The Lazarus Moment Read online

  “I know I would,” said Morrison as he leaned back in his chair. “What’s your gut telling you, Chris?”

  Leroux looked at his boss.

  “That something isn’t right.”

  Lower Deck Server Compartment, Air Force One

  Senior Airman Cameron Lennox sat at his terminal as the plane took off. He had chosen a terminal deep in the tech center of the aircraft. The plane itself might be old, but the equipment inside was state of the art. With 85 phones, 19 televisions and 240 miles of wiring, it had the most modern communications capabilities in the air; a flying military headquarters capable of letting the President run a country in time of war. It was equipped with anti-missile countermeasures, mid-air refueling capabilities, and was even shielded from the effects of an electromagnetic pulse should a nuclear weapon detonate in the vicinity.

  It was the most classified, heavily protected airliner in the world.

  And it could still be hacked.

  There’s no protection if the hacker is on the inside and knows the codes.

  He was the man that was supposed to protect the systems from what he was about to do.

  He reached into his pocket, removing the new memory stick the South African man had given him, the surreptitious delivery shocking him deeply.

  I guess he’s how they’ll know whether or not I’ve done the job.

  Though he wasn’t sure how the man could know. Regardless of what the virus might do, the networks he had access to were completely isolated from anything in the cabin where the passengers were. There was no Wi-Fi to tap, no cable to plug into. There was no way the man could know if he had done the job.

  Maybe someone on the ground will know then tell him?

  It was possible. It was his theory they were tapping the communications. It wouldn’t last long, the system automatically scanning for any type of intrusion every fifteen minutes. During that period the virus might transmit a large volume of data, though even that might be detected.

  By someone like him.

  He stared down the racks of equipment at Senior Airman Jerry Cornel, typing away at his keyboard.

  Now or never.

  He inserted the key, a message immediately popping on his display warning him of the new hardware. He entered the override code. The system immediately activated the device, it common practice to use USB devices to patch the software, it one of his duties. And there had been quite a few patches lately after the latest upgrade. The entire plane had been given a major overhaul, the replacement aircraft not due to be in the air for the better part of a decade. She was an old bird, reliable, but so out of date it needed a few tweaks now and then, and sometimes major work.

  This was only her second flight, the kinks being worked out now minor.

  The screen flashed as something ran for a moment, then the memory stick ejected itself, the system displaying a message it was safe to remove.

  He did, shoving it back into his pocket.

  And wondered what the hell he had just done.

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Here’s something.”

  Leroux and Morrison turned to Sonya Tong. “What?”

  “Well, I figured I’d broaden the search a bit so I ran all the patients who were at the hospital at the same time as Zokwana. There were quite a few hits against our databases, there a lot of senior people who go there, but one was red flagged for recent activity.”

  “Who?”

  “Igor Khomenko. He was at the hospital for almost the entire time Zokwana was. Same ward, same type of cancer, both terminal.”

  Morrison looked at her. “So? Who is he?”

  “He’s a general in the Donetsk People's Republic.”

  “Russian separatists!” hissed Morrison. “Go on.”

  “He was wounded six months ago, taken to hospital for treatment in Russia, which was when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He was transferred to the Hertzen Moscow Oncology Research Institute and was discharged on the same day as Zokwana.”

  “Interesting.”

  Leroux nodded. “Could be a coincidence, but you know me, I don’t like them.” He nodded toward Tong. “What else do we know?”

  “Transcripts of some of his conversations seem to suggest he blames the US for killing his family, apparently they died the same day he was wounded—bomb dropped from a Ukrainian Air Force jet.” Tong’s eyes widened. “Sir, according to this, he specifically blames the President and has sworn revenge!”

  Morrison snapped his fingers. “That’s our guy. We need to know what involvement he had with Zokwana.”

  “Shit, boss, I’ve got something!”

  Leroux swiveled in his chair to face Child. “What?”

  “I’ve got a wire transfer from a known FSB account to Igor Khomenko in the amount of two million Euros less than a week ago. We picked it up as part of our monitoring of Ukrainian separatist activities.”

  “Okay, he’s up to something and the Russians are involved.” Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the money now?”

  “Still trying to get access to the account. It might take some time.”

  “Do whatever it takes.”

  Child nodded, returning to his computer.

  Leroux turned to Morrison. “I think you better make a call.”

  Morrison rose. “So do I.”

  Conference Room, Air Force One

  Approaching Mozambique Airspace

  37,000 feet

  Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson shook his head. “Are they sure it’s foul play?”

  Secret Service Agent in Charge McNeely shook his head. “Negative. We just got the alert because of his current assignment. The MPs are still at the house.”

  Dawson blew air between his lips. His radar was already pinging with concerns over their last minute passenger, a man who looked to him like death warmed over, rather than a man free of cancer. It wasn’t for him to judge, though, it the President’s prerogative to invite whomever he wanted. But now a report had just arrived that the family of one of the Air Force members staffing the plane was missing and foul play was suspected. Whenever something like this happened it was always a concern, though when it was a member of the military dealing directly with the President, it raised all kinds of red flags.

  “What evidence is there?”

  “Mrs. Lennox didn’t show up for a baby shower and missed a meet-and-greet with her daughter the night before. Her purse and cellphone were found in the house, and a neighbor reported seeing a black SUV in the driveway the day before that they didn’t recognize.”

  “So they might have been missing for over twenty-four hours.”

  McNeely nodded. “Which means they might be halfway around the world by now.”

  “More likely close by.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But more than enough time to have made contact with the Airman if it were a ransom situation.”

  “Again agreed.”

  “Any evidence he’s been contacted?”

  McNeely shook his head. “Not yet. Homeland is pulling his cellphone records and beyond a room service call to his hotel room, there’s no record of any calls.”

  “What’s his roommate have to say?”

  “He’s sitting next to Airman Lennox so we haven’t been able to question him yet.”

  Dawson didn’t like the sound of what he was hearing. A man’s family is taken for only three reasons that he could think of. One, a random act having nothing to do with the specific family; two, a specific act of violence, perhaps revenge with no end game other than harming or killing the family; or three, as leverage over another member of the family.

  His money was on number three.

  “What does he have access to?”

  “Everything.”

  Dawson cursed. “I recommend we isolate him immediately. If they’ve already made contact with him, there’s no telling what he might do. The President’s life could be at risk.”

  McNe
ely’s shoulders squared. “You’re right, delaying is too risky. I’ll go down, make it look like a routine security sweep, then pull him away from his terminal.” He nodded toward two of his men. “You two come in when you hear me yell. Our aim is to keep him away from that keyboard before he has a chance to do anything.”

  Dawson stepped toward McNeely, lowering his voice. “I’d like to volunteer my men. We’ve got a little more experience in this area.”

  McNeely looked at the two men he had chosen, one of them shrugging his shoulders. “Okay with me, boss, we both know who these guys are.”

  “I don’t mind piss in my cornflakes,” said the other, everyone chuckling.

  “Okay. But just two of you. I’ll still go in, it will look less suspicious.”

  “Roger that.” Dawson motioned for Niner to join him.

  “Whassup?”

  “Time to get to work.”

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Chief, priority call for you.”

  Morrison hadn’t even left the cubicles before Marc Therrien flagged him down, holding up a phone. He debated taking the held up phone or heading back to his office.

  Priority call.

  He pointed to Leroux’s enclosed office. “I’ll take it in Chris’ office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Morrison strode toward Leroux’s office then closed the door, dropping into the high back chair behind the desk. He lifted the receiver and hit the blinking Line 1 light. “Morrison here.”

  “Director, is this line secure?”

  He didn’t recognize the voice, though the accent was unmistakable.

  Russian.

  He hit a button on the phone, checking the status. “On this end, yes.”

  “Good. This is Katya Dudnik. We met in London once, a couple of years ago.”

  Morrison searched his memory then smiled as he remembered the unhappy couple of FSB officers he had met at a reception after a security conference dealing with Islamic terrorism. The sight of the husband and wife duo had been enough to make him thankful his wife had never wanted to work for the CIA.

  I wonder if Chris and Sherrie will make it.

  “Yes, Mrs. Dudnik, I remember you. How are you?”

  “Please, Director, call me Katya, I can’t stand the sound of my last name.”

  Morrison detected trouble in paradise. It didn’t surprise him, the man was a drunk and an embarrassment. He had looked up the file when he returned home just out of curiosity. It wasn’t impressive, though hers was. “Katya. How can I help you?”

  “I have troubling information that I felt you should be made aware of.”

  Morrison felt his stomach tighten as he fished out his phone, quickly sending a text to Leroux.

  Get in here

  “What is it?”

  “You of course remember my ex-husband?”

  Ex. I called that one.

  “Of course.”

  “It has come to my attention that he initiated an operation, completely unauthorized, that may target your president.”

  The door opened and Leroux stepped inside, his eyes questioning Morrison. He covered his mouthpiece. “Get me Air Force One, now!”

  Leroux’s eyes widened then he disappeared.

  Morrison removed his hand. “Go on.”

  “My husband, through his own volition, transferred a sizeable amount of money to a Ukrainian freedom fighter named Igor Khomenko. This man blames your President for the death of his family.”

  “Continue.”

  “We have reason to believe that he intends to crash Air Force One.”

  Morrison leapt from the chair, sending it smashing against the wall. “I need specifics. How?”

  “My ex-husband provided Mr. Khomenko with a virus capable of infecting Air Force One’s computer system and crashing the aircraft. He has apparently kidnapped the family of one of your Air Force personnel and already delivered the virus. You need to ground Air Force One before it’s too late.”

  “Jesus Christ! How long have you known this?”

  “Several hours.”

  “And you waited this long?”

  “This was the first opp—”

  “Forget it. I’ll call you back. Don’t you dare leave your desk!” He hung up the phone and Leroux rushed back inside. “Line Two!”

  Morrison hit the button. “This is National Clandestine Services Chief Morrison. There is a verified threat to Air Force One. You need to land immediately!”

  Lower Deck Server Compartment, Air Force One

  Over Mozambique

  37,000 feet

  Lennox ran a routine scan of the comm system and found nothing out of the ordinary. He wasn’t sure what to expect. They had been in the air for quite some time and nothing had happened yet, at least nothing that he had noticed. If the virus were indeed simply monitoring and relaying communications, there might actually be nothing for him to see.

  And he shouldn’t be looking.

  Yet he couldn’t help it.

  What he had done was gnawing at his gut and he was sick with guilt. He had to do it, he knew that, otherwise his family would die. Yet he also knew he shouldn’t have done it. What made his family’s lives any more important than the lives that could be lost should the stolen classified information harm Americans or their allies?

  He glanced over at Cornel, wanting to tell him what he had done. He’d come clean, tell them everything, and maybe they could find his family before they were harmed.

  Maybe. Maybe. Maybe!

  What if they couldn’t? He’d never be able to live with himself if anything happened to Cecilia or Janice.

  Tell him!

  It was the right thing to do. It was what he had to do. He opened his mouth to speak then snapped it shut when Agent in Charge McNeely entered the server room.

  He didn’t like the way the man was looking at him.

  He knows!

  The smile was forced. Fake.

  It’s time to come clean.

  He pushed back from the terminal and stood, raising his hands. Cornel swiveled in his chair and stared at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Step aside, Airman.” Cornel swung to see McNeely approaching, one hand on his weapon. Cornel cursed and leapt to his feet, quickly squeezing past the Secret Service agent.

  Lennox nodded toward the gun. “That won’t be necessary. I surrender.” His shoulders slumped in relief knowing the truth was now out and the virus could be detected and deactivated. It hadn’t been very long and depending on how it worked, perhaps no data had been compromised yet.

  Two other men advanced quickly toward him. He recognized them as special assignments, probably Delta or some other branch of men who could kick his ass with one finger. McNeely grabbed him by the arm and jerked him forward, pushing it up behind his back. Handcuffs were quickly clasped around his wrists and he was patted down before being led out of the server compartment and into a meeting room, out of sight.

  “What did you do?” asked McNeely, the room quickly filling with security personnel.

  He tried to reach into his pocket but couldn’t. “In my right front pocket there’s a memory stick.”

  McNeely tossed the handcuff keys to one of the Delta guys. “Uncuff him.”

  The man rounded the table and removed the cuffs, sliding them and the keys across the table to McNeely. Lennox rubbed his wrists then reached into his pocket, pulling out the memory stick. The Delta operator took it, handing it to McNeely.

  “What’s on it?”

  Lennox shook his head. “I don’t know. They just told me to insert it, bypass the security protocols, then remove it. I’ve been monitoring the systems and nothing’s happened so far.”

  McNeely handed the memory stick over to Cornel. “Examine it on an isolated computer.” Cornel nodded and disappeared from the room. McNeely turned back to Lennox. “Why did you do it?”

  “They said they’d kill my family.”

  �
��Who said?”

  “Some man. I was drugged, the food I ordered, I think. I woke up late last night in another room at the same hotel. They showed me video of my wife and kid, then let me talk to them for a minute. They told me to plant the virus or they’d kill them.”

  McNeely pursed his lips, shaking his head. “You should have come to me.”

  Lennox’s chin sagged to his chest. “I know, but they said they’d kill them, and they said they’d know if I did.”

  “How would they know?”

  “They’ve got a man on board.”

  “Sir, you’ve gotta hear this!” All eyes turned to the doorway where a man was holding out a cordless phone.

  “What is it?”

  “They said there’s been a threat and we have to land immediately!”

  Suddenly all the lights turned out and the distinctive sound of engines winding down was heard in the stunned silence.

  Until the screams.

  Lennox finally realized that this had nothing at all to do with monitoring communications.

  And everything to do with killing the President of the United States.

  Cockpit, Air Force One

  Over Mozambique

  36,000 feet and dropping

  Colonel Mitch Lacroix grabbed the yoke, his heart slamming into his chest as he struggled to maintain control. Everything was dead. Everything. All their newly installed gadgets were blank and his engines were dying behind him.

  They were essentially a million pound glider.

  “What the hell happened?” he shouted as alarms suddenly sounded, his co-pilot switching to the auxiliaries and backup power, a few displays glowing again but showing no data.

  “Looks like we lost everything,” replied Lt. Colonel Rich Pliner as he flipped switches and toggles back and forth with limited success.

  “Reboot the system.”

  “I tried that, there’s nothing there.”

  “What do you mean there’s nothing there?”