Fallen Sky by M. L. Buchman

Author:M. L. Buchman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

9

Miranda liked the heft of the PPE gear used by the firefighters. First she donned the thermal underwear, then the heavy Nomex suit. On top of that she wore a Kevlar bulletproof vest, a head-to-toe foil heat suit, and a breather bottle with full mask. The hard hat with a bright headlamp finished her preparation.

The suit applied a solid pressure, like an all-enveloping hug—always a good thing for an autistic. The heat wouldn’t have time to become overwhelming.

“Remember, we have to do this fast,” she called over the team radio.

All the other members of the firefighting team offered a thumbs-up. Roy had wanted to come, but his Secret Service agents wouldn’t allow it. Clarissa hadn’t volunteered.

Miranda checked her watch. “One minute.”

The IFF—Identify Friend or Foe—system didn’t broadcast a signal to be used by standard flight tracking sites. Instead, it was used in battle by military flights to avoid shooting an ally. It was also used by high-priority diplomatic flights to avoid trackability by non-military systems.

The threat had been broadcast the moment the plane had crossed over the Canadian-US border. The only sure way for the Russians to track the plane, with its distinctive Union Jack tail markings, was visually—from orbit. And they must have followed it all of the way from the UK to the US border to announce the threat at that precise moment.

Roy had conjectured that if the Prime Minister were to die on US soil, it could destroy relations between the two countries. With a population of over sixty-seven million in the UK, the loss of two lives being such a significant factor seemed all out of proportion to the mathematics. She wished Andi was here to explain it as Miranda never understood such things.

Miranda had observed that people typically followed a common modus operandi in their lives. She herself had been so ingrained within her life on her island that she was still having trouble adjusting to her temporary residence in the team house. Part of how she dealt with her autism was by building habits, simple rote routines that allowed her to do what other people did without thinking. For her, each action was conscious but, by making them sufficiently routine, they didn’t require great thought to perform.

In thirty more seconds, Buckley’s tracking predicted the opening of a one-minute window during which no known Russian satellites would have a clear view of the area in front of the CFR station house. The Russians had circumvented IFF with visual tracking. They would have little motivation to alter their to-date successful methodology—a confirmed habit.

The gap in satellite passes was not long enough to stage a rescue but, she hoped, long enough to set one up.

“Five, four, three,” she braced herself to run, “Two, one.”

They each yanked the pull-tab on a smoke flare and sent them skittering across the tarmac and under the plane. By the time the Russian satellite would have a clear view again, the plane would be enveloped in harmless gray smoke that looked like a fire.

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