Part 15 (1/2)
The voice came back in her ear with barely a trace of static and a slight Malaysian accent. ”SQ12 on visual approach for runway two-five right. I have a U.S. Airlines Boeing 777 just clearing two-five right for the taxiway. Over.”
”Roger that. The triple seven will be clear before you land. Over.”
”Roger, and thanks for your help, LAX Control. We have a full load. Over.”
”Welcome to LA, SQ12,” Victoria signed off.
”LAX Control, this is Southwest 3567 from Albany, New York. Over.”
Victoria glanced at her charts and her progress strips.
”Southwest 3567, continue your holding pattern. Expect an approach for two-five left, but we got a bunch of internationals waiting, and they're lower on fuel. Over.”
”LAX Control, this is Southwest 3567. Our UAS just got triggered. Please confirm the reason for this. Over.”
Victoria involuntarily looked out of the windows, scanning the sky for the plane.
”Please repeat your last, Southwest 3567. Over,” she said with a sudden rasp in her voice.
”Southwest 3567 confirming activation of in-flight UAS. We have no reason to believe there are any unfriendlies on board. Please advise if you are aware of a situation. Over.”
”d.a.m.n,” she said. ”Taylor!”
The UAS, or Uninterruptible Autopilot System, was a federal requirement in all commercial pa.s.senger jets that flew over American soil. Developed after the 9/11 attacks, it allowed ground-based flight controllers to a.s.sume control of an aircraft, flying and landing the plane using the autopilot and auto-landing system. Once activated, there was no way of retaking control from within the plane.
Taylor was at her right shoulder in a second.
”What have you got, Dean?”
”UAS on Southwest 3567 just got activated. A Boeing 787. Did we do that?”
”Not on my instruction.” He spoke rapidly into a handheld radio. ”Are we activating Ua.s.s on any of the planes, Simon?”
The voice sounded thin and tinny through the small speaker in the handheld. ”Ah, that's a negative, Taylor. We have been instructed to avoid all computerized systems until further notice.”
”Where are they?” Taylor asked, picking up a pair of binoculars off the desk.
”Southwest 3567, please confirm your course and alt.i.tude. Over,” Victoria said.
The reply came immediately, and the captain's voice was calm, even curious, rather than worried. ”This is Southwest 3567. We are currently pa.s.sing flight level three-two-zero and heading three-zero-zero. Where are you taking us, Control? We don't have the fuel for a long flight. Over.”
”They're heading for Santa Barbara, maybe Lompoc Airport,” Victoria said.
”Lompoc is a single-runway commuter airfield. They can't handle a 787,” Taylor said.
”Well, after that,” Victoria said, ”it's straight out to sea.”
”What the h.e.l.l is going on?” Taylor asked.
”We got bogeys in the wire,” Dodge shouted. ”Inside the building!”
”Shut it down,” Jaggard said calmly. ”They're all over us.”
”We were the target,” Vienna yelled. ”Everything else was just a diversion. They were going after us all along. How the h.e.l.l did they get through our firewalls?”
”Isolate the building,” Jaggard said. ”Shut it down and sterilize it. Bring it back up when we're clear.”
”I'm still okay,” Dodge said. ”I'm staying up, see if I can battle it out.”
”I'm with you,” Sam said. ”I got infiltrated, but I saw it as it happened and blocked the intrusion before they could get a foothold.”
”Don't risk it,” Jaggard said. ”Shut everything down, isolate the building, and we'll disinfect-” His cell phone rang, an urgent pip, pip, pip pip, pip, pip. He grabbed at it and listened intently. When he hung up, his face seemed a shade or two whiter than before.
”They're after the planes,” he said. ”Air traffic control in Los Angeles has just lost its flight-control systems.”
”How did they get in there?” Sam asked.
”Through here,” Dodge said quietly. ”Once they busted us wide open, they got access to all areas. Wherever we can go, they can go.”
Jaggard swore violently behind them.
”We can't shut down now,” Dodge said with uncharacteristic vehemence. ”By the time we get back up, this country will be a sc.r.a.p heap.”
Sam concentrated on his screens. Oily black fingers dripping with poison were sliding through the network around him. He built a protective screen surrounding his and Dodge's computers, a wall of code, and lobbed fragmentation grenades over it at the intruders whenever they impinged, scrambling the data on the disk sectors they were occupying. So far it was holding.
”I want to know how they got in,” Jaggard was shouting. ”Who's still up?”
”I'm on it,” Socks called out from across the room. ”Zombie is keeping me together, just.”
”Get into that firewall,” Jaggard ordered. ”Find out how they breached it.”
”Shoot! Blue screen of death.” Bashful's voice sounded to Sam's left. ”I'm gone. Sorry, guys.”
”Dodge, you gotta find out what they're using,” Jaggard said. ”I want its DNA and I want it now.”
”I'm on it,” Dodge said. ”Shut up and let me do it.”
”There's a gaping big tunnel under the firewall,” Socks shouted. ”That's how they got in.”
”How the h.e.l.l did they get a tunnel through our firewall?” Jaggard asked. ”That's supposed to be invincible!”
”It's in the firmware,” Socks called back. ”Looks like an exploit.”
”Can't be an exploit!” Jaggard said. ”Must be a bug.”
”Nope, it's a trapdoor,” Socks said. ”It's deliberate, not bad coding.”