued in lines that snaked back and forth across the tiled floor. It would take her forever to reach the Wayfarer ticket agents. Frantically, Lauren scanned the crowd for someone who might help her.

Through the crowd Lauren spotted a Wayfarer agent. The woman stood, unsmiling next to the entry point to one of the impossibly long lines. She seemed to be answering questions while directing passengers to different lines. Lauren could hear the woman’s voice carry above the fray. Lauren zigzagged through the crowd until she reached the woman.

“I need to talk to a supervisor,” Lauren said.

“What seems to be the problem?” the woman replied calmly, as she gave Lauren the once-over.

“Something may have happened to one of your airplanes,” Lauren whispered, not wanting to be overheard and start a panic. “I was talking to my fiancé, he’s aboard—.”

“Not here,” The agent hissed, then put her hand on Lauren’s arm and escorted her to an empty area near the large windows. The agent turned and stood toe-to-toe with Lauren. “Now, slowly, tell me what it is you think you know?”

“Like I said, I was talking with my fiancé, he’s a passenger aboard one of your flights. Before we were cut off, he told me there was another airplane and that they were going to hit. I need to find out if that airplane is still flying.”

“Security!” The woman called out. She waved her arm to get a uniformed guard’s attention. She spun back and clamped her hand around Lauren’s wrist to keep her from walking away.

Lauren yanked her arm from the woman’s grasp. “I need you to listen to me!”

“Stay right where you are!” the agent said.

Lauren wrestled with her emotions, a part of her wanted to run—find someone who would help her. Another part knew she’d said the wrong thing and wouldn’t get very far. From the alarmed expression on the face of the agent, Lauren understood she was being perceived as a threat. Over the agent’s shoulder, Lauren spotted a Chicago policeman as he weaved through the crowd, his eyes locked on Lauren and a hand on the butt of his sidearm.

A cold rush of air enveloped her and she turned and saw an airline pilot, luggage in tow, hurrying through the door to escape the harsh elements outside. His leather jacket was covered with snow. He still had his head down against the wind as he strode purposefully into the terminal. Lauren searched for the emblem affixed to his cap. She saw the gold braid on the bill that identified him as a captain. It took her a moment, but she finally recognized the distinctive logo of Wayfarer Airlines.

“Captain,” Lauren said. “I need to speak with you.”

“I beg your pardon.” The pilot stopped, glanced at her and the agent and then stepped aside as he prepared to move around her.

“I need you to listen to me!” Lauren said with as much force as she dared. She realized she must sound like a madwoman.

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your voice down.” The female agent was growing even more agitated. She motioned for Security to hurry.

The policeman’s fast approach would give her only a few more seconds. She read the pilot’s name from the security badge hanging from his neck. His name was David Tucker.

“Captain Tucker. One of your airplanes might have crashed,” Lauren said quietly. “I need your help.”

“Who are you?” Tucker eyed her warily. “What do you know about a crash?”

“I was talking to my fiancé, who is on a flight from Washington D.C.” Lauren leveled a dead-serious glare at Tucker; she had to convince him that what she was telling him was true. “He said there was another airplane, and that they were going to hit. He’s a professional pilot and I trust what he was telling me.”

“Officer,” the agent gushed the moment the policeman was within earshot. “This woman came up to me and told me that we might have a problem with one of our airplanes.”

“Let me explain,” Lauren said. “I was talking to a passenger on flight—.”

“Did you tell her there’s a problem with a plane?” the cop interrupted.

“Yes,” Lauren said. The policeman stood there, looking her up and down, as if trying to gauge how much of a threat she might be. She exhaled heavily. This situation was going nowhere fast. “I have reason to believe one of Wayfarer’s planes is in trouble. I’m just trying to find out what’s happened.”

“I want everyone to calm down,” the cop said. “I need to see your I.D.”

“I’d be happy to,” Lauren said. She opened her purse under the watchful eye of the cop and produced her Defense Intelligence Agency badge. She flipped it open. Though now technically only a consultant, she was still one of the DIA’s top meteorological analysts.

The cop examined her credentials and carefully compared the pictures. He stepped away and spoke softly into the microphone strapped to the shoulder of his vest.

“What’s the passenger’s name?” Tucker asked.

“Donovan Nash,” Lauren replied, relieved that perhaps she was going to be taken seriously. “He boarded a flight in Dulles to come here.”

Tucker nodded at the agent to go check it out. She hurried across the terminal to the main Wayfarer ticket counter and began typing at a vacant station.

“Here you are Dr. McKenna.” The cop held out her I.D. badge. “Now, will you please explain to me exactly what’s going on here?”

As calmly as she could, Lauren recounted the conversation she’d had with Donovan. Just as she was finishing, the agent came running back toward them and handed a computer printout to Captain Tucker.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Lauren said as she waited for Tucker to find Donovan’s name on the manifest.

“He’s listed,” Tucker said as he looked up from the sheet.

“Dr. McKenna.” The cop held up a finger for everyone to wait while he listened to a transmission through his earpiece. He acknowledged, and then continued. “We just ran a check. It confirmed you’re DIA. As far as I’m concerned you don’t pose a threat to security. You’re free to go. But if you create another disturbance on airport property—I will arrest you and put you in jail. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“I want to check this out at our end,” Tucker said. “Can you help me get her through Security? I think she needs to tell her story to someone besides myself. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Makes sense. Follow me,” the cop said.

Lauren followed Tucker and the cop as they made a beeline toward a security checkpoint. They went directly to the front of the line where a short conversation between Tucker, the cop and the TSA took place. Once cleared, she and Tucker breezed through the metal detector.

“I just want to say—” Lauren said to Tucker, as they walked away from Security.

Tucker cut her off mid-sentence. “If you turn out to be some crazy woman, I’ll see to it you’re right back in the hands of the cops—I doubt they’ll be so accommodating the second time around. I don’t want to hear another word from you until we get to Operations.”

CHAPTER THREE

Like a giant 500 mph scythe, the wing of the military plane cut through the thin skin of the 737 just above the cockpit. Aluminum ribs and stringers snapped as the wing dug further aft. Debris was ripped out into the frigid atmosphere, rupturing the Boeing’s fuselage. Instantly, the aircraft depressurized. A cloud of water vapor filled the cabin as the air condensed in the explosive decompression. In a fraction of a second, luggage, purses, blankets and magazines were sucked out of the forward section of the airplane. Large metal pieces from both aircraft gave way, tumbling back and tearing violently into the 737’s tail.

The airliner reeled under the impact from the tanker. Donovan kept his grip on Audrey as they were both thrown into the seats in front of them. Donovan twisted sideways as the airplane lurched beneath him.

Razor-sharp pieces of aluminum shot through 880’s passenger cabin. Plastic overhead compartments exploded, then splintered into a maelstrom of deadly airborne daggers. Glass from the shattered fluorescent lights flew into terrified eyes.

The carnage was far worse in the front of the plane. Those passengers seated in the forward section bore the brunt of the flying debris—their momentary screams absorbed by the roar of the slipstream pouring into the cabin.

Donovan tried to protect both himself and Audrey from the shower of fragments. The sting of objects peppered the exposed skin on his hands, while the pull of a powerful suction lifted Audrey off the seat. Donovan was sucked forward, his full weight pressed against his seatbelt. He braced himself with his feet as wrapped his arms around Audrey, keeping her in place. The roar penetrated to his bones, the freezing cold air shocked Donovan’s lungs as he fought to breathe. He winced at the pain in his ears, he had to swallow hard, twice, to eliminate the pressure and relieve the agony.

Donovan raised his head and risked opening his eyes. He watched helplessly as rows of people in the forward cabin, still strapped in their seats, were sucked out of the gaping hole that had been ripped in the roof. With slow-motion clarity, he could see flailing bodies pummeled and slashed by the jagged metal before disappearing from sight.

As quickly as it appeared, the suction from the decompression vanished. Donovan knew the pressure differential had equalized and the threat of being sucked out of the plane had passed. He pulled himself up. Fighting the horror he had witnessed and his own rising fear, he looked into Audrey’s frightened and confused face. At least she was still alive.

“The masks!” he yelled above the rush of air. They were dangling from the overhead compartment just above them. He hoped she understood they needed oxygen. It was now freezing cold, and his mind became cloudy and uncertain. A vague notion crossed his mind—their efforts were probably ridiculous and short-lived. They would be dead in seconds. There was no way they could remain flying after being in a midair collision.