Falling(66)

Liu and the LA team had been relaying everything they knew to the authorities on the East Coast, but they didn’t have much to offer. They’d given what information they had on the two suspects and were conducting background searches as rapidly as possible. The findings would most likely be moot at this point, but after learning of Ben’s involvement, they weren’t taking any chances. Any potential lead was to be pursued—and that included intelligence on Bill. Theo knew Carrie couldn’t hear what was being discussed in his ear, but it made him shift on his feet anyway. She was practically a stranger to him, but somehow the Hoffmans already felt like family. Hearing the FBI discuss her husband as a potential threat felt like a betrayal.

Theo had immediately texted Jo to let her know about Ben. But Jo hadn’t replied. Theo and Carrie looked down at his cell phone, waiting.

“It says ‘Delivered,’?” Carrie said.

“Sure, but did she see it?”

Carrie had no response.

Theo stared at his phone, praying those three dots would pop up on Jo’s side of the text. He tried to block out the dark thoughts, but they crowded into the silence. No one knew what the poison was. They had no idea what had actually happened up there. For all they knew, Jo never got the text because…

Theo handed Carrie the phone and shook out his hands.

“She’s just busy,” Carrie said in a way that was meant to reassure them both. “She got the text. She’s fine. She just can’t respond. Have we heard anything else from Bill?”

Theo shook his head. Bill hadn’t communicated via Morse since his last message regarding the family’s location. That didn’t bode well for the argument that he remained uncompromised.

“Well, he’s busy too,” Carrie said. “Aviate. Navigate. Communicate.”

Theo angled his head. “What?”

“Aviate, navigate, communicate. It’s the pilots’… motto? I don’t know what you’d call it. It’s their list of priorities. Aviate—fly the plane. Navigate—know where you’re going. Communicate—talk to who you need to about what you need to. It’s usually not a problem to do all three. But in an emergency?” Carrie shrugged. “They do what they can. I think communication is a luxury Bill and Jo can’t afford right now.”

Theo’s mind went to the “Miracle on the Hudson.” He remembered looking online for the recording of the conversation between Air Traffic Control and the cockpit because he’d been perplexed by how little Captain Sullenberger had said during the incident. The entire flight was only three, maybe four, minutes long. And the controller kept giving the pilot options—but Sully hardly responded. And when he did, it was short and direct. “Unable.” And then finally, “We’re gonna be in the Hudson.” Aviate, navigate, communicate. It now made sense.

Bill wasn’t compromised. He was occupied.

“You know you’re right. Right?” Theo said.

She looked up.

“You need to tell them.”

“They won’t listen to me.”

“But you’re right.”

Carrie shot him a look of admonishment. “Since when does being right mean you get heard? You should understand that better than most.”

Theo shook his head. “But you are right. And Jo’s right. But no one’s going to listen to either of you in time.”

Theo rubbed his face in frustration, his eyes landing on the phone in Carrie’s hand.

The same phone he’d watched his aunt speak from earlier in the video the whole world had seen.

“Carrie,” Theo said slowly, as the idea in his head became fully formed. “We gotta go.”



* * *



Jo spread her legs for balance and grabbed on to opposite sides of the bulkhead as the plane began to tremble. She refused to leave her position in front of the cockpit door. There was no indication that a third attack was coming, but then again, there had been no indication for the second.

Behind her, the cabin had grown eerily silent. She glanced back quickly to check on the passengers and the small movement sent cold streaks of pain down her neck. She felt something on her leg and looked down. Her pantyhose were corroding, burning away as painful sores blossomed on her skin beneath.

She ignored it all.

Daddy was coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands. His sleeves were rolled up, the dark-gray uniform wet at the cuffs. Jo assumed he had been trying to rinse the poison off his skin. Kellie had spent the last ten minutes passing out bottles of water to the passengers, instructing them to pour the water in their eyes, on their hands, down their faces. Anywhere the poison had touched. She told them to pull their shirts up over their mouth and nose, anything to filter the air, even just a little. Jo didn’t know if the passengers were succumbing to the poison or if they just didn’t have any fight left—but no one resisted, no one asked for an explanation, no one demanded a thing of her.

My god, she was proud of them. Chance had thrown these strangers together and they had responded magnificently. Same with the crew. Jo couldn’t imagine better flight attendants to have been paired with than Kellie and Big Daddy. They weren’t on the ground yet, but because of their actions, 144 people sat in their seats injured and struggling—but alive.

This was where their role in the plan ended. It was up to Bill now.