Final Winter

Two minutes after the President was awoken in Sun Valley, Idaho, a phone call was made to the Northern Command of the US Air Force stationed at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, Colorado. The on-duty commander who received the call — Lt General Mike McKenna — said one thing when the call came in and he was briefed on the situation: ‘This is real world, correct? Not a drill?’

‘That’s correct, general, not a drill,’ said the male voice. ‘This is real-world.’

‘Understood,’ General McKenna said as he hung up the phone. His office was a glass-enclosed cube overlooking the rows of terminals, desks and overhead display screens that observed the airborne space over Canada and the United Stations. His adjutant, Colonel Madeline Anson, looked on from a nearby chair.

‘Sir?’ she asked.

The general said, ‘We have nineteen aircraft airborne over CONUS,’ he said, referring to the continental United States. ‘It’s believed they may be carrying an airborne agent of some kind. Sarin, plague, anthrax — not sure at this time.’

‘Shit,’ said the colonel. ‘Where did they come from?’

The general grimaced. ‘Memphis. They’re aircraft from AirBox.’

‘General Bocks’s company?’

‘The same,’ he said. ‘Madeline, execute Strike Angel. Now. I want those nineteen to have company within the next thirty minutes and we’ll need to brief our FAA rep.’

‘Sir,’ she said, getting up from her chair.

‘And one more thing. I need to talk to Bocks. ASAP.’

‘Yes, sir.’

When his adjutant left McKenna waited, his hands folded. Thoughts were racing through his mind, were pressing against him, and he was pleased that so far he was keeping on top of things. He looked up at the clock. A few hours from now his shift would have ended and another general officer would be at this desk, with this responsibility.

McKenna looked at his empty coffee cup. He would need some caffeine, and soon, and he refused to feel sorry for him-self. Shift change or not, this was his job, his duty, and right now his duty meant that—

The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up. Colonel Anson said, ‘Hold for a second, sir, for General Bocks.’

‘Thank you, Madeline.’

A very long second indeed, McKenna mused, and the concept of his duty came back to him as he finished the thought.

Duty meant a lot of things, and at this very moment it meant explaining to the head of a company why it was necessary to shoot down his nineteen aircraft and kill their crews.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Brian Doyle was in an empty terminal, looking for somebody, anybody, when he saw a man approach him from around a ticket counter, whistling. The man had on a dark blue janitor’s uniform and a bundle of keys at his side and was pushing a wheeled bucket with the handle of a mop. Brian strode over to him and showed him his ID.

The older man whistled. ‘NYPD. You’re far from home, pal.’

‘That I am.’

The man asked eagerly, ‘You ever been on NYPD Blue? That’s my favorite show. Even though it’s off the air, I do love it so. I see all the repeats.’

Brian looked at the man’s eyes, and sensed the intelligence back there was that of a teenage boy. He hated to lie but he had no time. ‘Sure. A couple of times. As an extra. You know, just part of the crowd.’

The man laughed, showing bad teeth. ‘That’s wonderful. That’s truly wonderful. What can I do you for?’

‘AirBox.’

The janitor nodded. ‘Know it well.’

‘That’s good. Because I need to see the people who run it. Not the office types, the guys who keep track of the air-craft.’

The janitor said, ‘Lots of police and troopers out there tonight. There’s some sort of emergency. They’re not letting people through from one terminal to another.’

‘That so?’

The janitor grinned again. ‘But for a real true NYPD Blue, I can get you there real quick. Skip the places where the blockades are. That sound good?’

Brian said, ‘Best news I’ve heard all night.’

~ * ~

Alexander Bocks heard a click on the other end of the phone. He said, ‘Bocks here.’

‘Sir, this is Lt General Mike McKenna, Northern Command.’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand you have nineteen aircraft outbound from

Memphis, carrying canisters that may contain airborne pathogens. Correct?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Are the crews aware of this situation?’

Bocks said, ‘Not yet.’

‘Do you intend to notify them?’

‘Of course. The crews… they have a right to know what’s going on.’

General McKenna said, ‘Are they still heading to their destinations?’

‘No,’ Bocks said. ‘They’re holding at altitude along their routes at maximum fuel conservation. They’ve all declared an in-flight emergency for a positive threat against their aircraft.’

‘Good. General Bocks… I’ve also been notified that those canisters are designed to release their contents if the aircraft descend below three thousand feet.’

Bocks’s eyes felt as though they were burning. He rubbed at them. ‘That’s right.’