Star Trek : Angel - Book III - Saving History

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 28

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.


Chapter 28



GEORGE MASON MEMORIAL BRIDGE
WASHINGTON DC, USA
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 0944 EST (1444 UTC)

“Ok what do we have?”

The sound of traffic was almost deafening around FBI Agent John Baxter, but then with the bridge closed there was a lot of it. Baxter looked out to where the Metropolitan Police officer was pointing. In the distance he could see a single police cruiser parked behind a light truck.

“The unit out there got a call about the truck blocking the inside lane of the bridge about 25 minutes ago. Traffic had snarled up pretty bad. When the officer investigated, he found a distraught female employee in the cab and she screamed at him not to open the door.”

Baxter took the binoculars to investigate more closely and saw that the officer was still standing beside the cab apparently talking to the woman inside.

“Why not?”

“According to the woman, ah…” He briefly checked his notes. “Carlene Anderson, the truck’s booby trapped. Both cab doors, rear loading door and the starter motor. We can’t open it and at the moment we daren’t try and move it. She says that somebody is holding her son and she was told to drive here, park and switch off the engine.”

He focussed on the tailgate of the truck where a smiley face floated above the company logo of ‘FleetFood Flight Catering’.

“What about the company?”

The police officer was beginning to wonder if FBI agents were actually trained to restrict their use of words or whether it was just this particular one.

“Legit company and they confirm the driver’s ID. She was scheduled to make one drop at Reagan this morning and return to the depot for a second.”

Baxter nodded once and finished fastening the Kevlar vest.

“Alright, get somebody on to checking her son if it’s not already underway and see if we can’t get some of this traffic turned around and diverted.”

Without waiting for a reply, Baxter strode back to the black van he’d arrived in and leaned in through the back door.

“Could be genuine,” he said. “Have we received any calls?”

The young woman sat at the operator’s position shook her head. “Nothing so far John. We’ve got an explosives team due in five minutes and the Port Authority is holding all waterborne activity past the bridge.”

He nodded once then removed his radio and placed it on the console. “I’ll go out and check with the driver.”

The quiet as he reached the truck was slightly unnerving. Even the noise of the traffic still backed up at the end of the bridge was subdued.

“Officer?” Baxter waved the man over and spoke quietly. “I’m going to chat with the driver. I need you to stay put here ok? Turn off the cruiser lights and radio.”

“Radios are already off Sir, soon as we heard the truck might be rigged.”

“Good work son.” Baxter slowly approached the truck cab and looked up into the frightened face of a middle aged black woman. “Ms Anderson? My name’s John Baxter, I’m with the FBI.”

Baxter watched as she screwed her eyes tight shut. “It’s true then? This thing is booby trapped?”

Baxter could see no protruding wires or apparent external additions to the truck cab, but that meant nothing.

“Right now we don’t know for sure Ma’am, so we’re going to take this one step at a time ok? I just need you to stay as calm as you can.”

“Oh well that’s ok then Agent Baxter.” She looked at him with tears streaming down her face. “I’ll just stay nice and calm here in my mobile bomb and pretend my son ain’t in danger.”

Baxter could see that the woman was terrified and knew she must be close to breaking point.

“What’s your son’s name Ms Anderson?”

For a fleeting moment, a smile crossed her face. “Please call me Carlene, Agent Baxter. You remind me of my bank manager when you call me Ms Anderson.” Baxter returned her smile but noticed she’d screwed here eyes shut again. “His name is John. My son’s name is John. Looks like a good day for Johns today huh?”

“Alright stay with me Carlene. We’re checking on your son now ok? Soon as we know anything you’ll know but I need your help right now.”

She looked at him once more, a large fat tear rolling down her cheek.

“Is there anything in the cab that you don’t recognise, anything at all that shouldn’t normally be there?”

As the woman started to look around the cab, Baxter saw a small team of men arrive at the bridge on ramp, one of them leading a dog. Holding up his hand, he kept them where they were for now.

Eventually, she shook her head. “Looks as clean as usual. Company policy Agent, anybody found with a dirty cab gets a written warning.”

“Alright, what about around the window edges, anything there?” She reached a hand out to run her fingers along it but Baxter stopped her quickly. “Don’t touch it Carlene, just look closely ok?”

She drew her fingers back as if scalded, but again shook her head.

“Ok you’re doing fine Carlene, just fine.” He waved the explosives team forward as he spoke. “I’ve got a team of explosives experts here and they’ll check the truck over properly ok?” She nodded, seeming slightly calmer. “Now tell me are you wearing your seat belt?”

She looked down and shook her head. “Once they told me to drive, I never even thought about it.”

“That’s good. Don’t worry. I’m going to go back and check if there’s any news about John and let the team here check the truck over alright?”

When she nodded, he gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll get through this Carlene.”

He noticed that the sniffer dog was already at work around the rear of the truck as he spoke to the officer in charge, a small, bald man with the pugnacious looks of a boxer.

“Agent Baxter? I’m Lieutenant Tom Bradby. We got the initial brief, anything new to add?”

“I got the driver to visually check the cab and window area and she’s pretty certain it’s clean. Oh and she’s not wearing her belt.”

Bradby nodded gratefully. “That’s one less trigger. Ok let me get the dog around here and we’ll do a visual inspection of the underside.”

“I need to get an update on the woman’s son but I’ll be back shortly.”

As Bradby turned to begin the inspection, Baxter began the jog back to the operations van praying that the whole mess would turn out to be some kind of hoax but knowing the state of the world, he was almost certain it wasn’t.


INTERCONTINENTAL AIRLINES FLIGHT 382
NORTH ATLANTIC
EN ROUTE TO LONDON HEATHROW
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1300 MIDAT (1500 UTC)

Half an hour previously, Jarvis had been surprised to receive a message on the company frequency regarding his layover in London. Apparently, according to the company rep, his friend had been called away to a business meeting abroad and wouldn’t be able to have dinner.

“My friend?” he’d asked. “You sure this message is for me?”

“Absolutely, Captain Jarvis. It arrived about 15 minutes ago from a young lady.”

Jarvis looked across the cockpit at Chou who was busy working one of the MFDs on his side of the cockpit. He briefly wondered if Bob had set him up but then dismissed the idea.

“Any name at all?”

There was a brief pause as the dispatcher checked their monitor.

“According to the receptionist it was a Ms Shamshir.”

Jarvis’ world froze as his mind unlocked to the key word. In a tumbling frenzy of mental realignment, his future and those aboard the A380 was sealed with that one word.

“Thank you,” he said and without waiting for a reply, disconnected the comm.

“Anything important?” Chou asked as he entered the final commands into the Multi Function Display unit.

“Hmm? Oh, no, just a missed date in London.”

Chou donned a pair of stylish sunglasses and chuckled. “See, you should have made the most of Washington.”

They were the last words that Bob Chou ever spoke as Jarvis’ right hand lashed out to connect with his throat. Grabbing the strap of the first officer’s document bag, Jarvis wrapped it around Chou’s neck and twisted to finish the job. Within moments, Chou’s frantic thrashing ceased. Jravis was clean, methodical and totally unmoved by the murder.

Carefully checking the autopilot settings, Jarvis slid out of the left hand seat then knelt behind the the still form of Chou and popped open one of the main bus panels where it took him around five minutes to disconnect several and activate two spares. The ones he’d disconnected severed communications connections from the main passenger cabin to the outside world, stopped the aircraft’s transponder, overrode the cockpit security lock so that it couldn’t be opened from outside and disabled several other safety elements within the cockpit.

The two spares he had activated were perhaps just as important. He knew that a member of the Sword of Iran group unwittingly employed by the airline engineering staff had primed these two connections in Washington during routine maintenance on their layover.

The first would cross-feed a supply of strong sedative through the air conditioning in the passenger compartments. The passengers were not a major threat to his plans but the cabin crew and air marshals aboard were. In mere minutes they would be incapacitated and his part of the operation would then begin.

The second activated a trigger mechanism to the cargo hold. An amount of baggage had been left off the aircraft to be replaced by a substantial amount of explosives. With the breaker now active, he could detonate these from the cockpit.

Like those before him, the mind control implant left him with no conscious moral indignation at the events unfolding, merely a drive to see them through to completion.

He didn’t really care that the world would forever remember the name Intercontinental 382 as he donned the cockpit oxygen mask.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 28 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.


Chapter 28 (cont)



EXECUTIVE SUITE
AIR FORCE ONE
NORTH ATLANTIC
EN ROUTE TO LONDON HEATHROW
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1337 MIDAT (1537 UTC)

Madeline had spent twenty minutes going over notes with Abigail March. Progress on the Ares mission had been top of the agenda with excellent progress to report. The heavy lift boosters to carry the components and cargo of the mission into low earth orbit for final assembly were well into construction.

March had also confirmed that the US would, within the next four years be able to use some of the components from that transfer along with new constructs to build the Asteroid Defence Systems. Once complete, these systems could be held in low earth orbit where they could be maintained on a regular basis by staff from the space station.

That staff would include members of the new MACO force that Mitch was now heading. March had told Madeline that by the time the system was online, the crews would be trained and ready to go.

A tap at her door followed by the entrance of Tony Harmon, one of the Secret Service agents aboard this flight, slightly surprised her. While Madeline attempted an informal working relationship with her trusted staff, it was very unusual for somebody to enter her private suite uninvited.

“Tony?” She raised her eyebrows expecting him to look embarrassed at entering but immediately saw the look of worry on his face. “What?”

“Madam President, I’ve just been given a Code Amber by Colonel DiGriz on the flight deck. I need to ensure that you’re strapped in please.”

A Code Amber was a potential threat to the safety of the aircraft. Occasionally, when weather had proven a hazard then a Code Amber would be issued to ensure that, primarily, the President wasn’t in a position to be thrown around the cabin. It could be issued by air traffic control authorities under specific conditions or by an accompanying AWACS aircraft if circumstances demanded it, but the commander of Air Force One could legitimately declare any of the precautionary codes unilaterally.

“Did he say what was wrong?”

Harmon shook his head as he spun the President’s chair into its fore and locked position. “Not yet Ma’am. Ms March, if you could proceed back to the VIP area?”

Looking slightly worried, March withdrew to return to her seat in the senior staff compartment just aft of the main galley.

After making sure that his Commander in Chief was secure, Harmon had stepped back to close the suite door and was about to take his position in a seat close to Madeline when two things happened simultaneously. Red lights around the suite ceiling lit up and the cabin PA system came to life announcing that a Code Red was now in force. A fraction of a second later, the aircraft’s nose dropped sharply then swung to port and Harmon was thrown across the cabin to land in a still heap against the forward bulkhead.

With her heart in her mouth, Madeline looked out of the window in terror to see the massive shape of a civilian airliner flash by outside.


MV OCEAN DANCER
STRAITS OF HORMUZ
22nd January 2026 – 1908 (1538 UTC)

The small on-deck locker was filled with ‘useful’ equipment that hadn’t been touched in months. It stank of diesel and salt and was cramped even without a human crammed inside it, but it was a refuge. By its appearance, Ashkenazi had felt it was probably quite a safe one as she’d sneaked in, cold and wet.

The experience of almost being crushed by the ship had shaken her badly. She had barely cleared the stone edge of the dock when the current from the moving ship had swept her under the wooden pilings where rats scurried away from her sudden appearance.

She had clung to one of the wooden supports for an unknown period, all the time willing herself to let go and get aboard the container ship before the dark faded. It took an incredible act of determination to release the safety of the support and make her way up through the dingy confines of the dock’s underside.

Eventually, she reached a point level with one of the ship’s open gangways and waited for a short while to ensure that movement in the early hours was confined to essential crew movements before swinging across the short gap and landing in the dimly lit gangway.

She had needed to find a place of concealment on deck so that when the time came for her to leave, it would be a simple matter of exiting her hiding place and jumping overboard. The utility locker had proven to be that place.

The sounds of activity outside had increased as the vessel prepared for departure and Ashkenazi had involuntarily drawn herself as far into the dim recess as she could manage. Eventually, she’d felt the gentle swell of the harbour give way to the more rolling swell of the open sea and pulled out the GPS enabled G-Phone she carried.

Her frustration and anger nearly boiled over when she realised that the mass of metal surrounding her was effectively blocking the signal, and without the GPS she would have no idea when her time had come to leave. She’d finally managed to find a position that, though uncomfortable, enabled her to hold the G-Phone high enough to allow the GPS signal to reach it and had waited.

Now, as the huge vessel began its run through the Strait of Hormuz, the narrow waterway between the tip of the Arabian Peninsula and Iran, she gathered her few possessions into the watertight bag and listened carefully before cautiously cracking open the door of the locker.

She warily checked the deck outside through the narrow gap before widening it to look further. The only figure in sight was on a gangway above the deck, smoking a cigarette and paying little attention to what was happening below. Eventually, he flicked the glowing stub into the ocean and disappeared back inside the hatch he’d been standing next to.

One final check showed that she had left nothing behind and Ashkenazi tensed her cramped muscles.

Three, two, one, go!

Forcing her uncooperative legs into motion she ran at full speed across the fantail of the vessel and cleared the railing around its edge in a clean leap. She had purposely leapt over the side of the vessel and not the stern to avoid the turbulent water churned up by the ship’s propellers, but even so she felt herself dragged under by the wake.

Again, thoughts of drowning swelled in her mind but she pushed them aside. Survival now was imperative, especially so close to rescue. When she surfaced, she took her bearings from the ship and swam away from its starboard flank towards the tip of the peninsula.

Not far away, she knew, was a Mossad team masquerading as a group of tourists on a scuba diving trip out of Kumza, Oman. Their brief was to survey each vessel that sailed out of Bandar Abbas that day and be on standby to pick her up.

It was a mere ten minutes later that a small launch appeared above the swells and she waved her arms with almost the last of her waning strength. Will power alone kept her afloat until strong arms lifted her from the water.

Voices faded in and out around her as she attempted stay conscious on the hard deck.

“Is it her?”

“Yes, the pictures match.”

“So where’s her partner? There should be two in the team!”

“The dead drop simply activated the recovery plan, it didn’t specify how many…”

“Dead,” she croaked, the salt water still burning her throat. “They killed him…before we made…the ship.”

The shadow of a large man loomed over her.

“Here, drink this before you try and speak any more.”

The cool feel of fresh water was like elixir to her throat and mouth and she nodded in gratitude.

“It’s not often we catch a mermaid on our trips,” he said.

“Just be glad,” she gasped in reply, “that I’m not a shark.”

“It’s her,” the man said and quickly lifted her from the deck to take her below. Ashkenazi breathed a sigh of relief that she’d remembered the exchange of passwords. There was unlikely to have been a second chance.

She felt herself laid on a soft bed in the cabin of the launch and a blanket was wrapped around her.

“Wait here and I’ll get you a hot drink.”

“There isn’t time!” She pushed the welcome blanket aside reluctantly. “We have to contact the Institute at once!” Her legs gave out and she fell sideways against the bulkhead, barely catching herself in time.

The large man caught her and helped her back to the bunk when her own legs refused to carry her.

“Calm, Shira, calm.” He sat her down and patiently wrapped the blanket around her again. “Now, what is the urgency in this message?”

She looked at him, her face a mask of horror. “It’s the Iranians. They have nuclear weapons, at least three, and they’re going to use them.”

For a moment his face remained blank as if Ashkenazi had just told him something in an unknown language. “When?” was all he could eventually manage.

“I don’t know, but soon. And I only have the locations for two of them.”

He pulled open a locker drawer and frantically searched for a notepad and pen, eventually fishing out what looked like a paper bag and a small pencil.

“Tell me everything Shira.”

She talked for several minutes recounting the operation and then took the stolen documents from her watertight bag.

“There was no indication of the location for the third weapon, and even the officer we interrogated didn’t know. This is not a Revolutionary Guard operation though. It’s a new elite unit.”

The man nodded. His face was ashen as he read through the notes once more. “Wait here, I’ll transmit this immediately.”

Under normal circumstances, a debrief would only be transmitted once the team was secure but this was far from normal circumstances.

Ashkenazi felt an odd sense of detachment wash over her as she waited in the quiet of the cabin. In her career with the Institute she had seen and done many things that the average citizen couldn’t even contemplate. She had murdered, spied and stolen all in the name of Israeli security and known that should she be captured by any foreign agency she would become expendable.

Never in her wildest dreams though did she imagine that one day it would be her that brought the news that her beloved homeland was in imminent danger of the ultimate destructive force that man could bring to bear.

Ashkenazi wasn’t sure how long she sat alone in that cabin with only the dread of time running out, but it felt like forever. When the man eventually returned he sat down opposite her.

“Did you get through?”

His nod was almost too slight to see, his eyes conveying the horror of what might lay ahead. “They’re checking the two known locations by satellite within the hour.” He raised his head and closed his eyes. “If they prove accurate, then the IDF will be mobilised to strike.”

As the blue waters of the Gulf flowed by the window, uncaring in its eternal presence, she buried her face in her hands and wept. Within hours thousands, perhaps millions of innocents could die and her soul was forever damned because she knew that she hadn’t been in time to stop it.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 29

GEORGE MASON MEMORIAL BRIDGE
WASHINGTON DC, USA
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1038 EST (1538 UTC)

“So what’s the news?”

Baxter looked back over his shoulder to where the explosives team were busily checking over the catering truck. He could see the compact figure of Bradby talking quietly to Carlene through the cab window.

“Just in,” replied the comms operator in the van. “We’ve got a team down at the elementary school. He’s fine, no sign of attempted abduction.”

Baxter cursed. “So what the hell is this about?”

“Well just because he’s not been abducted doesn’t mean that truck’s not rigged John. Unless it’s meant as a diversion for something bigger.”

Baxter considered that. Tying up the resources of law enforcement and the FBI while something else went down wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

“Call it in, I’ll get back and check on what the explosive team’s found.”

He began jogging back towards the truck cursing the fact that radios were out. The possibility of triggering a detonator in the truck had ruled out their use. As he passed the police cruiser blocking the bridge on-ramp, he saw that Bradby was coaxing Carlene out through the cab window and the K-9 unit was heading back towards him.

“Anything?” he called ahead.

The dog handler nodded pointing at the springer spaniel. “Tigger here definitely picked up explosives in the rear, probably the cab doors as well. Lieutenant Bradby thinks they may be wired together.”

Not a fake then he thought. Could it still be a diversion though? No warnings had been given which ruled out certain elements, and Baxter thought that a warning would have perhaps drawn more law enforcement officers to the scene. If it was going to be some form of ruse or diversion, that’s the way he would have played it.

As he watched, Carlene slid somewhat ungracefully through the window into Bradby’s waiting arms.

“What’s the procedure from here on?”

The dog handler was about to reply when Baxter noted a thin wisp of smoke snaking from between the back doors of the truck.

“Smoke!” he screamed as Carlene sprinted for safety, terror her driving force.

He never saw whether the explosives team had time to understand his shout because the air was rent with a thunderclap and Baxter was bowled over backwards, his head striking the concrete hard enough to make stars appear.

A blast of hot air washed over him and then, bizarrely, objects began raining from the sky. First came a man’s shoe, Baxter noting with detached relief that it was empty. Then a veritable lost property office dropped or floated to earth around where he lay.

A small digital camera, paperback books, ladies underwear and more fell to the tarmac while other items floated on the updraft of hot air from the fireball that had been the truck.

Rolling to his knees, deafened by the initial blast, he saw Carlene lying in the middle of the carriageway and staggered to his feet. Around the truck itself he recognised remnants of humanity that had once been the members of the explosives team and his vision tunnelled to the driver.

The bridge lurched once beneath his already unsteady feet and a crack appeared running from the footpath located on the upstream side of the bridge. Baxter could do nothing for Bradby or any of the others, even if they had survived the blast. They were simply too far away. Instead he managed to grab the back of Carlene’s jacket and began dragging her away from the rapidly disintegrating section of bridge.

As his hearing began to return, he dimly heard the wail of sirens and screams of terror from the backed up traffic ahead and acrid smoke washed across him. Unseen hands grabbed his arms taking the weight of Carlene from him and he stumbled over the partly burnt and blackened shape of a holdall that had been blasted skywards.

A receding part of his consciousness noted that the baggage tag read Intercontinental Airlines Flight 382 before he blacked out altogether.


INTERCONTINENTAL AIRLINES FLIGHT 382
NORTH ATLANTIC
EN ROUTE TO LONDON HEATHROW
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1338 MIDAT (1538 UTC)

Jarvis slammed his hand against the console as the Presidential 747 swung ponderously to port away from him and he realised he would have to try again.

His attack had started minutes before some 5000 feet above Air Force One. He’d switched the A380’s internal cameras to check each passenger section of the huge aircraft, and in each one he had seen the unconscious forms of both passengers and crew sprawled in their seats or on the deck. One or two occasionally stirred feebly. A dwindling part of his rational mind was glad that they wouldn’t feel the terror of their final moments.

Satisfied that there would be no attempt to access the cockpit, he had ensured that the aircraft’s transponder was no longer transmitting.

In modern aircraft, a system known as the Traffic Collision Avoidance System, or TCAS, relied on this electronic transmitter as a last line of defence to keep aircraft from colliding in mid air.

Tied into the aircraft’s computers, the transponder combined with TCAS would ‘watch’ for other aircraft in the vicinity. The transponder regularly transmitted data including height, speed and heading and if the TCAS on another aircraft noted that the signals were getting stronger it would assume the aircraft was getting closer.

Eventually, TCAS would advise the pilots to descend or climb to avoid a collision if there had been no further advice from air traffic control. In the middle of the Atlantic, such advice wouldn’t be forthcoming and with the transponder on the A380 no longer active, Air Force One’s TCAS would not issue instructions to the crew.

Jarvis knew this was generally meaningless under the circumstances because the Presidential aircraft had a suite of secret countermeasure electronics aboard that would probably detect him long before TCAS would have. Still, it might possibly buy him time.

Taking a grip on the A380’s sidestick, a small digital fly by wire control that had replaced the familiar yoke of previous airliners, he disengaged the auto-pilot and silenced the alarms as he nosed the huge jet in to a descent.

He scanned the clear sky ahead knowing that the separation given to him by air traffic control as they had exited US airspace would have put him 5000 feet above and 30 minutes behind Air Force One. Uncaring of fuel use, he’d increased power to all four Rolls Royce Trent 900 power plants minutes before and had begun a descent that would also increase his airspeed.

At last spotting the distinctive blue and white Presidential colour scheme slightly ahead and low to port, he committed to his final act.

Making subtle adjustments on the stick, he swung the A380 slightly to port and aligned the big aircraft’s nose on the 747’s ‘hump’ just aft of the cockpit and opened the throttles to maximum.

His first indication that he’d been detected was that the 747 banked further out to port which was quickly followed by several bright flashes of light from close to the aircraft’s tail. First startled and then dazzled by the lights, Jarvis suddenly realised that Air Force One had released flares believing they may come under attack from an infra-red missile.

While there was no missile to decoy, the flares had the effect of spoiling Jarvis’ concentration and he suddenly realised that at full power he was going to miss to starboard of the big jet. As he saw it flash past the port side window, their wings scant feet apart, he cut back on the throttles and pulled left and up on the stick trying to mentally imagine Air Force One’s position in the sky above him and bring the A380 back within striking distance.

With its nose now high and stall alarms screaming at him, he took one last breath before pressing the pulsing red button on the detonator in his hand and Intercontinental 382 disintegrated in a fireball of 500 tonnes of airframe composites and fuel.


EXECUTIVE SUITE
AIR FORCE ONE
NORTH ATLANTIC
EN ROUTE TO LONDON HEATHROW
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1339 MIDAT (1539 UTC)

Madeline had no idea what was happening. She’d gaped in horror as the huge airliner had disappeared below her field of view then felt the pull of gravity as the 747’s nose had lifted.

Gripping the arm rests of her seat with all her might, she fleetingly recalled the comments of a previous Commander in Chief who’d said that he wouldn’t have minded one of those fictional escape pods that the movie industry cleverly cooked up for their blockbusters.

Of course it didn’t exist, despite the constant claims of the conspiracy theorists and at 33,000 feet above the Atlantic she doubted it would have made any difference anyway.

There was the brightest of flashes outside the window and she felt the pressure of gravity briefly increase suddenly as the nose of the 747 was thrown upwards by what was obviously an explosion.

Without warning, small holes appeared in the bulkhead ahead of her and instantaneously, an oxygen mask dropped down from the overhead. Madeline grabbed at it as it swung twice out of her reach before managing to get it over her face.

And then the effects of the increased gravity were gone as Air Force One nosed over and entered freefall. She watched as Harmon, groggy and clutching at an injured arm, floated up off the deck and back towards her, flailing in mid-air in an attempt to gain some kind of purchase in the micro-gravity.

Madeline stretched out a hand towards him as he drifted towards her looking both stunned and confused at his sudden weightlessness, and she managed to grab his left leg. Hauling with all her strength, she pulled him down towards the seat next to her and heard his yelp of pain in the thinning air as he pulled himself into its embrace.

They struggled momentarily with the seat restraints and then an errant oxygen mask before Harmon was finally strapped in, just as the starboard outer engine exploded taking its pylon and a large section of wing with it.

She wasn’t sure whether it was the effect of the thin air or whether the remaining engines really had flamed out after the explosion because she could no longer hear their comforting whine. There was just the increasing scream of a tortured airframe seemingly out of control as it plummeted downwards.

Her attention was drawn once more out of the window of her private suite and she saw that the blaze that had engulfed the outer section of the starboard wing had now diminished, presumably due to the fire suppressant foam in the wings tanks. The ruptures caused by the explosion should also have self sealed preventing the possibility of the fire spreading, but she could see that the wing was a mess. Several panels were missing along its length and there were more ragged perforations before the final torn panels at its truncated end.

Down below, visible through the thin haze, the surface of the Atlantic drew closer as the once proud aircraft fell like a wounded bird towards its glistening surface. Madeline knew that up on the flight deck, Colonel DiGriz and the crew would be fighting the dying aircraft with every trick in the book, assuming of course that they had survived whatever had happened.

A strange sense of calm suddenly surrounded her as she surrendered herself to the fact that whatever happened now, her fate was in the hands of others; people who had trained meticulously and sworn an oath to protect the life of their Commander in Chief.

She felt no fear of death. Her faith had faced its final test when her husband had been killed and it had emerged stronger in spite of his loss. What she felt instead was sadness and a deep sense of disappointment.

Sadness that she would never get to see her beautiful daughters grow into the strong and successful women she knew they would become. Sadness that the fledgling happiness she had found with Mitch would never blossom into the rich tapestry it might have been. And disappointment that her plans to unite a world so deeply divided would die with her today.

She closed her eyes and quietly prayed; for her daughters, for Mitch, for those on the plane and for the innocents in the world whose future she could no longer champion. A weight like a thousand screaming demons pressed down upon her driving the last vestiges of consciousness from her mind and the breath from her lungs. Her last thought as the world around her descended into chaos was that she had tried her best, and now the torch must be passed on.

TO BE CONTINUED

IN

STAR TREK:ANGEL – SAVING HISTORY
PART II – THE YEAR WE DODGED THE BULLET

COMING SOON!
​

 

[unusualsuspex]

And that's it folks! The end of Book I of the trilogy. Book II is already in preparation but before I begin to commit it to these illustrious pages, I dearly need your feedback.

With over 2000 reads on this book I guess I'm doing something right but honest opinion is really helpful to me.

If you've stopped by to read, please spare a few seconds to comment?

 

[6079SmithW]

This book was excellent and very suspenseful. I was on the edge of my seat many times and was always eager to find out what happens next. I love how you you have combined Trek's backstory with modern day real world scenarios that could potentially happen. I'll admit that I'm not a huge fan of mind control because those stories can quickly become lame and I was a little nervous when this was introduced in the story. You managed to fit it in nicely without it being cringeworthy. I do find it a little hard to believe that this Operation: Prophet's Voice is done so efficiently on a worldwide scale, but I guess it is no more ridiculous than genetically engineered ubermensch taking over . I am looking forward to future installments.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Thanks Captain Smith! Feedback is always appreciated in whatever form and I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the story enough to respond, it makes a difference!

The truth about Operation:Prophet's Voice and why it has been so easy to conceal is forthcoming!

To all my other readers, thanks for pushing each of my novels over the 2000 views mark and don't forget to leave comments! It helps me improve the product!

 

[Gibraltar]

Commentary on Chapter 23

Oh, crap… T’Sell and the others were too late. Now I wonder if just they’ve been potentially temporally displaced, or if all of Angel has followed suit?

I’m glad to see Dan & Company broke out onto the surface for a little fresh air. Hell, just your descriptions of their predicament were making me increasingly claustrophobic!

The behind-the-scenes Iranian machinations move closer to fruition, while the Israelis and Americans stumble upon the occasional crumb of a clue, still heedless of the larger picture and the peril that looms close.

You certainly know how to draw out the tension, my friend.

 

[Gibraltar]

Commentary on Chapter 24

Grim events take place in Iran, as various chess pieces are brought into play in what I can only assume will be a very troubling crescendo of violence.

It's adorable to watch two otherwise blindingly brilliant professionals fall in love, despite the various complications in both their lives which could potentially intervene. You've created both warmth and depth with both Madeline and Mitch.

 

[Gibraltar]

Commentary on Chapter 25

I had a bad feeling No’am was somehow going to end up becoming someone’s puppet, but I never guessed it would be the Israelis pulling his strings. Here’s hoping the poor kid doesn’t end up a martyr to the cause of national security.

With Angel transported into the future, the possibility of solving the mystery of the artifact and reuniting with the temporally displaced runabout crew now seems more tenuous than ever.

And Agent Ashkenazi’s bad day just seems to be getting worse…

 

[Gibraltar]

Commentary on Chapter 26

Mitch officially begins Astronaut training, and given the particulars as described, the poor guy’s going to be hard pressed to have any free time to pursue a relationship. Then again, his new girlfriend has a fairly time-consuming job of her own…

Madeline is still trying to keep China from reliving the isolationist tendencies of its past, while giving Lee Juan the space she needs to consolidate her power. I love how you portray the political maneuvering that’s happening here, from the US to China to Iran and Israel.

Continued excellence!

 

[Gibraltar]

Commentary on Chapter 27

Well, well, DTI certainly has its work cut out for it with this cross-temporal fracas, doesn’t it? Fortunately, they have an android aboard Angel that can serve as a neutral arbiter or agent, and is willing to carry out the return of the mysterious artifact to its rightful owners… whoever, or whatever that is.

And why do I have the distinct impression that AF1’s going to have its defenses tested as never before? I like Madeline’s plan, but I have to wonder at her priorities so soon after a national defense crisis like the US and China have just faced.

Man, oh, man… bad things are afoot, dude… baaaaad things!

 

[Gibraltar]

Commentary on Chapter 28

Everything begins to fall into place as the first of Iran’s strikes against the West meet with some success. The ending scene with Air Force One in mortal danger was simply nail-biting in its intensity.

Quite the rollercoaster, as Kat would say, that you’ve cooked up for your readers here! This Star Trek meets Tom Clancy thriller has me captivated, and I’m eagerly looking forward to Book IV.

Kudos, sir, you’ve outdone yourself yet again!

 

[unusualsuspex]

Oh how I wish you worked for Simon & Schuster mate!

Glad you're enjoying it and its about to ratchet up in Book IV!