Free Fall

CRISIS IN THE SKIES

Pilots with no control…

High above the Adirondack Mountains, a commuter flight to New York City turns into a rolling, twisting nightmare, plunging from the sky before the crew regains control. Then, in London, a jetliner crashes into the runway, killing fifteen people.

Investigators with no answers…

Reporter Kate Page believes something beyond mechanical—or human—error is behind the incidents that have air investigators baffled. But the mystery deepens as teams scramble to pinpoint a link between the tragedies, and Kate receives an untraceable message from someone boasting responsibility and threatening another event.

A looming disaster…

As Kate, the FBI and the NTSB race to find answers, the shadow figures behind the operation launch their most devastating plan yet, and time ticks down on one of the greatest tragedies the world has ever known.

Praise for the novels of Rick Mofina

“Six Seconds should be Rick Mofina’s breakout thriller. It moves like a tornado.”

—James Patterson, New York Times bestselling author

“Six Seconds is a great read. Echoing Ludlum and Forsythe, author Mofina has penned a big, solid international thriller that grabs your gut—and your heart—in the opening scenes and never lets go.”

—Jeffery Deaver, New York Times bestselling author

“The Panic Zone is a headlong rush toward Armageddon. Its brisk pace and tight focus remind me of early Michael Crichton.”

—Dean Koontz, #1 New York Times bestselling author, on The Panic Zone

“Rick Mofina’s tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride.”

—New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen

“Mofina’s clipped prose reads like short bursts of gunfire.”

—Publishers Weekly on No Way Back

“Mofina is one of the best thriller writers in the business.”

—Library Journal (starred review) on They Disappeared

“Vengeance Road is a thriller with no speed limit!

It’s a great read!”

—Michael Connelly, New York Times bestselling author

Free Fall

Rick Mofina

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This book is for Barbara

Contents

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Seventy-Two

Seventy-Three

Seventy-Four

Seventy-Five

Seventy-Six

Seventy-Seven

Seventy-Eight

Seventy-Nine

Eighty

Eighty-One

Eighty-Two

Eighty-Three

Eighty-Four

Eighty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgments & A Personal Note

Extract

Copyright

One

Buffalo, New York

You’re not going to die today.

Kayla repeated her prayer as the boarding call for her flight at Buffalo Niagara International Airport was announced. Her thoughts raced as she clutched her boarding pass and ID while inching through the line to Gate 20. After the gate agent had cleared her, Kayla felt Logan’s reassuring hand on her shoulder as they walked along the jetway to their plane.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he said.

She offered him a weak smile. Drawing on the advice she’d absorbed from her motivational books and recordings, she fought her fear of flying by repeating her mantra.

I can do this. I’ve faced worse.

The jet was a new-model regional aircraft with eighty-six passenger seats, and today’s flight was full. Their seats were in the fourteenth row on the left side. Logan took the aisle. Kayla took the window.

After they’d stowed their bags overhead Kayla buckled her belt and continued battling her anxiety by attacking her scariest thoughts.

This plane is not going to crash. I’m safe. My boyfriend’s with me.

Logan took her hand in his and tried to calm her.

“Remember how important this trip is? Just think about that.”

Kayla nodded, concentrating on the reason why she had to get on this plane: because her dream was within her grasp. Tomorrow morning in New York City, she’d be interviewed for a position with a rising new fashion designer, Maly Kriz-Janda. The house had offices in London, Paris and Milan. It had recently opened a Manhattan office and was hiring new designers.

The jet’s door was shut and locked. An inboard chime sounded followed by an announcement.

“Flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The attendants ensured the overhead bin doors were closed and seats and trays were up as the plane pushed back from the gate. The cabin lights flickered as the engines came on and the plane taxied out.

“Logan, the wings are bouncing.”

“It’s okay. They’re built to flex like that. It’s normal.”

As the attendants gave safety demonstrations about seat belts, flotation devices and emergency exits, for use “in the unlikely event...” Kayla heard the hydraulic moan of the flaps as they were adjusted by the pilot. The plane turned then stopped for several moments. As the engines whined louder another chime sounded.

“Attendants, prepare for takeoff.”

The knot in Kayla’s stomach tightened as the plane began rolling down the runway, slowly at first, gaining speed then accelerating faster, the ground blurring beneath them. Kayla struggled to control her breathing as the jet’s nose rose before she heard a thud when the weight lifted from the landing gear and the plane left the ground.

The thrust was overwhelming as the force of the climb pushed her into her seat. Kayla heard the groan and bump of the landing gear’s retraction. She squeezed Logan’s hand, shutting her eyes for a moment. Somehow, she found the strength to peek down at the earth, the expressways, buildings and suburbs rapidly shrinking below.

I can do this. I can do this.

As the plane leveled off, Kayla took a deep breath to calm herself, and the flight attendant made a series of announcements about keeping seat belts fastened, using electronic devices and the upcoming in-flight refreshment service.

“How’re you doing?” Logan asked.

Kayla nodded stiffly, smiling, still gripping his hand as he lowered his tray with his other hand.

“I’m getting some tomato juice,” he said. “What about you?”

“A diet cola, whatever they have.”

Not long after they’d received their drinks there was another announcement.

“This is Captain Raymond Matson with First Officer Roger Anderson. On behalf of our entire crew, welcome aboard EastCloud Flight Forty-nine Ninety. Very shortly we’ll reach our cruising altitude of twenty-seven thousand feet. Everything’s looking good. We have no weather ahead of us and no traffic jams at LaGuardia, so we expect a very smooth flight arriving on time. We should have you in New York at the gate in about an hour and ten minutes.”

“There you go,” Logan said. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Kayla nodded and sipped her drink.

As the flight cut across Upstate New York, she tried to relax by focusing on the opportunity awaiting her in Manhattan. She’d studied fashion at Buffalo State where a professor, impressed with her designs, had done all he could to help her get noticed.

But nothing had happened.

After graduating Kayla had found a full-time position selling women’s clothing at the mall in Cheektowaga, the Walden Galleria. While she was uncertain about her aspirations and her future, she was grateful to have a job so she could start paying off her student loans.

Then, three weeks ago, everything had changed when, through her professor’s help, Kayla was short-listed for a position with Maly Kriz-Janda in Manhattan. They’d loved Kayla’s designs and the position involved flying to Los Angeles, Miami and Toronto for major conferences with North American retailers. Kayla wanted the job with all of her heart and had begun working on overcoming her fear of flying. But her expected call for an interview never came. The other candidates had been stronger.

Heartbroken, Kayla had soldiered on at the mall. Then, last week, her professor had learned that the two candidates ahead of her had dropped out of the running. One had accepted a job at Versace, and the other had gone to Givenchy. Two days ago, Maly Kriz-Janda had called Kayla, requesting she be in Manhattan for an interview as soon as possible. They’d pay all expenses—flight, hotel, meals and cabs.

Logan was thrilled for her. She’d asked him to go with her because she’d never flown before, and was terrified. He’d agreed, using his sister’s points to cover his flight.

What if I get the job? Kayla had asked him. I’d have to move to New York City. What would happen to us?

Logan, who was still in law school, had told her not to worry.

I’ll look into applying and transferring to a school there, he’d said. But don’t think about that. We’ll cross that bridge later.

Logan was good to her and she knew it. She took comfort in having him beside her now on what was her first—and maybe the most important—flight of her life.

“Hey, smile,” he said, pointing his phone at her. “I’m making a documentary of your first flight.”

Kayla waved.

“I’m really doing it. I’m flying. I’m nervous but I’m doing it.”

Then she turned to her window to take in the view below.

“It’s so pretty down there. Where are we?”

“I think we’re over the Catskill Mountains,” Logan said.

“Oh, I’ve got to take a picture.”

Kayla held up her phone to the window but it flew from her hand and her seat belt cut deep into her as the plane suddenly rolled hard, the right wing tipping toward the ground as if the jet was flipping over.

Bodies bumped over seats as people not belted were tossed to the right wall, along with laptops, backpacks and purses amid shrieks and loud bangs as items thudded and hammered in the overhead bins. The service trolley crashed into passengers in the right rows, spilling hot coffee and raining down cans of soda and juice.

The jet froze with its wings in a twelve-and-six-o’clock position.

Kayla clawed at Logan, locking her arms around him as people screamed, cursed and prayed.

Then the plane lurched hard to the left with the left wing pointing directly to the earth. Again, bodies flew through the cabin, slamming against other passengers, the wall and the overhead luggage bins. The bin doors opened and luggage tumbled like boulders along the left row. Logan reached out to grab an older woman who’d fallen into them but she slipped from his grip as the jet suddenly rolled right until it was almost level.

Now it began dropping, banking downward, as if it would spiral out of control. Passengers yelled and screamed, some calling out to God before the crew regained control and finally leveled the plane.

“Please, please, let this be over,” Kayla whispered through her tears.

In the aftermath, the attendants, despite being hurt and bleeding, took charge. Even as the sounds of crying and moaning passengers filled the plane, people began helping each other. Kayla thrust her face into Logan’s chest, slid her arms around him and sobbed, feeling his heart beating rapidly against her face.

Logan held her tight as the jet resumed a smooth flight.

Kayla prayed for the plane to land.

Get us back on the ground! Please, God, get us back on the ground!

Her cheek twitched as something wet and warm splashed on her skin; one drop then another. As she pulled back, she saw blood dripping down on them from the little boy who’d been contorted into the open luggage bin above them.

Two

Manhattan, New York

“New York, EastCloud Forty-nine Ninety...declar—an emer—”

“EastCloud Forty-nine Ninety, transmission garbled, say again...”

Kate Page, a reporter with Newslead, detected something in the chatter crackling from the news agency’s emergency scanners. More than a dozen of them issued a constant stream of coded bursts across from where she sat in the newsroom. Kate stopped her current work, jotted down the name of the airline, the flight number and listened.

“...EastCloud Forty-nine Ninety...injur—request—medic—”

Sounds like “injuries” and a call for medical services.

She listened as the dispatches continued echoing in the news department.

It was Saturday and the newsroom was nearly empty.

Kate had a bad feeling about what she’d heard. She went online. EastCloud 4990 was a commercial flight that had originated in Buffalo and was bound for LaGuardia. It was a new Richlon-TitanRT-86 with a capacity for eighty-six passengers. She quickly checked social media feeds. No one was tweeting about the flight.

Not so far, anyway.

She glanced at the corner and the glass-walled cubicle known as the scanner room. Reporters called it “the torture chamber,” because if you were assigned to sit in it you had to endure and decipher the chaotic, simultaneous cross-talk flowing from metropolitan New York City’s police, fire department, paramedics and other responders.

But no one was there.

The cubicle door was open, which is how Kate had been able to hear the chatter from the scanner.

What’s going on? Why isn’t someone listening?

This broke Newslead’s cardinal rule: never, ever leave the scanners unattended. Emergency scanners were the lifeblood of any news operation, alerting the reporters to the first cries for help, pulling them into stories that would stop the heart of the city.

Or break it.

Kate’s years of listening to police radios while working on crime desks in newsrooms across the country had given her the ability to pluck a key piece of data from dozens of staccato exchanges all happening at the same time. She knew the alphanumeric code systems. She could pick out a trace of emotion in a dispatcher’s voice, the underlying tension in a transmission. This was a skill Newslead, the global wire service, demanded from every member of its reporting staff, especially here at its world headquarters in Manhattan, where the competition was fierce. But the incessant noise, the confusion and pressure not to miss anything was torturous for some reporters, making a shift on the scanners the most dreaded job in the newsroom.

Another transmission from air traffic control crackled.

“EastCloud Forty-nine Ninety, we can give you Teterboro or Newark.”

The jet’s response was overtaken by static.

Damn. There’s a jetliner in trouble with injuries aboard and we don’t know where it’s headed.

Kate glared at the empty scanner room.

This is how we miss stories. This is how we get beat.

She made a quick check of the bank of flat-screen TV monitors tilted down from the ceiling over rows of empty desks. The sets were tuned to news channels with the volume turned low. Most newsrooms in New York subscribed to professional scanner-listening services that sent out alerts. Newslead had cut its subscription years ago to save money.

Nothing was breaking on TV, either. Kate picked up more dispatches.

“EastCloud Forty-nine Ninety, repeat—we can give you Teterboro or Newark.”

“Thank you, New York. We’ve got a visual on the Verrazano Bridge. We’ll keep LaGuardia.”

“Forty-nine Ninety, stand by.”

Kate did another online check. No one was tweeting anything.

This is all happening now.

Resentment bubbled in the pit of her stomach. She’d come in today on her own time to finish a feature about crime on the subways of the world’s largest cities. She was pulling together files from Newslead’s bureaus in Mexico City, Seoul and São Paulo. But she had to stop. The situation on the radios gnawed at her.

No way am I taking the blame for us missing a major breaking story because someone else failed to do their job.

Kate went to the scanner room, looking for the incident log, or at least a note from whoever was on duty. She found nothing. Again, she looked around the newsroom. One person was working in graphics. Other than that, no one was around. A portrait of an industry withering before the internet, she thought. When she’d started, one hundred and forty newspeople had worked here at headquarters.

That number was now seventy-one.

Kate went to the news assistant’s desk, just in time to see a girl barely out of her teens returning while drinking from a thermos.

“Who’re you?” Kate asked.

“Penny. I’m the new assistant. Todd was here but he went home sick.”

“Who’s on the scanners?”

“Sloane. I forget his last name.”

“Parkman. Where is he?”

“He told me he was stepping out to get scones and would be right back. Is everything okay?”

Kate rolled her eyes.

Sloane was the worst person you could put on scanner duty. All that crash-and-burn stuff is a bit too tabloid for me, but they say everybody has to do their time here, she’d overheard him tell a friend on the phone.

He’d joined Newslead a year ago between rounds of layoffs. His family was one of New England’s oldest. He had degrees from Harvard and Columbia, had worked at the Washington Post and Forbes, and had boasted about having political connections in Washington and corporate connections on Wall Street.

He always introduced himself as Sloane F. Parkman and assured you that he knew everyone and everything, right down to the best bars in Manhattan, the best shops and restaurants. He wore Brooks Brothers shirts, had a gleaming, white-toothed grin and never had a hair out of place.

How he’d gotten a job with Newslead in a time of cutbacks was no mystery. Kate knew that he’d been hired at the urging of her editor because of mutual family ties. There were no secrets in a newsroom. Sloane had half the news-reporting experience that Kate had yet he regarded her as he would an untested rookie, and as a latter-day-Dickensian working-class woman to be pitied.

I applaud you for what you’ve achieved in your life, he’d told her one day. It’s nothing short of heroic, putting yourself through that community college in Chicago the way you did—sorry I’d never heard of it. In any event, here you are. And raising a child alone. Bravo, Kate. Bravo.

That was Sloane F. Parkman.

Kate entered the scanner room with Penny in tow as new transmissions came through clearly.

“Forty-nine Ninety, this is LaGuardia tower. Are you declaring an emergency?”

Kate took notes, motioning for Penny to sit in the empty chair and use the computer at the desk.

“Penny, did they teach you how to listen to the scanners?”

“No, not yet.”

“Did Todd show you how to alert the photographers on duty and call freelancers?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—wait—listen!”

More transmissions were coming through. Kate cranked up the volume and took notes.

“Affirmative. We’re declaring an emergency. We have passenger and crew injuries aboard. Approximately thirty, some pretty bad. We’ll need a lot of ambulances.”

“Fatalities?”

“None to report.”

“Forty-nine Ninety, do you have damage to your aircraft?”

Kate was writing as fast as she could, trying to make sure her notes were clear.

“Damage to the cabin, ceiling, galley, storage bins.”

“Are you citing turbulence?”

“Negative. Negative on turbulence. We had a sys—” A burst of static drowned out part of the transmission, but the message ended clearly with “—malfunction.”

“Repeating. You’re reporting a—” more static “—malfunction?”

“Affirmative.”

“Forty-nine Ninety, you have priority clearance to land. Runway Four. Crash and Rescue will meet you at your gate.”

“Roger...visual approach for Runway Four...”

Penny turned to seek direction from Kate but the older woman had already grabbed her bag and was rushing toward the elevators.

“Penny, I’m heading to LaGuardia!” Kate shouted. “Alert every photographer and let them know we have a plane in trouble landing now!”

Three

Queens, New York

As the taxi raced through the skyscraper-lined streets, Kate searched for updates on her phone.

Nothing so far.

She set up an alert for anything that broke on EastCloud Flight 4990.

Crosstown traffic was good; there were few double-parkers and unloaders blocking the street, and within minutes they’d entered the Midtown Tunnel. It smelled of exhaust and gleamed gold from headlights reflecting on the walls. As it curved under the East River to Queens, Kate found herself taking stock of her job and her life.

Wasn’t she living her dream?

For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to be a reporter and to get her life on track. In spite of all that she’d endured, she’d managed to work her way up the journalistic ladder to a position at Newslead, one of the world’s top news organizations. The global newswire service had bureaus in every major city in the United States and in one hundred countries. Its reputation for excellence had been solidified by awards it had won throughout its history, including twenty-two Pulitzers. Newslead was respected and feared by its chief rivals, such as the Associated Press, Bloomberg and Reuters. Kate was proud to work for Newslead, but things were changing.

Fierce competition, the corrosive impact of the internet on the distribution of news and the melting number of subscribers continued to exact a toll.

Kate had to struggle not to pin her hopes on the rumor that Chuck Laneer, the editor who’d hired her at Newslead before he’d left to teach at Columbia after clashing with former management, was returning to help rebuild the news division. Chuck was gruff, wise and old-school. He could kick your butt and respect you at the same time.