Flight 12 to Rome: A Nick Bracco Novella by Gary Ponzo

Author:Gary Ponzo
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: JK Publishing
Published: 2015-06-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

It was 3:36 AM, and FBI agent Sam Pettit was filling the printer with paper when the phone on his desk buzzed.

“Sam,” came the male voice, “I got an air traffic controller in Iceland says there’s a plane out of position over the Atlantic. Line 1204.”

Pettit took the two steps to his desk and pushed the extension. “Agent Pettit.”

“Sir, this is John Kurtze with Isavia here in Reykjavik and I believe we’ve lost an aircraft.”

Pettit dropped down into his chair and ran a hand though his hair. “Tell me about it.”

“Flight 12 out of JFK left just past midnight your time with a destination of Rome. They’ve missed two waypoint call-ins and are not responsive to our calls.”

“Where was their last known location?”

“The last positive radar position had them heading directly on their flight path, but once they left radar, they’ve been unavailable.”

“Shit,” Pettit muttered. He yanked open his desk drawer and pulled out a fresh legal pad. He began scribbling notes as he asked, “Any distress calls?”

“No sir.”

“Any pings?”

“No sir.”

Sam tapped his pen on the legal pad. He was a pilot himself and the FBI’s aviation director. He understood the consequence of silence over the Atlantic. The pilot likely turned off the transponder and possibly turned the narrative into a calculated decision. Unless the aircraft broke apart somehow and that’s why Pettit was called in the middle of the night. Both scenarios leaned toward acts of terrorism.

“You call the FAA?” Pettit asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Pettit considered the sequence of events. “You called the FAA and yet you decided to make another call to me. Why?”

“Sir,” Kurtze said, taking a moment to put it together, “I have a controller here who claims the last high-frequency communication was weak. He felt the plane was out of position when the call was made.”

Pettit’s pen was tapping his legal pad a feverish pace. Kurtze was giving him opinion. He was suggesting the pilot of Flight 12 had deliberately called in a false waypoint check-in. If Kurtze gave that information to the FAA, his opinion might be construed as subjective and therefore not given the proper respect.

“Did you tell the FAA about this weak signal?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And?”

Silence for a few seconds, then, “Sir. That’s why I called you.”

Pettit nodded to himself. The FAA was a large immobile organization which had protocols stacked on top of one another until the obvious fell into place. There were mechanical problems and communication failure to consider first. The FBI, however, had more sinister opponents to deal with, and in a situation like this, minutes became extremely valuable.

“Listen,” Pettit said, “I need you to email me the flight plan along with the last radar contact.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pettit was on his feet now, looking out the window in his Washington, DC, office as if he might see the lights of a wayward plane heading his direction. “And Mr. Kurtze, I want you to have every controller searching for any unknown objects on their radar. You see any anomalies at all, you call me immediately.

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