SEVEN

After three desperate hours in their Colorado retreat, Joshua and Abigail Jordan finally heard the voice of their daughter. They were both on the line. Abigail blurted out, “Deb, are you all right?”

“Our flight got shaken up a bit. I have a few bruises, but I’m okay.”

Abigail sighed, “Thank You, God. What in the world happened?”

“Mom, I’m not sure. The plane took a dive. Things flew everywhere. Then we returned to JFK. They’ve been interviewing us nonstop but not giving us information.”

As a former Capitol Hill lawyer, Abigail wanted the backstory. “Which agency questioned you? The NTSB?”

“Yeah … National Transportation Safety Board. Right.”

“Anyone else?”

“Guys in suits. Probably FBI. Gee, why don’t I remember for sure?”

That caught Joshua’s attention, and he immediately asked, “Why’d they turn your flight around?”

“I don’t know, Dad. One minute we were taking off; the next minute the plane goes into … well, it almost seemed like evasive maneuvers, and then everything went crazy …”

“Any talk about this being connected to the Chicago plane?”

“What?”

Joshua realized his daughter knew nothing about the Chicago crash. He decided to drop it. “Never mind, honey. Just let us know how soon we can see you.”

“While jets are being grounded they’re giving us priority on the new westbound Flashtrain. I’ll board today and be in Denver tomorrow and with you guys by tomorrow afternoon.”

Joshua, a decorated colonel in the Air Force and former spy-plane pilot, had cut his teeth on military flying, not commercial, but he knew something about flight-incident investigations. His most recent stint as the premier antimissile defense contractor with the Pentagon had also brought him into contact with many federal agencies: the NTSB, the FAA, Homeland Security, and the National Security Agency among them. By now he’d already guessed that his daughter’s flight was somehow connected to the Chicago disaster.

“Oh, there’s something I have to tell you,” Deborah said. She didn’t give either parent a chance to process before she continued, “I’d like to bring someone to Hawk’s Nest … so you can meet him.”

Abigail threw a look across the log-beamed living room to Joshua, who was sitting by their five-foot-tall fieldstone fireplace.

“Explain, dear,” Abigail said in a tone freighted with a parent’s expectation, “exactly who you’re talking about?”

“Mom, this guy is former Air Force. And Dad, guess what? He worked in defense contracting with Raytheon.”

Abigail pushed a little. “How long have you known him?”

“Well, just a few hours …”

Across the room Abigail was shaking her head. It wasn’t adding up.

Joshua said, “Sweetheart, this isn’t making sense. You’re probably shaken up.”

“Dad,” she began, and her parents could hear the depth of emotion in her voice, “he saved me during the flight, kept me from getting a broken neck or cracking my skull.”

“Deborah, what on earth?” Abigail had had enough. Now she was going to launch into one of her skillful, impassioned cross-examinations. Seeing that, Joshua waved his hand toward Abigail, as if to say, Not now. This is too sensitive for a phone conversation.

Abigail decided to pull back. “Darling,” she said, “just come home quickly. We love you so much, and we’re glad you’re safe. Your brother’s coming in a few days. Hopefully flights will be back to normal by then. Cal’s in Boston. We’ll all be together. I can’t wait to hug you.”

After they clicked off, Abigail strode over to the sofa where Joshua was sitting and dropped down next to him. She grabbed his powerful hand and ran her other hand through her hair. Joshua, as usual, was doing the stoic thing, but she could see he was carrying a two-hundred-pound weight on his chest. They sat silently, absorbing what their daughter had told them, scant as it was. It sounded like something terrifying had happened. Abigail said she wanted her daughter home “ten minutes ago.” How frustrating it was that that their private jet was down with repairs. Could they charter another private jet to pick Deborah up?

Joshua shook his head. “Abby, I know what you’re thinking. I’m there too. But by the time we lined up a charter, she could be heading home. Let’s stick with the plan. Besides, I don’t want to flag Deborah to the federal folks.”

“You think something’s going on, don’t you? This was not just a random plane crash …”

“With all we’ve learned and seen, we have to expect anything.”

They disappeared into their own thoughts.

Abigail broke the silence. “Josh, what she said …” The words caught in her throat. “She said someone saved her on that flight …”

Joshua was rocked by the fact that his daughter’s life had been at risk, but he was also thinking about the Chicago flight and the fact that the FBI had interrogated Deborah and the other passengers from her flight — four states away. He couldn’t shake the feeling of catastrophe. And responsibility. Both jets were 797s, and he knew something about them. He had designed the RTS antimissile system installed on those planes, and he had a vested interest in commercial air safety. His own daughter had been on a National Airlines flight with his RTS device on board. He had to find out why the Chicago flight ended in disaster. And right away. Was this just a tragic air accident? And if so, then maybe it was pilot error. Or equipment failure. Major wind shear at takeoff?

One thing he did know: there was a possible explanation for the crash that he was dreading. He wasn’t a person who prayed, a religious type, like his wife. But what he said silently in his head sounded awfully similar.

Please, don’t let it be that …