Falling(69)

The tower was silent.

“I’m a little busy for training new hires right now,” Dusty said, his eyes darting between his boss and the men.

“Couldn’t agree more. Do it anyway,” George said as he put his own headset on, grabbing a pair of binoculars off a desk and tossing them to one of the officers.

No one in the tower said a word. Everyone knew what the military’s secondary protocol was in a situation like this. But actually facing it rendered them speechless.

Dusty shook his head, muttering to his seatmate, “Is it too late to call out sick?” He gestured for the men to come over, but stopped short and pointed at the TVs instead. Everyone turned.

Having broken away from footage in the field, CNB was now broadcasting a lone news anchor in the studio. His eyes darted between the camera and his notes. The look on the man’s face said it all: he had exclusive, breaking news, in an already unprecedented moment. Someone in the tower unmuted the TV.

“—the wife of Captain Bill Hoffman, the pilot flying the hijacked flight, Coastal four-one-six. As we speak, she is with one of our Los Angeles field reporters, and I am told Mrs. Hoffman has an important message for the American public, and for the president. We’ll break to them as soon as we get word that they’re ready. CNB has not been told what…”

Dusty looked over to George and the military officers but they were captivated by the scene unfolding on the screen in front of them. He turned back to the radar. As far as Dusty was concerned, the ball was still in play. “Coastal four-one-six, come in,” he said again into his mic, almost adding at the end: please.



* * *



Carrie’s body slapped back against the seat as the news van came to a halting stop. The cameraman slid open the side door and hopped out quickly. Vanessa followed suit with Scott trailing her. Carrie jumped out next, turning back to take Elise from Theo. The camera was already rolling on the reporter as she walked backward, away from the van, speaking into a handheld microphone.

“I’m here at what remains of the Hoffman home,” Vanessa said, indicating the pile of rubble over her shoulder, “with Mrs. Hoffman—Carrie—and her two children. I’m thrilled to report that the family is now safe, and unharmed. But the situation on Flight four-one-six remains precarious, and Mrs. Hoffman has an important message she needs to share with everyone watching. Specifically, the president of the United States.” The reporter took a breath and motioned for the family, but stopped. The cameraman glanced over his shoulder. Seeing the family’s state, he turned the lens, and the view of the world, toward them.

Carrie stood still with her mouth hanging open, rooted in place by the sight of her home. Or what had been her home. With slow steps forward, she moved toward what the explosion had left behind—which was… nothing. There was nothing left to their house. She heard Scott sniffle and took his hand.

Vanessa held up the yellow caution tape and the family ducked under. The reporter didn’t speak and Carrie knew everyone watching at home was silent too. They’d all seen the house, they knew what had happened. But this was the family’s first time coming home, seeing it for themselves. Carrie looked across the way to the oak tree in their backyard, thinking of how she’d stood at the kitchen sink, just this morning, watching its leaves dance in the breeze. The tree was now splintered and scorched and the kitchen was simply no longer. She shook her head slowly as she took it all in, but didn’t say a word.

“Mrs. Hoffman,” Vanessa said gently. “Are you alright?” She held the microphone out.

Carrie switched Elise to her other hip before retaking Scott’s hand. Turning to the reporter, her wet eyes burned with determination as she said, “We’ll be alright once the plane is on the ground.”

Vanessa smiled. “Ma’am,” she said, “what do you need us to know?”

Carrie nodded, bringing Scott in front of her and placing a hand on her son’s shoulder before taking a deep breath in.

“Mr. President,” she said, exhaling her nerves. “I know you’re in the Situation Room right now deciding what should be done. I know you’re being presented with all the information as it comes in. I know you know that my children and I were taken from our home at gunpoint. That we were tied up and gagged. That I was strapped with explosives. That our”—her voice broke as she glanced at the smoking pile of rubble—“our home was destroyed. I know you know that the FBI rescued us. That we’re now safe. And I know you’ve also been informed that my husband’s copilot, the first officer, has a gun and that he’s been a part of the plan all along.”

Carrie had no idea what officials had shared with the public so far, but by the look on the reporter’s face, that was clearly new information.

“I know the decision of what to do right now is ultimately up to you alone. That choice cannot be easy to make. I know that the United States doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.” Carrie wrapped her arm around the front of Scott’s shoulders, her voice breaking again. “And I know that more likely than not you’re going to choose to shoot down that plane.”

Scott looked up at his mom. She tightened her grip.

“Sir. Mr. President. Before you make that decision, before you shoot down a commercial flight full of innocent Americans, I need to tell you what information I know. What you won’t be told by the FBI. What won’t be in your briefings.”