"Not if the fly-by-wire flight management computer has been remotely hijacked through the avionics data-bus," Marcus replied, his voice tense. "Arthur’s technicians had access to the maintenance software for months. They could lock the cockpit out of the autopilot entirely."
"Then we have to take the flight back ourselves," Elena declared.
"Mrs. Carter, Flight 882 is already two hours out over the ocean," Detective Vance objected. "Commercial interceptors from the Air Force can't board a commercial airliner mid-flight. They'll scramble fighters to escort it, but if the controls don't respond, they will have to consider it a rogue threat!"
"We don't need to board it from the outside," Elena said, her eyes blazing with fiery determination. "Horizon Air maintains a supersonic long-range corporate intercept prototype in our private research hangar at Stewart International Airport. The SkyGuardian X."
Marcus's eyes widened. "Elena... that aircraft was designed for rapid avionics testing. It can reach Mach 1.8, but it hasn't been certified for civil operational transport!"
"It can outrun the 777 and establish a direct localized line-of-sight satellite datalink to the cockpit's maintenance override terminal," Elena countered. "Marcus, you flew naval fighters for ten years before you joined our airline. Can you fly that bird?"
Marcus Reynolds took a deep breath, adjusted his uniform jacket, and gave Elena a crisp, resolute nod.
"I can fly anything with wings, Mrs. Carter. But you are staying on the ground."
"Like hell I am," Elena snapped back, already grabbing her coat. "Julian Vance threatened my family, tried to kill me in my home, and now he is holding nearly three hundred of my passengers hostage. I am the CEO of this airline, Marcus. We fly together."
Chapter 18
Before they could reach the airfield at Stewart International, Elena’s phone buzzed with an urgent priority call from the chairman of Horizon Air’s Board of Directors, Lord Alistair Finch.
Alistair was an old family friend who had sat beside her father for decades. If there was anyone on the board Elena trusted, it was him.
Elena answered via her hands-free headset as their armored convoy tore north along the New York highway toward the private airfield.
"Alistair, I can't talk long," Elena spoke hurriedly. "Flight 882's flight computer has been compromised by Vance’s operatives. We are heading to Stewart to intercept the telemetry manually."
"Elena, my dear girl, stop what you are doing immediately," Alistair’s voice came through the speaker, trembling with profound agitation. "You must turn back. Pull the emergency brakes on this crusade."
Elena frowned, a cold knot forming in her stomach. "What are you talking about, Alistair? There are nearly three hundred lives at risk on that plane!"
"And there are tens of thousands of employees whose livelihoods depend on the survival of this corporation!" Alistair shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "Julian Vance contacted me twenty minutes ago. He has offered us a settlement. He will restore the automated navigational protocols to Flight 882, allowing it to land safely in Shannon, Ireland—on one condition."
"What condition?" Elena asked, though she already knew the horrific answer.
"You resign immediately. You hand over all files recovered from Arthur Sterling's office. And you sign an irrevocable power of attorney transferring executive control of the airline to the board's interim committee."
Elena closed her eyes for a split second, feeling the agonizing sting of betrayal.
"You knew," Elena whispered, her voice dripping with venom. "All these years, Alistair. You knew what Arthur Sterling was doing. You knew about Julian Vance and the Apex Consortium."
Silence hung over the line for three agonizing seconds. When Alistair spoke again, his voice was hollow, stripped of all warmth.
"Your father was a dreamer, Elena. He believed in ideals. But ideals don't pay for fuel, landing slots, and union pensions. Vance provided liquidity when the market collapsed. Arthur was simply the bridge. We kept the airline alive!"
"You sold our soul to a criminal cartel!" Elena roared back into the receiver. "You allowed them to load unmanifested containers onto flights carrying mothers, fathers, and children! And now you want me to surrender so you can keep your dirty blood money safe?"
"Elena, be reasonable! If you don't agree, the 777 will run out of fuel over the Atlantic! Vance will not blink!"
"Listen to me very carefully, Alistair," Elena said, her voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying whisper. "When I land this aircraft and bring those passengers home, you will not have an office to clean out. You will not have a pension to collect. You will sit in the exact same courtroom as Arthur Sterling, and I will personally watch the guards snap the cuffs around your wrists."