Skyjacked Page 4

  “Everything okay?” Em said.

  “It’s just some freaky wind thing.”

  Tim stirred from sleep. “Mommy, are we there yet?”

  “Let’s have some pizza,” Cass said, not wanting any herself. She felt a little light-headed. Hunger usually accompanied the dizziness, but right now the idea of food made her nauseous.

  “Meatball for me,” Tim said.

  “No meatball for him,” Em said.

  “Em, give me a hand,” Cassie said.

  EMILY

  7:56 p.m. MT

  In the B550

  Emily was getting up to help Cassie with the pizza when the plane shuddered. She grabbed Jay’s hand to steady herself but let go when she caught Tim eyeing their clenched hands.

  “Strap into your seat belts, gang,” Reeva said calmly.

  Em felt herself being pushed back into her seat. The plane was gaining altitude rapidly.

  “Reeva,” Cassie said, “what if Sofia did something to Tony?”

  Cass did not look good. She got woozy if she went too long without eating, but this was different, Em could tell. Cassie’s lips were bluish, her eyes watery.

  “Are we supposed to be flying so high?” Jay said, looking out the window. “I can see the earth’s curve.”

  “Forty thousand feet is as high as we’re supposed to go,” Cassie said. “Tony once told me higher than that is mostly for military planes.”

  “We’re at forty-one thousand feet, plus,” Brandon said. He held up his phone. His altitude app said 41,550 feet, then 41,650 …

  “This is fun,” Tim said. “I feel like we’re being whipped up a roller coaster track.”

  The PA clicked on. “Buckle up, friends,” Tony said. “Crazy wind out there today. We’re gonna climb over it. Should be on top of this thing in a minute or so. Hang out in your seats until I give you the all clear. Thanks.” He clicked off.

  “Cass, it’s okay. See?” Emily held Cassie’s hand. It was clammy, cold.

  “I’ll get you some orange juice,” Brandon said.

  “Jay, give me that barf bag,” Cassie said.

  “I never figured the slackline walker would be the first one to hurl in a little turbulence,” Tim said. “Whoa, Cass, I was just kidding. She’s really gonna puke.”

  MICHELLE

  9:58 p.m. ET (7:58 p.m. MT)

  Coltsville, Virginia, NATIC

  Michelle’s coworkers sang, “For she’s a jolly good intern, for she’s a jolly good intern.” They came bearing a farewell sheet cake.

  “Make that wish, Michelle,” Major Serrano said.

  Michelle closed her eyes and wished that somehow, someway if not somewhere, her dad was watching her, and that he was proud of her for what she was trying to accomplish with her life.

  She also wished for that letter of recommendation.

  When Michelle opened her eyes to blow out the candles, everybody was hurrying away from her cubicle. On the Big Board, a red circle pulsed around a small orange dot heading northwest over Idaho, toward a patch of airspace known as RFD-NW6-10, or restricted flight deck 6 of the northwest United States, altitude level 10. It extended from central Idaho, northward to the Canadian border and westward into northeastern Oregon, then Washington State, angling toward Seattle, to the coast.

  That airspace was for military planes only. Signal jammers blocked radar and prevented spy satellites from peeking in. If a pilot turned off her GPS, the plane was as good as—

  “Gone,” Major Serrano said, as if reading Michelle’s mind. The orange dot disappeared from the Big Board.

  BRANDON

  8:02 p.m. MT (7:02 p.m. PT)

  In the B550, crossing into the Pacific Time Zone at the Idaho-Oregon border

  Cassie had finished throwing up and looked a lot better. Okay, not a lot, Brandon thought.

  Reeva brought the medical kit. She put a digital thermometer into Cassie’s ear.

  “How hot am I?” Cassie said, winking.

  Brandon looked at the thermometer: 96.2. She was 2.6 degrees colder than normal?

  That was worse than 2.6 degrees too high. Low temperature was a sign of coming shock.

  “Do you mind if I try that again?” Brandon said to Reeva.

  She gave him the thermometer.

  “Is it bad, Brand?” Cass said.

  “No, Cass, it’s fine. Just want to double-check.”

  “We’ve been flying northwest for more than half an hour now,” Em said.

  And too high, Brandon thought. His altitude app had crashed at forty-five thousand feet, but he’d felt the plane continue to climb.

  “What if Cass is right?” Em said. “What if Sofia has a gun to Tony’s head, and he’s just acting calm, saying what she’s telling him to say?”

  “No way she could get a gun into the plane,” Brandon said.

  “Reeva did.”

  “I’m on a list that clears me to carry a firearm,” Reeva said. “And as security detailed to this flight, I would have been informed of any requests to bring additional weapons on board.”

  “Maybe she pepper sprayed him with one of those minicanisters that look like lipstick,” Jay said. “Those things are no joke.”

  “How do you know?” Tim said.

  “I got one for my mom. Hey, I just tried my phone, and I get no signal. But my phone’s garbage. Did you guys try yours?”

  “Where you going, Reeva?” Em said.

  “To tell Tony Cassie’s sick.”

  “If he’s still alive,” Em said.

  “You guys seriously think this tiny little Sofia chick broke Tony’s neck with a karate chop while he wasn’t looking or whatever?” Tim said. “The dude said there’s a storm. We’re flying around it. We’ll be fine.”

  Cassie reached for Brandon’s arm, then doubled over and threw up bile. This time there was blood in it.

  Brandon held Cassie’s hair back from her face to keep it from sweeping through the puddle. He rubbed her back gently, the way he would have for any of his friends.

  Friends.

  Just friends.

  He and Cassie had talked about it once, making their relationship something more. In the end they decided nothing could be more than what they already had, that being in love with each other might jeopardize their love for each other. Now Brandon regretted that they hadn’t tried.

  Cassie’s eyes were swelling shut.

  The blood in her vomit, the swelling in her lips, her face—what was provoking this reaction? You can’t fix something when you don’t know what’s causing it.

  He had to fix this, to keep Cassie from slipping away.

  “Cass, stay with me, okay?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Brand,” Cassie said.

  One of the things that Brandon loved most about Cassie was that she was a really bad liar.

  EMILY

  7:11 p.m. PT

  In the B550

  Emily wiped the spit from Cassie’s mouth with a headrest towel.

  “Do you think it’s food poisoning?” Emily said.

  “With the swelling, it has to be an allergic reaction,” Brandon said.

  “Is she gonna die?” Tim said.

  “Tim,” Emily said.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Brandon said.

  Brandon, Emily knew, was a good liar. He was calm on the outside, but he had a lot of stuff churning down deep. A lot of loss.

  “Look at her lips,” Tim said. “They’re so puffed up they mightpop.”

  “Cass, what are your allergies?” Brandon said. “I know about the peanuts, but how about medications?”

  “Penicillin, aspirin, ibuprofen. I’m supposed to avoid the kind with the sleep aid in it. Either way, I haven’t had any.”

  “So you’re allergic to narcotics, things like morphine?”

  “She just told you she hasn’t had any,” Tim said.

  “Maybe she only thinks she hasn’t,” Brandon said.

  Now Emily was feeling sick. Was Brandon suggesting that Cassie had been poisoned?

  Cassie’s skin was blotchy, flushed around the eyes, pale around her mouth. Emily put her palm to Cassie’s forehead. It was clammy, cool—no, cold.

  “Cass, the main thing is, do you feel like your throat’s closing up?” Brandon said.

  Cass shook no. “It’s scratchy, but it’s not getting worse.”

  “Right,” Brandon said. “Then whatever it is that’s making this happen, it’s probably not something that’ll—”

  “Choke me to death?” Cassie said. She put her hands around her throat and acted like she was choking.

  “So not funny, Cassafras,” Emily said.

  “Dude, do you puke bloody froth when you’re having an allergic reaction?” Tim said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Stop talking about it.” Cass pushed herself out of her seat, toward the bathroom, retching on the way. She stumbled, and Jay caught her before she fell. He helped her into the bathroom.

  Em followed them in. Cassie bent over the sink and dry heaved. She turned on the cold water and put her hands under the faucet. Her fingers were puffy like cooked hot dogs.

  “Wait,” she said. She turned her hands so they were palms up. She stared at them.

  “What?” Em said.

  “Did you shake hands with Sofia?” Cass said.

  “No,” Emily said. “You’re thinking that’s how she transferred it to you, the …”

  “Poison, you want to say,” Cass said. “It has to be poison. If it was viral, we’d all have it, including Sofia.”

  “If it’s poison, and she got it into you by way of a handshake, wouldn’t she be poisoned too?” Em said.

  “Maybe she built up a resistance to it,” Cassie said, her voice hoarse. “Or maybe she just put it on her palm
long enough to shake hands with me and then wiped it off. Her hand was sweaty when I shook it, but maybe it wasn’t sweat. Jay, you didn’t shake her hand, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Go check if the others did.”

  Jay left.

  “We need to get into the cockpit, Em,” Cassie said.

  “What, like knock down the cockpit door and overwhelm Sofia?” Emily said.

  “Or kill her,” Cass said. “We may have to. Who knows what she did to Tony. She’s not just going to surrender. We have to storm the cockpit and take her out and take over the flight controls before she puts the plane into a nosedive. Why are you looking at me that way, Em?”

  “It can’t be a suicide mission,” Emily said. “It doesn’t make any sense. If she wanted to crash a plane and kill as many people as possible, she would have hijacked a much bigger plane.”

  Jay was back. “Then maybe it’s for the money,” he said. “All your parents will pay huge ransoms. None of the others shook hands with Sofia. Cassie, Sofia would need an inside connection to pull this off. The regular copilot—what’s his name again?”

  “Nick,” Cassie said. “And no way is he in on this.”

  “Then why’d he call in sick?”

  Cass shook her head. “Nick has been flying with my family for years. He’s the greatest guy. It’s Reeva.”

  “Nah,” Jay said.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jay,” Reeva said, standing in the bathroom doorway. “Cassie, I’m sorry to hear of your lack of faith in me.” She reached into her jacket pocket.

  JAY

  7:16 p.m. PT

  In the B550

  Reeva pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.

  “What are you doing?” Cassie said.

  “I’m texting your parents’ phone numbers to my boss, so he can relay them to the FBI if this thing really is a ransom situation.”

  “But how are you able to text?” Cassie said. “I can’t get any bars on my phone.”

  “My phone’s military grade, with direct satellite linkage. Tony didn’t answer when I knocked on the door to tell him you’re sick.”

  Jay had to acknowledge that he was more than afraid now. He was a step away from full-out panic, maybe a half step.

  “Reeva, can I see your phone?” Cassie said.

  “Why?”

  “I want to be sure you’re actually texting my dad’s head of security.”

  “I see. Okay, you know what? Here you are, Cassie.” Reeva gave Cassie the phone. “You’ll find I sent word that you’re ill, and we’re not sure why. You’ll see I reported we’ve been heading in the wrong direction for more than forty-five minutes, and that Tony didn’t respond when I knocked on the cockpit door.”

  Cassie and Em read.

  “Satisfied?” Reeva said.

  Her phone buzzed in Cassie’s hand. Em read the incoming text. “It’s from Rochelle Monahan,” she said. “Shelly, Cass. That’s her, right? Your dad’s head of security? She texted back ‘10-4, 10-6.’ What does 10-6 mean?”

  “It means stand by,” Reeva said. “Stay calm. Wait for further instruction.”

  Cassie gave Reeva a nasty squint. “How do we know you’re not just texting Sofia, and she’s pretending to be Shelly?”

  “I guess you don’t, Cassie. I don’t know what I did to lose your trust, if I ever had it. If I can do anything to reassure you, let me know. Meanwhile, you should lie down before you fall down. You’re quivering. Emily, may I have my phone, please?”

  “I didn’t mean to doubt you, Reeva.” Em handed over the phone. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry. You’re upset, and you’re looking for answers. I am too.” She said that last bit to Cassie.

  Cassie either didn’t hear Reeva or didn’t want to. She splashed water on her lips, and she didn’t apologize.

  “I’ll see if I can find something to warm you up,” Reeva said.

  Jay followed her to the food service area. She was calm, almost too calm. Unlike Cassie, Jay didn’t suspect Reeva of being up to no good, but she was holding back something. “Do you really think it’s a ransom situation, Reeva? Or a suicide mission?”

  “I think if it was a suicide mission, the plane would have crashed by now.”

  Tim was in the kitchenette, putting a pizza in the microwave. “I have to eat when I get nervous, or I start hurling,” he said. “I know, it makes no sense, but stuffing my stomach calms it.”

  “Where’s Brandon?” Jay said.

  “Thinking,” Tim said.

  “Thinking?”

  “Sort of meditating, I guess. He said he had to slow everything down to think clearly. Typical Brand.”

  “Yeah,” Jay said, except he didn’t know what was typical for Brandon or any of them, and now he was probably going to die with them.

  Reeva opened the medical cabinet. There were blankets and two medium-size oxygen tanks. One of them had a breathing mask fitted to it. Reeva took it from the cabinet.

  “You guys need any help?” Tim said.

  “You hang out up front with Brandon,” Reeva said. “We’re good.”

  Exactly, Jay thought. Reeva was good, never mind what Cassie thought.

  MICHELLE

  10:29 p.m. ET (7:29 p.m. PT)

  Coltsville, Virginia, NATIC

  The room buzzed with more and more people. Satellite images flashed across the Big Board. The tech guys zoomed in on anything that looked like aircraft. “That’s not a plane,” one of them said.

  “What is that, a hawk?” another said. “Hold on, your camera is zoomed in at a five-hundred-foot altitude. Take it up to fifty thousand.”

  There hadn’t been so much as a blip from the plane since it had disappeared from the screen twenty-eight minutes earlier. Nothing like this had happened all summer. The whole thing was a little suspicious, coming on Michelle’s second-to-last day.

  “Major, seriously, you can tell me: Is this another simulation, or is this real-world?”

  Major Serrano nodded toward the observation deck that overlooked the Big Board. General Christine Landry was settling into her chair, studying an iPad her assistant handed her.

  “Does that answer your question?” Major Serrano said.

  A real-world code red situation? Michelle tasted bitterness in the back of her mouth. Her salivary glands were working hard to keep her mouth from going dry. Her back ached like she’d been kidney-punched. She swore she could feel her adrenal glands squeezing the adrenaline into her bloodstream. This code red deal was scary, and if she was being honest with herself, it was also really exciting.

  “Okay, what do we have so far?” the general said.

  Her assistant rattled off the information. The plane had gone offline twenty-nine minutes ago in RFD-NW6-10, which meant the plane had either crashed or turned off its GPS.

  “Have we tried to make contact?” the general said.

  “We don’t have the call sign yet, ma’am,” the assistant said.

  “All senior staff mobilized?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The general scanned the room and the whereabouts of personnel. She hit Michelle with a hard stare—at least it felt hard, almost a glare. “Who are you again?” the general said, though they had never been introduced. In fact, those were the first words the general had directed Michelle’s way the whole summer.

  Michelle panicked. She couldn’t remember her own name.

  “This is Michelle Okolo, our intern,” Major Serrano said.

  “Great. Ms. Okolo, would you please get me a very tall, very strong coffee, milk no sugar?” She didn’t wait for Michelle to answer and instead turned to her assistant. “How’s the weather up there?”

  “Perfect,” the assistant said. “No winds to speak of. You couldn’t dream up a better day to fly.”

  Michelle tried not to run to the coffee machine. Just be cool, she told herself. This was horrible, this missing plane situation, but it was also an opportunity. If Michelle could get in on this and contribute some decent research, enough to impress the general, then at the very least Michelle could get a letter of recommendation from Major Serrano.

  Michelle poured the coffee through the grinds a second time to make it super strong. She added the skim milk—but no sugar—and walked quickly through the Big Board room to the general’s desk.

  The general took the coffee and barely nodded thanks. She sipped it as she studied her iPad, and then …