Max had one of them in his sights when the Russian spun around, hit by a burst of gunfire. The other Russian security man met the same fate. Two more down courtesy of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. They were good.
Max looked to his side. Renee was hunkered behind a couch. “We need to find the room they’re controlling the aircraft from,” Renee said. She winced as another round of gunfire erupted from the stairway.
Max took Renee by the shoulder. “Listen. You go back outside the door. Get under the back deck and hide under the stairs. I don’t want to risk them hitting you. Once we’re clear, I’ll come right back down and bring you up. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.” She looked scared. Max didn’t want to risk her getting hurt, both for personal and professional reasons. Renee hurried outside the door through which they had entered, then hid off to the right, under the back deck staircase.
Max turned around and scanned the room. The FBI agents had cleared the basement and were now advancing up the staircase.
His pulse racing, Max followed. He looked up the staircase at a closed door, wondering what was on the other side.
The HRT men were fearless. The first man opened the door and fired several rounds, then recoiled as a barrage of bullets ripped through the wall next to him.
The second HRT man grabbed a concussion grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it through the open stairway door.
The sound was deafening.
Max felt it in his chest, and his ears rang.
The two HRT operatives disappeared beyond the top of the stairs. The sound of automatic weapons screamed through the stairway.
Max bolted up the stairs, aiming his pistol forward and scanning the room.
There were three bodies on the floor. The first HRT member was on the ground, gasping for air. He’d been hit in the Kevlar vest. The second HRT operative was spread eagle — Max couldn’t see where he was hit, but blood was seeping out from under his uniform and onto the tile flooring.
They were in a large open kitchen, but the center table was covered with computers, wires taped down along the floor and running up the wall.
The third body was a dark-haired young man of about twenty. He was slumped over in front of one of the computers, dead.
Maria sat in front of the other computer, looking dazed.
Max pointed his weapon at her. “Fix it, Maria. Give control over to the Fend 100 pilots right now.”
She looked like she was trying to focus on his face. Trying to read his lips. He realized she was probably deaf. Wisps of smoke flowed through the air — remnants of the concussion grenade.
Max was about to go downstairs and get Renee when he caught Maria glancing behind him. He turned, weapon raised toward a dark figure in the next room.
The figure moved awkwardly from the second-floor deck through an open screen door. Flowing white curtains partially masked him and his prisoner.
Pavel Morozov stood behind Renee, a gun to her temple.
“Stay there, Mr. Fend.”
Max wrinkled his brow, making calculations in his head. His gun was aimed at Morozov’s forehead, about a fifteen-foot shot. Doable on the gun range. But not with a hostage…especially one that he cared about.
Max sidestepped behind Maria, keeping his pistol trained on Morozov.
Seeing this, Morozov nodded at Maria. “You think I won’t shoot her too?”
“She’s been working for you.”
“Is that what you think?”
Max frowned, confused.
Morozov shrugged. “Fine. More fake CIA propaganda, I think. But whatever you may think of her, she is the only one who will be able to turn the plane around for you.”
Maria was looking up at Max. A tear ran down her cheek.
A voice from a radio in front of her said, “Fend 100, Air Force armed F-16. Can you do me a favor? I can’t read the sign that the pilots are holding up. Can you tell me what it says?”
Maria glanced at Morozov and then began to reach for the radio transmit button.
“Wait,” said Max. Her hand froze. “He thinks you’re on the plane. Why?”
Captain Easteadt couldn’t understand it. The woman hadn’t answered his radio call. What if she wasn’t on the plane?
“Angry 509, Huntress Control, has the aircraft altered course, or does it still appear to be entering into restricted airspace?”
“Huntress Control, Angry 509, no change in the aircraft’s course or speed.”
“Roger, 509. Have you been able to establish communications?”
Jason thought about that. He wasn’t sure what was going on. “Negative, Control. No joy with the pilots aboard the Fend aircraft.”
He looked at the cockpit window of the airliner. The pilots were still waving frantically, holding up their sign. Jason decided to try to raise them one more time.
“Fend 100, Air Force F-16, come in, please.”
Max kept his pistol trained on Morozov’s head.
“That’s the Air Force intercept aircraft?” He was looking at Maria.
Max looked at one of the flat-screens on the wall. It showed the Fend 100 heading towards a lone air contact.
Max began stepping forward.
“What are you doing? Stay where you are,” said Morozov.
Max continued to creep forward, slowly heading towards the table of electronics. He knew what he was after. And it was only another step.
“I said stop.”
Max said, “Fine. I’ll stop. I’ll even place my gun down on the table.” But he didn’t. He just lowered the gun and used the barrel to depress the transmit button on the radio.
Jason listened in disbelief. It had taken him a moment to recognize what he was hearing, but once he did, everything fell into place.
Over the radio, Jason heard a man say, “Tell me, Pavel, why did you take over the Fend 100? And why have you had Maria here pretending to be on the Fend 100 while she talks to the Air Force fighter? At first, I thought you two were planning to remotely take control of the Fend 100 to attack the G-7 summit. But now I know that isn’t true. Pavel, the one thing that really pissed you off was being subservient to the Russian president. You must really envy him. Similar background and all — yet he’s in charge, and you’re just his little assistant. Must be hard for a man like you.”
“There is nothing you can do at this point, Mr. Fend. You should cut your losses and allow me to leave. Put your gun down.” A second man’s voice. Jason didn’t recognize it. Low in tone, with a Russian accent.
“So you don’t deny it?”
“I deny nothing.”
“What will happen to you after the Russian president’s plane goes down? We know it was you. How did you think you were going to escape?”
“You know only what your news media and intelligence agencies agree on. And it seems as though the Islamic State has already claimed responsibility for this hijacking.”
The first man’s voice. “Courtesy of Maljab Tactical, no doubt. One of your own companies. Your fingerprints will be all over this.”
“You are wrong. I have friends everywhere. When those planes go down, I will take the reins in Russia.”
“So you’re going to fly the Fend 100 into the Russian president’s plane right now? And then you think America will recognize you as the new Russian president? Come on, Pavel. Even you aren’t that dumb. Why would the US ever recognize your legitimacy?”
“When I am in charge, Russia will forge a new partnership with the United States. It will be better for all.”
“Morozov, you’re assuming that the Fend 100 continues on its current flight plan and flies into the Russian presidential aircraft. But won’t Maria be able to fix that for me?”
Jason couldn’t make out the rest of what was said over the radio, except that it sounded like an answer in the negative. He tried to process what that all meant. He looked at the aircraft that was flying next to him. An enormous white airliner, filled with people and fuel. Controlled by computers.