Elise said, “I’m almost certain of it. The satellite surveillance system was intentionally switched off during a fifteen-minute window when the fighter jet crossed Portugal. This means someone from inside the US Defense Department made the conscious decision to hide these events.”
Tom said, “The question is why?”
“There’s only one answer I can think of…” Sam said, through gritted teeth. “The US Defense Department authorized the sanction of Phoenix Airlines flight 318!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sam Reilly entered the office of the Secretary of Defense.
It was a large room with blue carpet, a massive desk, and two small tables for meetings — four seats each. It wasn’t the kind of place for a big, open meeting. Just a few generals and maybe a head of state or two. Secrets passed through the innocuous room day and night. The carpet was new, and the rich mahogany door had been replaced since the last time he was here.
He closed his mind to the recent memory.
The last time he’d been in the room, he’d been kidnapped. The event had very nearly cost him his life, while proving that no matter how much of a mutually beneficial relationship he shared with the Secretary of Defense, he would always be just a pawn in the large machine of justice, and as such, the US Defense could readily sacrifice him at a whim or out of necessity.
Either way, he didn’t want to be that pawn.
“Sit,” the Secretary of Defense commanded without meeting his eye.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He took a seat on one of the leather couches, leaned back, and folded his hands across his lap. A new painting of the President hung where his abductor had shot a warning shot the last time he was there.
The door was closed by an aide.
The inconspicuous air-tight seal made Sam's ears pop.
They were now alone.
The Secretary of Defense finished reading whatever it was that she was working on in silence. Sam waited with practiced patience.
She stood up and greeted him with a firm handshake. She was a slim but muscular woman with stark red hair. Intelligent, commanding, and always intimidating, she wore her dark business suit and her permanent scowl with equal severity.
Her face softened. “How are you feeling, Sam?”
“Fine.”
“I mean after your ordeal.”
Sam’s jaw clenched for a second. “I knew you were talking about my abduction. Bad things happen. I came out all right.”
“Good.” The Secretary of Defense didn’t achieve her position by spending a lot of time discussing other people’s feelings. Without further preamble, she said, “You wanted to talk to me about a delicate matter?”
“Yes.” Sam set his jaw and looked directly at her, and said, “I want to know what our involvement was in the loss of Phoenix Airlines flight 318?”
Her trimmed eyebrow arched. “Our involvement?”
Sam quickly brought her up to speed with what they knew about the bogus A380 at the bottom of Calypso Deep, the search and discovery of the San Juan, and the strange correlation of an F16 Falcon Fighter that carried the Phoenix’s identical transponder codes.
She opened her mouth to protest that the US government does not sanction the abduction of commercial jets carrying hundreds of people. Then she met his steely blue eyes and penetrating gaze and it changed her mind. “I’ll make some delicate inquiries.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Her emerald green eyes locked on his. “Anything else, Mr. Reilly?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good day then.”
Sam stood up and walked out of her office. He followed the hallway that ran from the northern wedge to the outer rim of the Pentagon.
On his way out, he nodded to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Painter, and the Director of the CIA, Ross Jarratt. Both men made the slightest of nods in recognition, without slowing their stride.
Outside the Pentagon, Sam’s cell phone started to ring.
He answered it on the first ring. Caller ID informed him it was Elise. He said, “Could you extract the AIS data from the San Juan’s hard drive?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
“Two months before the Phoenix disappeared, the San Juan was on a routine run through Panama to Europe. They made a course deviation of three degrees, amounting to a total of ten miles worth of detour to stop at a small island in the Caribbean. It stayed there for twenty-four hours before continuing on to Athens.”
“Why?”
“According to their records, the unplanned stop had to do with engine problems, but it never identified what or how the problem was rectified. It was there less than twenty-four hours, before it got underway again.”
Sam crunched his face up tight. “What do satellite images of the island show?”
“Not much. The island looks like a pretty desolate wasteland, a rocky outcrop, nothing more. It was impossible to camouflage an A380, let alone land one. No hangers. Nowhere to hide.”
“Interesting.”
“There’s something else, too.”
Sam unlocked his car and got in. “What?”
“We checked with local air traffic controllers…”
“And?”
“One of them gave an incredible story about a mayday he heard three days after the Phoenix Flight 318 had disappeared. He said that a man named Andrew Goddard had woken up to an entire cabin full of unconscious passengers and crew. He was requesting help to land the damned thing.”
“A ghost plane,” Sam said, his voice severe. “It’s Helios Flight 522 all over again!”
On August 14, 2005, the pilots of a passenger jet travelling between Cyprus and Athens stopped responding to air traffic control. When fighter jets were scrambled, they found a chilling sight. The aircraft was on autopilot, but the pilots, as well as the passengers and crew, were all slumped forward, unconscious. It turned out to be a problem with pressurization, causing everyone on board to pass out.
To add to the mystery of the tragedy, fighter pilots noticed a flight attendant enter the cockpit at the last minute, carrying an oxygen bottle. The flight attendant’s name was later discovered to be Andreas Prodromou. He entered the cockpit and sat down in the captain's seat, having remained conscious by using a portable oxygen supply. Prodromou held a UK Commercial Pilot License, but was not qualified to fly the Boeing 737. Prodromou waved at the F16s very briefly, but almost as soon as he entered the cockpit, the left engine flamed out due to fuel exhaustion, followed by the right ten minutes later, causing the aircraft to crash into hills near Grammatiko, killing all 121 passengers and crew on board.
It was a chilling thought. Elise expelled her breath. “Right… only this time, the aircraft didn’t crash.”
Sam asked, “So why didn’t the air traffic controller report it?”
“He said that he thought it was a hoax at the time. Still does. Didn’t want to stir up false hope with the grieving families.”
Sam squinted his eyes in the bright sun. “How close to the island did the radio transmission originate from?”
Elise said, “A hundred and five miles out.”
“Good God, that’s the place.”
“Looks like it,” Elise replied. “I’ve organized to charter a local trawling vessel… and I’ve booked you on a flight to Puerto Rico.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
General Painter, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff watched Sam Reilly’s car drive off from his window. His face was set hard. He breathed heavily and he found his stomach churning with fear.