Chapter 3 - The Name Rebecca Had Buried
Rebecca could not breathe.
Not for one second.
Then two.
Captain Mercer’s voice reached her from far away.
“Rebecca.”
She forced air into her lungs.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Mercer pointed to the message.
“What is Viper Three?”
Rebecca stared at the screen.
Six years vanished.
She was back over Nevada.
Sunlight on canopy glass.
Her wingman laughing over the radio ten minutes before everything went wrong.
Viper Three had been Captain Evan Cole.
Twenty-nine years old.
New father.
The best formation pilot Rebecca had ever known.
And dead.
Officially, his aircraft suffered an unrecoverable flight-control failure during a training exercise.
Unofficially, Rebecca had never believed it.
“An Air Force callsign,” she said.
“Yours?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
“My wingman’s.”
Mercer waited.
Rebecca did not continue.
“Is this connected to what’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer isn’t good enough.”
She looked at him sharply.
“I haven’t seen that name in six years.”
“And whoever sent this knows you are aboard.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Rebecca turned toward the cockpit door.
Passenger manifest.
Airline systems.
Government databases.
Any number of ways.
But why now?
Why this flight?
Why after six years?
Mercer keyed the interphone.
“Monica.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Do not let anyone approach this cockpit. Nobody.”
“Understood.”
“And check the manifest. Tell me whether any passenger changed seats after boarding.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“What are you thinking?”
“That if somebody knows you’re aboard, they may be aboard too.”
The idea landed heavily.
Rebecca thought of Lily.
Her hand reached instinctively toward the harness release.
Mercer stopped her.
“Don’t.”
“My daughter is back there.”
“And Monica is protecting her.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand exactly. If somebody targeted this airplane, the cockpit is where you’re useful.”
Rebecca hated that he was right.
She stared at the door.
Lily.
Five years old.
Probably asking Denise when her mother was coming back.
Rebecca forced herself to look at the instruments.
The airplane remained stable for the moment.
Mercer turned southwest toward Ireland.
The flight-control warnings persisted.
“What happened to Viper Three?” he asked.
Rebecca hesitated.
Then spoke.
“Training mission. Two-ship. We were testing updated flight-control software.”
Mercer looked at her.
“Experimental?”
“Operational evaluation.”
“What failed?”
“His aircraft rolled without command.”
Mercer’s hands tightened.
Rebecca continued.
“Twenty-eight degrees left. Corrected. Then forty-three right. Then full roll.”
The cockpit became silent.
Mercer looked at the primary flight display.
Their 787 had done almost the same thing.
“That’s why you recognized the oscillation.”
“Yes.”
“What caused his crash?”
“Official report said corrupted sensor input combined with pilot overcorrection.”
“And you disagreed.”
“I was there.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw a pilot doing exactly what he was trained to do.”
Rebecca’s voice became quieter.
“I saw his controls stop matching his aircraft.”
Mercer did not speak.
Rebecca remembered Evan’s last transmission.
Becca, it’s not listening.
Four words.
Then static.
She had heard those words in dreams for three years.
Therapy helped.
Lily helped more.
Eventually Rebecca stopped waking at 3 a.m. with her hands clenched as if gripping a control stick.
Now, somewhere over the Atlantic, a commercial airliner was doing something terrifyingly similar.
“Was sabotage investigated?” Mercer asked.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing proven.”
“Who built the software?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Different system. Different aircraft. Different manufacturer.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She knew why he asked.
The same principle could cross platforms.
Software architecture.
Sensor fusion.
Control-law logic.
Contractors.
Subcontractors.
People.
“A defense contractor named Helix Aeronautics contributed to the test package.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“Helix?”
“You know them?”
“Our airline’s flight-data analytics vendor is Helix Aviation Systems.”
Rebecca felt her stomach drop.
“Same company?”
“Parent corporation, probably.”
A warning chimed.
They both turned forward.
Right airspeed disagreed again.
Mercer established pitch and thrust.
Rebecca cross-checked standby data.
“Standby stable.”
“Altitude?”
“Thirty-four thousand.”
“We’re descending to twenty-eight.”
“Copy.”
Radio traffic continued.
Shanwick coordinated them westward.
The flight felt almost normal.
That was what frightened Rebecca most.
Real emergencies often contained long stretches of normal.
Enough normal to make people doubt the danger.
The cockpit interphone rang.
Monica.
“Captain, manifest check complete.”
“Go ahead.”
“One passenger was moved after boarding. Seat 17F to 22C because of a broken tray table.”
“Name?”
“Martin Shaw.”
Rebecca knew the name.
Her blood went cold.
Mercer saw it.
“You know him.”
Rebecca whispered, “He worked for Helix.”
Monica heard.
“Rebecca?”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“What did he do?”
“Flight-controls engineer.”
Mercer immediately spoke.
“Monica, do not confront him.”
“Understood.”
“Have another crew member observe him discreetly. Keep Lily Lawson with you.”
Rebecca closed her eyes briefly.
“Thank you.”
Monica’s voice softened.
“She’s okay. She wants you to know Teddy is taking care of her.”
Rebecca almost laughed and cried at the same time.
“That sounds like her.”
Then Monica added, “There’s something else.”
Mercer listened.
“Shaw asked about seat 8A shortly after takeoff.”
Rebecca looked at the interphone.
“What exactly did he ask?”
“He asked whether the woman traveling with the little girl had boarded.”
Rebecca felt heat rise through her chest.
“He knew me.”
Mercer’s voice sharpened.
“Monica, move Rebecca’s daughter away from row eight immediately. Put her in the forward crew rest access area with two attendants. Do not tell Shaw where.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Rebecca’s hands trembled.
She closed them into fists.
“Let me go back there.”
“No.”
“David.”
It was the first time she used his first name.
“No.”
“My daughter may be a target.”
“And walking into the cabin could tell Shaw exactly what we know.”
Rebecca stared at him.
She hated him for being right again.
“How does he send messages to the cockpit?”
Mercer looked at the communications system.
“If he has access to company systems, remotely.”
“From onboard Wi-Fi?”
“Possibly.”
“Disable passenger connectivity.”
Mercer nodded.
“Good.”
He contacted operations.
Within minutes, cabin internet was disabled.
The ACARS messages stopped.
Rebecca exhaled.
Then the flight-control oscillation worsened.
The airplane rolled five degrees right.
Mercer corrected.
Ten degrees left.
Corrected.
Rebecca watched the timing.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Stop chasing it.”
Mercer looked at her.
“You think pilot-induced oscillation?”
“Partly.”
“If the control input is delayed, every correction may arrive after the airplane has already started moving the other way.”
Mercer reduced the frequency of his corrections.
The roll eased.
Rebecca felt adrenaline surge.
“That’s what happened to Evan.”
Mercer looked at her.
“He kept correcting?”
“He had to. But if the system delayed his input and then stacked commands—”
“He could have been fighting himself.”
Rebecca nodded.
The realization hurt.
For six years she had believed Evan lost control because the aircraft betrayed him.
Now she saw the more terrible possibility.
Someone may have designed the betrayal.
Mercer maintained minimal inputs.
The 787 steadied.
“Nice catch,” he said.
Rebecca shook her head.
“Evan caught it first. Nobody listened.”
The cockpit door buzzer sounded.
Both froze.
Monica’s voice came through.
“Captain, it’s me.”
Mercer verified visually through the camera.
He opened the door.
Monica entered alone.
Her face had changed.
“What happened?”
“We moved Lily.”
Rebecca stood halfway.
“She’s safe?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I’m not saying it out loud.”
Rebecca respected that.
Monica handed Mercer a folded sheet of paper.
“Passenger Shaw gave this to a flight attendant twenty minutes after departure. Said it was for you only if there was a systems problem.”
Mercer unfolded it.
Rebecca read over his shoulder.
Five handwritten lines.
If air-data disagreement begins, disconnect networked maintenance uplink.
Do not accept automated route amendments.
Control latency may increase below FL300.
Avoid repeated corrective inputs.
If Rebecca Lawson is aboard, bring her to cockpit.
Rebecca felt physically sick.
“He knew.”
Mercer turned the paper over.
There was one more sentence on the back.
Viper Three was not pilot error.
Rebecca stared.
“Bring him forward.”
Mercer looked at her.
“Absolutely not.”
“He knows what’s happening.”
“He may be causing it.”
“Then we need to find out which.”
Monica spoke.
“He wants to come forward.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“He just told us.”
Mercer’s face hardened.
“Did you confront him?”
“No. He approached the galley himself.”
“What did he say?”
Monica swallowed.
“He said we have less time than he expected.”
Rebecca’s pulse raced.
“Time until what?”
“He wouldn’t explain.”
Mercer looked toward the cockpit camera.
A man stood outside the reinforced door.
Mid-forties.
Gray jacket.
Glasses.
Rebecca recognized him immediately.
Martin Shaw.
Six years older.
Thinner.
Still the same anxious way of holding his shoulders.
Rebecca had seen him testify during the Viper Three investigation.
He had sworn every software safeguard functioned correctly.
He had looked directly at Rebecca while saying it.
Mercer spoke through the interphone.
“Mr. Shaw, step away from the cockpit.”
Shaw looked at the camera.
Then slowly raised both hands.
In one hand he held a small black device.
Rebecca leaned toward the monitor.
“What is that?”
Shaw brought it closer to the camera.
A red light blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he spoke through the interphone.
“Major Lawson, if you remember me, you need to listen carefully.”
Rebecca pressed the button.
“What did you do to this airplane?”
Shaw’s eyes filled with something she did not expect.
Fear.
“Not me.”
“Then who?”
Shaw looked over his shoulder.
A passenger was approaching the galley behind him.
Shaw’s face changed.
He whispered one word.
May you like
“Run.”
The video feed went black.
