Falling(70)

Carrie paused as a tear slid down her cheek. A smile graced her lips.

“I know what will save that plane. I know the best chance those innocent passengers have at survival. I know how to get them home tonight to their families.” Another tear. “But it won’t be the easy choice—it will be the hard choice. Because it will require you to ignore the facts—and trust in the truth. Because the truth is this: the best chance Flight four-one-six has is already on board.”

Carrie bit her bottom lip, staring off for a moment, trying to figure out how to articulate what she wanted to say.

“When my family was taken and Bill was presented with the choice of us or the plane, do you know what he said? When our children had a gun to their heads, when he knew our house had been blown up—do you know what he said?” She shrugged with a smile. “He said no. He didn’t make a choice. He didn’t give in because he also knows we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “See, that’s where these guys miscalculated. They misunderstood duty. Bill—my husband, Captain Hoffman—is a man of duty. I understand that entirely. And Mr. President, as a man of duty yourself, I’m sure you do too. I am unbelievably grateful that the FBI found us in time. Because I know my husband. And I know, on my life—and today I can actually say that—that my husband would not have crashed that plane to save us. And now? Now that his family is safe and he knows that?” A small chuckle escaped her lips. She stood a little straighter. “It’s not possible that my husband won’t figure out a way to land that plane safely.”

Adjusting Elise on her hip, she placed her hand firmly on top of Scott’s shoulder.

“Mr. President. For the sake of my children’s father, and all the mothers and fathers and sons and daughters on board that plane right now, I am begging you to make the brave choice to give that plane and the passengers on it a chance. If you make the weak choice, the easy choice, and you shoot it down—we know exactly what will happen. But I’m asking you to be brave and have faith. I’m asking you to choose to trust in a good man, a man of duty. I know, sir, that your faith will be rewarded.”



* * *



The tower was reduced to stunned silence before a murmur of discussion began to fill the space. The air was charged with hope and Dusty clapped the controller next to him on the back.

“Would it be weird if I gave her a standing ovation?”

The controller ignored him, her face contorted with alarm. She pointed at Dusty’s radar.

“Fuuuuuuuu—” Dusty muttered. “George? Four-one-six has started to fly off course.”

“Quiet!” the Morse talker said. The entire tower turned at the uncharacteristic outburst. Everyone watched him listening to his headset, intense concentration painting his face. Suddenly his tight brow slackened in understanding, mouth falling open.

“It’s not Washington. The target is Yankee Stadium.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


ON THE RADAR DISPLAY IN front of bill, multiple cross marks popped up to their rear. Four F-16s were now within striking distance of Flight 416.

Bill rubbed his face in frustration. He had known it would come to this when they found out about Ben’s involvement. It was exactly why he hadn’t sent a Morse message to tell them. Now he had two threats to deal with.

“It’s not fair,” Bill said.

Ben spoke, without looking at him. “What, Bill? What isn’t fair?”

The plane bounced in response to a wind pocket, twinkling neighborhood lights appearing through the window on Bill’s side as the plane banked left. It was a clear night, but the wind was fierce and the plane bucked and twisted.

“Coastal four-one-six, come in.”

The repeated squawk from the same controller came through both their headsets again, but neither pilot moved to respond. They hadn’t since the first gas attack, and they wouldn’t the rest of the flight. It was just the two men now.

“It’s not fair that…” Bill struggled to put his thoughts in order. “That I’m here. And you’re here. That I had my life, and you had yours. It’s not fair that nobody seems to care about your people. It’s not right. And I’m sorry.”

Ben didn’t reply.

Bill turned to face his copilot directly. “You have my word, Ben. I will spend the rest of my life working to right these wrongs. I can’t change what’s happened in your life. You can’t change it either. But if we crash this plane, nothing good is going to come of it. You know this country. You know what we’ll do in response. You know who will suffer.”

Ben stared out the window.

“But if we don’t crash this plane,” Bill continued, “we can work together. I’ll educate myself. I’ll learn what I already should have known. And then maybe the two of us can fix some things.”

The gun was directly between them. Neither spoke. Ben turned, searching the captain’s face. Bill looked him in the eye, desperately hoping his sincerity was felt and believed.

“Ben. It’s not too late.”



* * *



Holding the mail in his mouth, Ben pulled the door handle toward him as he struggled with the key. The lock squeaked, as did the door, when he walked into the apartment, pulling his suitcase behind him. Turning on the kitchen light, a sink full of dirty dishes welcomed him home. He tossed the mail onto the kitchen table next to a half-eaten bowl of cereal.