Dead Love

33



The CDC in Atlanta was getting updated reports from several NYC hospitals that there were significant numbers of patient arrivals, presenting with severe flu-like symptoms. The emergency departments were doing their best to stabilize these patients, keep them isolated, and treat them with anti-viral medications and antibiotics. Dr. Ambrose was notified of these cases since most seemed, in some way, to be connected to the Express Subway platform. Concern was mounting that this was atypical of a normal flu outbreak. The spread was rapid, and the severity and onset of the symptoms were extraordinary.

Dr. Ambrose contacted the research lab in Jersey. They were working on the samples from the various patients stricken with the unknown virus. So far, they had nothing to report. He knew the FBI lab was looking at the canister and its possible connection to the virus in question. He was hoping that the canister would answer some of their questions and even perhaps diminish their concerns. Additional samples would be arriving in Atlanta later in the day.

So far, there had been no definitive identification of the presumed virus. The CDC was tracking the outbreak. This virus had, no doubt, affected many who had had gone home and exposed their families. Some had gone to work, exposing coworkers, or many had left the city via plane or automobile, taking the virus with them. He heard on the news about an airliner making an emergency landing in Baltimore with a sick crew member. He wondered if there might be a connection. As he was thinking of the ramifications, there was a quiet knock on his office door. It was Amy, his assistant. “Dr. Ambrose, Mayor Donnelly of New York City is on line one.” Thanking her, he picked up the phone.

“Dr. Ambrose speaking.”

“One moment please,” said the operator. After a few minutes, the Mayor came on the line.

“This is Mayor Donnelly speaking. Is this Dr. Ambrose?” he asked.

“Yes, this is Ambrose.”

Donnelly, not hesitating, said, “We need your help, Dr. Ambrose. First of all, do you have anything to report regarding the subway incident samples?”

“No, sir. We hope to know something soon,” Ambrose answered. “Our lab in New Jersey will let me know as soon as they have an identification. More samples will be studied here. We are waiting for their delivery.” He looked at his watch, noting it was 11:00 a.m. “These identifications can take time. And no reports from Quantico, as yet.”

“The regional director of Homeland Security, Tom Bennett, has called a meeting for noon today in my office. Could you possibly conference in? There will be representatives present from various agencies, including the police commissioner, Health and Human Services, FEMA, the NYC Metropolitan Transit Authority, and the FBI, including two agents working on the case. The Deputy Mayor, Mary Henderson, will be attending, as well. We need your input, Dr. Ambrose.”

“Yes, of course. Let’s go over some agenda items,” answered Dr. Ambrose.

The Mayor said, “Fine, thank you. Our assistants will sort out the conference call.” They continued their discussion, with Ambrose jotting down critical points. He would be prepared and hoped to have some test results.

Ambrose called his assistant, Amy, into his office. “The Mayor’s assistant is on the phone. Please arrange the conference call that will connect me to the noon meeting.”

Amy nodded, “Yes, sir,” and returned to her office.

Ambrose dialed extension twelve.

“Paul Miller speaking.” Miller was the logistics and distribution manager for emergency supplies.

“Paul, Ambrose here. We may need large quantities of antiviral medications. Please inventory what is available and their locations. The epicenter of the possible outbreak is New York. I need to know what we have and how soon we can transport these supplies. Please call me back as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I’ll see what quantities are available.” Paul knew what this meant. He had heard the news reports coming out of New York. Nothing had been substantiated but he suspected the worst.

“This is classified,” Ambrose said and then added, “Please get back to me as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Paul.

“One more thing, Paul. Please alert Dr. Rudolph. As soon as we ID the virus, we will begin the manufacture of a vaccine. Rudy needs a heads-up on this,” said Ambrose. “We need his team ready by this afternoon. We will need all drug companies’ cooperation in this effort, as well. Please notify those on our list of approved manufacturers to be on standby.”

“Yes, Dr. Ambrose, I’ll call Rudy first.”

“Thanks,” said Ambrose.

His next call was to the tracking center. The CDC was getting reports indicating numerous patients with severe influenza-like symptoms were being admitted to medical facilities in various parts of the country, but the majority of cases were in the New York and New Jersey area. He would have updated counts and locations for the noon meeting.

Dr. Ambrose put his head in his hands. He thought of the months it would take to manufacture a safe and effective vaccine, with all the phases and trials necessary. He could only imagine how many would be dead by then.


34



Suzy drove back to her office as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to attract attention to her lengthy absence. The lab director, Dr. Eric Adams, was out of the office for the afternoon, something to do with “moving his college age son back home from the university,” code known around the office that he was meeting Karen from Human Resources for a “noon-er.” His car was still gone from the parking lot, so she knew that he wouldn’t be aware of her extended absence. His mind would be “distracted” anyway. “What a pig,” she thought. It was the perfect time to implement the next step of her assignment.

His office wasn’t far from hers. Most staffers were busy, and it wasn’t unusual for Suzy to be in and out of Dr. Adams’s office, sometimes several times each day. She walked down the empty carpeted hallway and, with a quick look, opened his unlocked office door and stepped inside, locking the door behind her. It was a well-appointed office and richly decorated, befitting his title, which, if life had at all been fair, should have been hers. Dr. Adams had made sure that she, the “Chink broad,” wouldn’t get the promotion.

What a prick. He was attractive, and she had dated him steadily for several months. He was Mr. Suave, and she fell for it. Damn, how could she ever have ever fallen for him. She had believed his every word and thought he truly loved her. He had promised her further advancements, how they would work together on fascinating life-saving discoveries, never seeing or believing, or wanting to believe, who he truly was. How abruptly she had found out the truth.

Suzy put hostility aside for the moment, needing full concentration, and stepped behind his desk. She opened the laptop, which was sitting on a small computer stand, just to the right of his desk. She was well acquainted with his habits, after many months of observation, and knew he always left his computer behind during his trysts. After accessing the network, Suzy logged on to the secret e-mail account she had set up from his laptop. She wrote a new e-mail, with the brief, memorized message, and saved it as a “draft” making it appear to be a “dead drop.”

All of this took only a few minutes. She shut down the computer, wiped the keys with the handkerchief she had placed in her lab coat pocket, closed the laptop, and wiped off the lid. She turned the light off in his office. His tall oak bookcase was against the wall on the left side of his desk. She grabbed a book from the shelf, The Study of Virology, a reference she frequently borrowed. As Suzy opened the door, she glanced around to make sure no one was in the hall. Suzy walked down the hall to the coffee room, carrying the book. She poured some hot water for tea, grabbed a teabag, and walked back to her office, waved hello to her assistant, Beth, who was talking on the phone in the office adjacent to Suzy’s.

“That went well,” she thought. “Bastard!” she said under her breath.


35



George and Mark were headed to ECBC, the Edgewood Chemical and Biological Center. They wanted to speak to Dr. Adams, the lab director as soon as possible, regarding the possible toxin or agent in question. They needed to know who had access to the delivery, storage, and testing of the dangerous biological agents and toxins. The more information they could obtain, the sooner the perpetrator or perpetrators would be found.

The drive had started out slowly. George was making notes as Mark made his way through the city. He placed the red flashing light on top of his car to ease the way through traffic snarls. He got to I-95, hooked up with the state police car, and headed south. Traffic was steady, and they were making good time. The siren helped.

Occasionally, George would glance over at Mark and study his face and strong forearms as he drove. He was intense, and she could tell he was thinking about the case. He was going over the evidence and trying to piece things together, but this particular event was of vast magnitude, with consequences difficult to comprehend. They were both determined to find the person or persons responsible.

Mark followed the Maryland State Police escort to the secure entrance of the Edgewood Lab. Mark gave a wave of thanks to the trooper who responded with a nod as he pulled away. Two well-armed MPs flanked the twelve-foot high wrought iron gates in front of the Edgewood complex. One of the guards approached the car and asked Mark for ID.

After looking it over, he said, “Wait here, sir.” He went into the security booth, spoke on his radio, and then approached Mark’s car again.

“Agent Strickland, your escort will be with you any moment. May I see your ID, ma’am?” he asked. George passed it to him, and after looking it over, he handed it back, saying, “Thanks.”

“Please open your trunk, sir.” Mark pushed the release on the dashboard.

The guard stepped to the rear of the car and, a moment later, shut the trunk. He returned to the booth and opened the gate. A staff car was waiting inside, and Mark followed the car to the Security Administration Building. He pulled into the space alongside the staff car, and Lieutenant Randall, wearing her dress blues, got out, introduced herself to Mark and George, and requested that they follow her. They were shown into a small lobby of drab military décor and signed in at the desk. Lieutenant Randall said she would be their escort and gave them some background on the Edgewood Laboratory.

George and Mark followed Randall as she drove to the main lab offices, not far from where they were. Lt. Randall parked in front of the building, and after Mark parked the Mustang, Randall led them through double glass doors into the reception area. The lieutenant stepped aside as George showed her ID to the receptionist and asked to speak with Dr. Adams. The receptionist said that Dr. Adams was out at the moment, but he should be return shortly if they wanted to wait.

“Yes, we’ll wait,” said George, with some irritation. George noticed the armed military guards standing at attention near the entrance. The Edgewood lab had a high level of security presence, understandably so. The receptionist, Stacy, offered them coffee or a cool beverage, and both opted for the second.

“What time does Dr. Adams normally return from lunch?” asked Georgiana, as she was handed the tall glass of iced tea.

“It varies,” said Stacy. “I think he had an errand today, so he might be late.”

George continued, “Is there anyone else we could speak with regarding your facility’s procedures and functions?”

Stacy said, “Dr. Chen is the assistant director. Perhaps she is here and could speak to you, if that would be helpful.”

“Yes, please,” Georgiana said.

From Georgiana’s experience, assistants often shared more information, having less at stake.

Stacy said, “She just got back from lunch. Let me check.”

After a few minutes, Stacy hung up her phone and said, “Dr. Chen will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks very much,” said George.

While waiting for Dr. Chen, Mark and George went over their list of questions. Lieutenant Randall was staying close by, but out of hearing range. George asked Mark how they should start the interview.

He kept his voice low, saying, “Let’s start by asking if she has heard of the patient admitted to the Edgewood Medical facility. We can go from there.” George nodded in agreement.

Stacy ushered them to the conference room, not far from the reception area. Randall followed but stood outside the doorway. The conference room was well furnished, with a lamp table, telephone, a tall fluted corner lamp, and a large conference table, with seating for twelve. A large framed aerial photograph of the APG was hanging on one wall.

“Please have a seat. It should only be a few minutes.”

When Stacy returned, accompanied by Dr. Chen, she made introductions, asked if they cared for more refreshments, and then left, closing the door behind her.

George and Mark were caught off guard by Dr. Chen’s beauty and elegant appearance. Mark was clearly intrigued by her knockout good looks. The white lab coat over Dr. Chen’s black linen sheath dress couldn’t hide her spectacular figure. The spiked open-toed black patent leather heels revealed turquoise nail polish. The shoes highlighted her sexy legs, as well. But her tone was serious, and she seemed somewhat stand offish. But why not? It isn’t often that the FBI would want an interview, but from the morning’s news reports, she should have expected an investigation.

They stood and shook her hand. “It is a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” said George.

“Please have a seat.” Suzy motioned toward the chairs as she sat at the head of the table, closest to the door. Dr. Chen then asked, “How can I be of assistance, Agent Reilly and Agent Strickland?”

“I guess you’ve heard of the recent admission to the medical facility here at the Proving Grounds of the New York City subway maintenance worker with a possible exposure to a poisonous toxin or biological agent?” asked Mark.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “He is in serious condition.” She paused. “At this time, our chemists are working on the specimens. We expect a preliminary analysis soon.”

Georgiana said, “We have reason to believe that there was a terrorist attack at an Express Subway Station, with one worker in question, and possibly others, exposed to a toxin or possible weapons grade agent of an unknown nature. Our agency received a possible warning that such an attack would take place. Evidence found at the scene, currently at the Quantico lab, leads us to conclude that this is, in fact, the most probable scenario.” George spoke firmly. “Due to the seriousness of what we are dealing with, we must be frank.”

“Certainly,” said Dr. Chen, her blank facial expression unchanged, but Mark noticed light moisture forming above her upper lip.

Suzy said, “Perhaps you should discuss this with Dr. Adams. He will return from lunch soon.”

Mark was staring at her and said, “We would like to speak with him when he returns. In the meantime, give us some background on what goes on here at Edgewood, and if there is any likelihood that a toxic agent could have been stolen from this facility and used in such an attack?” He waited.

Dr. Chen was adamant. “Absolutely not. No materials of such dangerous nature have been removed from our secure containment center. We are a military facility and a leading research campus. Our renowned staff have impeccable reputations. There has been no breech in our security. Our chemists, along with those from the CDC are currently working jointly on specimens possibly relating to the ‘incident’ in New York City. As soon as we have information, we will notify Dr. Ambrose and Homeland Security Director Bennett, as has been requested.”

She stood up. “Now, if you have any further questions, I suggest you speak to Dr. Adams or check with the CDC.”

Mark and George stood, realizing that this meeting had just come to a screeching halt.

“Thank you, Dr. Chen,” George said.

Chen said, dismissively, “I must check on the progress of the testing. Please excuse me.”

Mark’s eyes followed her as she walked out.

George looked at Mark and said, “I guess the meeting is over.”

George said, “Find out everything you can about Chen.”

Mark nodded agreement, but something wasn’t right with this chick.

As Suzy walked back to her office, Beth intercepted her. “The lab just called. They tried to reach Dr. Adams, but he is still not back from lunch.”

“I will handle this, Beth, thank you.”

Suzy sat down behind her desk and called Adams on his private cell phone number. “I am not covering for him,” she thought. “Let the Director handle it.” Bitterness swept through her as she listened to the unanswered rings.


36



After Dr. Chen’s sudden departure, Georgiana and Mark remained in the conference room, deciding their next move. George began to speak, and Mark motioned that they should step outside, not wanting to risk being overheard. As they left, George thanked the receptionist, mentioning they would return shortly. They asked her to have Dr. Adams call them as soon as he returned. Stacy jotted down George’s cell phone number. Lieutenant Randall followed them outside and got into her car. They were getting used to their “shadow.”

“Let’s go over this place thoroughly,” said George. “Call Wally and ask him to come here ASAP and request that he bring a forensics investigative team. I want computers, all videos of deliveries, the lab inventoried, everything.”

George was convinced something wasn’t quite right.

She said, “Dr. Chen was a little defensive. I want background checks on everyone, starting with Chen. I am going to check in with Fran and get an update. Maybe she knows something about the virus or whatever the hell we are dealing with.”

Mark got on his cell phone and started things rolling with Wally. George was still talking to FBI Manhattan Field Office Director Fran Jacobs, when Mark got in the car and started the AC. It was steaming hot in the Mustang. George completed her call and then opened the door, took her jacket off, and laid it on the backseat.

Mark noticed that her blouse was damp, clinging to the curves of her breasts. Damn, she was beautiful. And smart. What a turn-on.

George said, “The meeting hasn’t started yet. As soon as it does, Jacobs will call. Dr. Ambrose from the CDC will be conferencing in, as well, and we’re going to coordinate operations. Director Bennett is there, as well as the police commissioner, a FEMA representative, the MTA, and perhaps some others. We’ll know soon what’s going on.”

George continued, lifting her long hair off her neck, “Get this. Fran told me that the Century flight that made the emergency stop at BWI has another sick crew member. She was admitted to Miami University Medical Center. She has the same symptoms as the other flight attendant, Mrs. Ryan, who is being treated at Johns Hopkins.”

Mark looked at George and said, “Not good. Maybe Homeland Security should hold that plane on the tarmac for a while?” Mark said, more as a statement than a question.

“Makes f-ing sense to me,” she answered. The air conditioner was starting to work. George’s cell phone rang. “Yes, Wally, what’s up? Fast work. Thanks.”

George turned to Mark and said, “Wally checked out Chen on a hunch. Did you know the NCS has been investigating Dr. Chen?”

Mark said quietly, “Bingo.”


37



The Mayor’s Office

Georgiana and Mark were sitting in Mark’s car, waiting for Jacobs to call. The AC was on high, keeping them cool. The meeting would be starting momentarily. George had briefed Jacobs earlier on their meeting with Dr. Chen and her NCS status, and Fran agreed that the lab should be scrutinized thoroughly. The facility housed many deadly viruses and toxic biological agents, therefore a logical starting point.

Dr. Ambrose came on the line, and introductions were made. It took only minutes for George and Mark to be conferenced in.

The Mayor began the meeting, asking each department head to report on any developments in their areas. Everyone acknowledged Mark and George, the FBI field agents presently in charge of the investigation, noting their current location at the Edgewood Laboratory.

Dr. Ambrose interrupted the meeting, excusing himself to take an urgent call.

Everyone heard him say, over the speakerphone, “Are you sure?” And after a pause, he said, “I know he is in isolation. Yes, we are checking on our inventory of anti-viral medications. How is your stock?” A few moments later, he responded, “Good. Thank you. I’ll get back with you.”

When he came back on the line, he said, “I just received information regarding the lab studies done on the patient most recently admitted to the Edgewood Medical Facility, Joey Caruso.” The room became still.

“The maintenance worker from the subway, admitted to the Edgewood Medical Facility, has a virus, an exact replication of the one recently transported to the APG, a possible weaponized version of H5N1 virus, commonly known as bird flu. It was mutated by a team of virologists at,” he hesitated, “a yet unnamed research facility, outside the US. This mutation allows the virus to pass from human to human, as opposed to its normal transfer from bird to human. The recent transport of this virus to the Edgewood Lab was for the purpose of further characterization and development of a treatment to prevent the transmission of the virus.”

Everyone froze while listening to the scientific jargon, trying to digest its full meaning and implications.

“This virus is airborne transmitted, with flu-like symptoms occurring normally within three to four hours of exposure. Those suffering from the virus can develop varied symptoms. Breathing difficulties can develop with the onset of pneumonia. The immune system is threatened, and death can but does not always occur within a certain time frame, from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, or perhaps longer, depending on the condition of the host or patient.”

Dr. Ambrose concluded, “Ladies and Gentlemen, in simple terms, we are dealing with a probable avian flu pandemic of uncertain proportion and scope.”


38



Mike was sweating, tired of sitting in traffic. The air-conditioning was working, but not well enough. The sun was beating through the windows, and in standstill traffic, the heat was building.

The radio announcement was an alert about the heavy traffic.

“Due to the subway closure, all New York City residents are being asked to walk, take alternate transportation, or remain home until further notice. There is no reason for panic, and we ask that those planning on traveling into New York, do so only if absolutely necessary. There is no further information that we can report at this time. We will now continue with our regular programming.”

“Crap,” said Mike. It was getting closer to noon. He decided to head back home and call Johns Hopkins. He would try to get there tomorrow. Perhaps he could at least talk to Maggie or possibly see her. She was probably improving by now after getting hydrated. Maybe he was over reacting. There was nothing on the news about a bomb or any suspicious finding. Since 9/11 everyone panicked over the least little thing, himself included. He wanted to call, using his cell phone, but decided to wait until he got home. Making a turn in this traffic would require all of his attention. It would be a long crawl home, but he looked forward to getting there, being with the boys, especially if something was said at school that might scare them. He knew that would be what Maggie would want.

It took him a while to turn around, but he managed. It was just as busy going toward their apartment but at least he knew he would get there in a reasonable time frame. Pulling up in front of the building was a relief. Arnie was still there, standing under the awning, staring down the street.

“Nope, no news yet, Mr. Ryan. Guess it was impossible to drive out of town?”

“Yes, Arnie, it is a mess out there. I gave up but will try again tomorrow.”

Mike hoped so anyway. He had lived in NYC a long time, but the uncertainties and the lack of information was beginning to raise many questions. As soon as Mike got into their apartment, he dialed Johns Hopkins, asking for the ER. Finally he was connected and asked for Jane Phillips.

“This is Jane Phillips,” she answered. “May I help you?”

“Yes, this is Mike Ryan. You called me earlier this morning, about my wife Maggie. Can you please tell me how she is doing?”

“Mr. Ryan, your wife is in isolation. She is stable, and we have ordered lots of tests, and so far, the results have been inconclusive. But it appears that she has a virus of some type. Her lungs are congested, indicating pneumonia. She has a high fever, and we have placed her on antibiotics as well as an anti-viral medication. She is sleeping, and we are administering oxygen, to make her more comfortable.” She was blunt but reassuring.

He said, “When can I bring her home?”

Ms. Phillips hesitated but said, “We can’t be sure, Mr. Ryan. She is no doubt highly contagious, and we are monitoring her condition carefully.”

“May I see her if I come there tomorrow? I tried to get out of the city today, but traffic was heavy.”

Phillips said, “You can look at her through a window, for now. We are being cautious. I am sorry,” she answered. “But if she improves, you may certainly visit her. I suggest you call before you make the drive.” He was quiet.

Nurse Phillips said, “Mr. Ryan, she is getting the best of care. Please rest tonight, and let’s hope she is better tomorrow so you can talk to her, at least on the phone.”

Mike said, “You have my phone number if anything changes. Right?”

“Of course, Mr. Ryan.”

“Thank you, I will call later this evening. Please tell her I love her and that I will see her tomorrow.”

Mike hung up the phone, upset and confused, and just wanted one thing, to be with his wife. But he also understood she must be pretty sick, and somehow he felt a chill, feeling something was very wrong. He shook it off and knew he had to keep it together for the boys. He went to the family room, adjoining the kitchen, and turned on the TV set, hoping to hear any further news about the possibility of a citywide lockdown and the subway incident.


39



Captain Wesley kept the air-conditioning and ventilation systems running at full capacity while on the ground as they were waiting for the standby flight attendants to sub for Terry and Maggie. They couldn’t fly without the FAA approved number of flight attendants for this equipment. Both standbys had checked in at operations and would arrive momentarily. Boarding would be slightly delayed, but hopefully they wouldn’t be too late getting back to New York.

Flight Service was still cleaning the plane, loading fresh supplies, warm meals, and restocking the liquor drawers as the passengers on Flight 943, from MIA to LGA were waiting at the gate. Nearly all seats were booked.

John and Allen were in the cockpit, doing their pre-flight cross check, waiting for boarding to begin. They were concerned about Terry and Maggie, having received no further reports of their conditions. The hospitals were contacting the families, and John and Allen would be notified if there were updates.

John requested that maintenance check out the ventilation system and run it at maximum velocity to make sure it was thoroughly flushed with fresh air. No other passengers or crew, to his knowledge, had symptoms similar to Maggie’s and Terry’s, but he didn’t want to take chances. They had checked with flight control for any news coming out of NYC, but so far, nothing conclusive, though the Mayor was to address the city momentarily. Traffic tie-ups and the usual announcements of “nothing to report” continued. However, there was speculation that there had been a possible terrorist attack on the subway but nothing definitive.

John and Allen called their wives upon arrival in Miami, reassuring them that things were fine and that they would be home as usual. Both were at home, watching the news, and didn’t feel overly concerned. They were used to living in New York, where there were frequent alarmist news reports. Upon learning about the two flight attendants who had gotten sick, they did feel some concern. But they were “go with the flow” personalities, used to the life of military and commercial pilots, and there was always something to talk about when their husbands came home from a flight. John’s wife, Dee Dee, had been a flight attendant back when they were called stewardesses, and nothing fazed her. She had carried many a barf bag in her flying days and handled more than her share of in-flight emergencies, from unruly passengers to dangerous turbulence and several emergency landings.

Captain Wesley still had that feeling of foreboding, an instinct he had learned when flying as a military pilot. Something wasn’t right, and the fact that both Terry and Maggie were seriously ill was not a coincidence. But it would be business as usual as he pushed his negative thoughts aside. He was eager to get this “baby” back in the air, heading home.

He asked his copilot. “Okay, Allen, what do you think? The dispatcher says we are cleared to go. Your opinion?”

Allen, in his easygoing manner, said “Why not? Nothing to indicate that we stay. I’d like to get home tonight if possible.”

John nodded. “Agreed.” But he couldn’t shake his uneasiness.

Allen turned to the doorway as the two FAs arrived, chatting about their first flight to NYC. They were fresh faced and bubbly, and the other crew members were waiting in the forward galley to greet them. After quick introductions, it was decided that the two novices would work in the rear cabin, with Justin and Jackie. Mary Ann, the more experienced of the crew, would man first class.

Captain Wesley and First Officer Allen met the two new girls as they passed the cockpit. Soon after, the gate attendant came out and got clearance to start boarding, and it was “standard operating procedure” at least for now.

Flight 943 nonstop to LaGuardia was scheduled for departure at 1:00 p.m. EDT. It was 12:30 p.m., and boarding would be starting momentarily.

Captain Wesley, without saying a word to Allen, picked up the mike and buzzed the gate agent, who answered right away.

“Yes, what is it, Captain? You ready for boarding?”

“No, don’t let anyone on the plane. Scrub the flight. This plane is going into a service holding area. I won’t put any of our passengers or crew at risk until we know fully what we are dealing with.” Allen turned, looked at John, shaking his head, negative.

“What the f*ck?” thought Allen.

“What should I tell the passengers?” asked the gate agent, irritated..

“You can tell them that there is a mechanical problem and reschedule them on another flight, or tell them anything you want. But as captain, I have full responsibility for the safety of my crew and passengers, and it is my call. Got it?” He looked at Allen and could see he had Allen’s support.

“I don’t know if we have a problem, but if we do, I don’t want to find out about it at thirty thousand feet.”

“You got it, Captain,” said the agent.

John’s next move was to notify operations. They weren’t going to like it, but tough shit. He told Allen to tell the crew what was going on. An overnight in Miami wouldn’t be considered tough duty. John wanted to check on Terry and Maggie, anyway. He would check with the tower about where he could park the plane. It should go into an isolated holding “box” or other secure area of the airport.

Things could go from bad to worse fast, and he had to listen to his gut. It had gotten him through some dicey moments when flying C-130 transports in the air force. He wasn’t going to ignore it now.