Max could see his father speaking to Wilkes and Flynn. They all looked worried. “I think it’s happening.”
Renee typed at her desktop computer. “I’m going to see if I can get us some more information.”
“Fend 100, we now have you descending at a rate of two thousand feet per minute. Airspeed still three hundred and eighty knots indicated.”
“Control, Fend 100, roger. Troubleshooting.”
“Fend 100, please have Miss Blount get on the radios.”
“Control, Fend 100, say again?”
“Control, Fend 100, no joy on troubleshooting. Sorry, folks, but we’re going to conduct a manual override.”
A few tense moments went by before they heard from the pilots.
“Cecil Control, Fend 100, we seem to have a problem.” The pilot’s voice sounded agitated.
Karpinsky said, “Go ahead, Fend 100.”
“Control… the manual override doesn’t appear to be working. The electronic flight controls aren’t responding the way they should. They… they aren’t responding at all. We can’t stop the descent.”
“Fend 100, Cecil Control, did you try the backup?”
“Control, Fend 100, that’s affirm.”
“Did you try pulling the circuit breaker?”
“Control, Fend 100, we’ve tried everything and are retrying all the steps again. So far we’ve tried the primary system override, the backup override, and pulling both circuit breakers. We’re ready to pull all the AC power in the cockpit and try a full restart.”
Max looked at the airplane’s statistical readouts. They had just passed below ten thousand feet. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The altitude kept ticking down.
Renee said, “Where are they now?”
“They’re still headed south. Heading towards the Bahamas.”
Flynn and Wilkes came in. “Have you guys tried to reach Maria on your radio? They aren’t putting her on our radio.”
“I’ll try,” Max said.
They had set up a special communications section on the aircraft for Maria to talk on.
“Maria, this is Max, come in.”
“This is the Fend 100 flight engineer, who’s this?”
Max spoke into the microphone. “This is Fend Control — we have a separate comms channel set up. Please put Miss Blount on immediately.”
“Fend 100, Control, we are initiating the override procedures now. You should be able to take control of the aircraft now.”
Max could see flashing green text on the bottom of the aircraft statistics screen. Remote Aircraft Control Datalink connecting.
“Control, Fend 100, what’s the status? We need you to take control now. Our troubleshooting is nonresponsive.”
Karpinsky said, “Roger, Fend 100. Stand by.”
“Fend 100, Control, I show you passing through four thousand feet.”
Then the radio call came that made everyone turn white.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Fend 100, forty miles northeast of Bimini Island. Flight controls nonresponsive, in an uncommanded descent… we will be ditching in the water.”
In the chamber where the press and aviation enthusiasts were watching, some people started to yell in worry. Max could hear the commotion from their office room.
Max said in a firm voice, “Fend 100, please place Maria Blount on right now. She will be able to override the remote control.”
“Control, 100, say again?”
“Fend 100, Control, get Maria on the horn. She should be able to help.”
“Control, Fend 100, Maria is with you on the ground.”
The people in the office shook their heads, annoyed at the confusion of the moment.
Max was almost yelling now. “Negative, Fend 100. Maria Blount is on board with you. Go tell someone to find her and get her on the radio — now!”
“Control, Fend 100.” Another pilot speaking, now. “I’m positive she is not on this flight. She told us that there was a change of plans this morning. She was there for preflight, but not for takeoff. She said she would be with you.”
Renee said, “They just went below one thousand feet of altitude.” People were screaming outside the room now. Some were family members of the passengers on board.
They have someone on the inside.
Max closed his eyes.
“It’s Maria. Maria Blount is Morozov’s person on the inside.”
The altitude now read zero.
The door to the mission control room was being held open by one of the FBI agents. Max could hear his father telling Karpinsky to contact the Coast Guard and start a search and rescue. Outside the room, people were sobbing.
Maria typed on her computer inside Morozov’s yacht. The vessel was sailing fifteen miles off the coast of St. Augustine.
“Sync complete. We now have control.” She spoke to Morozov, who was piped in through the speakerphone in the center of the room. Morozov had left the Ritz-Carlton at Amelia Island and gone to their safe house. It would be too risky to bring him back to the yacht. The yacht had served two purposes: to gain initial control over the Fend 100, and to divert any American response.
Morozov sounded in good spirits on the speakerphone. “Excellent work, Maria. Are the men ready?”
The ex-Spetsnaz man standing next to her nodded. “Yes, Mr. Morozov. As soon as you give us the signal, we’ll move.”
“Maria, you know what to do at this point. I have received the transponder code that we will need. I am sending that to you now.”
Maria turned to a dark-haired young man who sat in front of a computer terminal to her left — a very talented hacker, with a very capable mind. Chechen by birth, he worked for one of Morozov’s companies — Maljab Tactical. He served as a consultant for many of the extreme militias in the Middle East. Until recently, much of the work he did was in Syria, helping the Islamic State to maintain a solid social networking presence without getting caught by the NSA or other Western cyber agents.
Maria said, “You get it?”
“Yes,” the Chechen responded.
“We have what we need, Mr. Morozov.”
“Good. Send out our headline news updates. And get moving.”
“We will. Goodbye.”
Maria ended the call and turned to the Chechen. “Send it.”
The boy made several keystrokes in rapid succession and then hit the return key.
“It is done.”
“Ms. Blount.” It was one of the security men.
“Yes?”
“The helicopter is ready, ma’am.”
“Good. Let’s be quick.”
Maria and the Chechen entered the cabin of the helicopter, which was spinning on the small flight deck of the yacht. As soon as they were on board, it took off and headed north along the coast, remaining far enough out to sea that it wouldn’t be visible from the shore.
The men and women at the Fend headquarters stood in shocked silence. Some of the engineers were crying. Some were still trying to do their jobs.
The reporters outside the mission control room all wanted to get Charles Fend in front of a microphone.
Max cursed himself for not thinking that Maria could be a part of it. Maria had only been with the company for a few years, but she was one of Charles’s most trusted employees. And she had been one of the first to report the cyber intrusion to the authorities. Why would she do that?
But being trusted and being in charge of the Fend 100 program also meant that Maria had access to everything. What would make her do this?
Max turned to Wilkes, who was talking to the FBI agent. “We need to get onto Morozov’s boat as fast as possible.”
“Already on it. Flynn has the FBI Hostage Rescue Team ready to go outside. They flew in last night.”
“Good. We’ll need to…” Max stopped talking as he saw a TV outside the glass walls of the control room.