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    Flight 370
    Flight 370
    Flight 370
    Ebook287 pages3 hours

    Flight 370

    By Greg Strandberg

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Flight 370 mysteriously disappeared in March 2014. The world wondered, and then forgot.

    One group didn’t forget, however – those that hijacked the plane. They’re directed by the top fringe of the world’s ruling business elite. Together with the dark American shadow government, they send Flight 370 to where it can do the most destruction.

    An international game of cat and mouse develops between the forces of good and evil, and the final showdown threatens to change the New York skyline forever. Find out what happens in this thrilling political adventure!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGreg Strandberg
    Release dateAug 10, 2015
    ISBN9781513066868
    Flight 370
    Author

    Greg Strandberg

    Greg Strandberg was born and raised in Helena, Montana. He graduated from the University of Montana in 2008 with a BA in History.When the American economy began to collapse Greg quickly moved to China, where he became a slave for the English language industry. After five years of that nonsense he returned to Montana in June, 2013.When not writing his blogs, novels, or web content for others, Greg enjoys reading, hiking, biking, and spending time with his wife and young son.

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      Book preview

      Flight 370 - Greg Strandberg

      FLIGHT 370

      The Shadow Government Series: Book II

      Greg Strandberg

      Big Sky Words, Missoula

      Copyright © 2015 by Big Sky Words

      D2D Edition, 2016

      Written in the United States of America

      This is a work of fiction based on real events. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      Connect with Greg Strandberg

      www.bigskywords.com

      Also by Greg Strandberg

      Fiction

      The Jongurian Mission

      Trouble in Jonguria

      The Jongurian Resolution

      The Warring States

      The State of Chu

      The State of Qin

      Tarot Card Killer

      Black Walnut

      Room 223

      The Hirelings

      Wake Up, Detroit

      Ale Quest

      Nine Amusing Tales

      G.I. JOE: The Dreadnoks

      G.I. JOE: JOE Team-13

      G.I. JOE: After Infinity

      G.I. JOE: To Its Knees

      Florida Sinkholes

      Bring Back Our Girls

      Lightning

      Fire

      Dulce Base

      Colter’s Winter

      Many of the characters in this novel appeared in Book I of the Shadow Government Series, Bring Back Our Girls

      Table of Contents

      Part I – The Operation

      1 – Signing Off

      2 – A Bumpy Ride

      3 – Touching Down

      4 – Sri Lanka

      5 – On the Ground

      6 – A Done Job

      7 – Cheap Surroundings

      8 – Up and Running

      9 – Turning Her Around

      10 – Fire on the Runway

      Part II – Pulling Back the Lens

      11 – Shooting Down a Plane

      12 – Word in Washington

      13 – A Lift Down

      14 – Malevolent Forces at Work

      15 – Cleaning House

      16 – Racing to Friends

      17 – The Twelve Apostles

      18 – Into Iraq

      19 – Smoke-Filled Rooms

      20 – The Praetorians

      Part III – The Front Lines

      21 – A Botched Beheading

      22 – Hidden Identities

      23 – Next Moves

      24 – The Spread

      25 – An Old Haunt

      26 – Lining up the Dominoes

      27 – Rallying the Troops

      28 – Lone Wolf

      29 – Hitting Home

      30 – Detractors

      Part IV – The Missing Piece

      31 – The Changing of the Guard

      32 – Meltdown

      33 – Hearing the News

      34 – White Smoke

      35 – A Roman Holiday

      36 – Somali Slums

      37 – All Aboard

      38 – Eskan Village

      39 – Coming to America

      40 – On His Tail

      41 – Arriving in New York

      42 – Into Thin Air

      About the Author

      Preview of Tarot Card Killer

      Part I – The Operation

      1 – Signing Off

      16 Miles into Unrestricted Airspace

      Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

      Saturday, March 8, 1:19 AM

      All right, goodnight.

      First Officer Fariq Abdul Haamid slipped off his headset and stared out the vast blackness that was the Gulf of Thailand below.

      It’s in Allah’s hands now, Captain Zahare Ahmmad Shah said as he reached over and flipped off the Boeing 777’s transponder signal.

      Fariq looked over at him, his eyes narrowing in distaste.

      Allah has nothing to do with it, never did!

      Oh? Zahare laughed. Then how’d we bring down those towers the first time?

      Fariq scoffed. There’s only one now.

      Putting up one where there used to be two doesn’t make the Americans any less stupid.

      No, Fariq said with a sigh, no it doesn’t.

      The men fell into silence after that as the Gulf unfolded below them. They’d just passed south of Kuala Terengganu a short time ago, meaning Malaysia was behind them. And that meant their former lives were behind them as well.

      Zahare glanced over at Fariq. His co-pilot was young, just twenty-seven, and he’d had a full-life ahead of him. The man was staring off into the blackness out the windows, and Zahare just hoped the doubts he was having weren’t too bad.

      The pilot smiled slightly, and would have chuckled had he been alone. Doubts? he thought. I’ve been having doubts for years!

      While Fariq was young and living with his parents, Zahare was fifty-three. Flying was his existence, but he wouldn’t be able to do it forever, that was for sure. And it certainly wouldn’t fill the holes in his life – the holes put their by the rich imperial American dogs!

      Since 1981 he’d been flying for Malaysian Airlines, and they’d been good to him. But his country hadn’t.

      Why did Anwar have to get arrested today? Why couldn’t they have waited? Why–

      We’re coming up on Pulau Redang, Fariq said.

      Zahare was pulled from his thoughts and looked to his right. Sure enough, there were the lights marking the distant island off the Malaysian coast.

      Fariq was looking at him, and Zahare gave him a firm look.

      Are you ready for this?

      Fariq held his gaze for a few moments more.

      Don’t you want to at least warn the stewardesses? he asked.

      We’ve been over this, Fariq – it’ll be easier with them gone.

      Fariq nodded. Then I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

      Zahare reached over and clasped him on the shoulder. He didn’t expect much more than that from the young man, and was honestly glad he’d gone along as far as he had. He knew what to do if that changed, and didn’t for a moment plan to hesitate if that eventuality should occur.

      Zahare brought his hands back to the controls.

      Brace yourself, he said, then pulled up.

      The Boeing 777 shot up quickly and gasps could be heard coming from the passengers. Banging could be heard next, though whether that was from the stewardesses, the food and drink cart, passengers, or baggage was unclear.

      40,000 feet, Fariq said, his eyes locked onto the altimeter.

      Zahare gritted his teeth. He’d always made it difficult on the simulators back home, but shooting the plane straight up at such high speed was proving harder than he’d expected. At that deadly height the low oxygen level was barely enough to keep the engines running, creating the possibility for a stall.

      43,000 and climbing, Fariq said.

      Zahare’s knuckles whitened on the control handles and all he could think was ‘don’t stall, don’t stall...don’t stall!"

      45,000 feet! Fariq said, an edge of excitement in his voice, but also fear. Level her out!

      Turning west, Zahare responded.

      Allah be with us! Fariq shouted as the plane finished its turn west.

      Diving! Zahare shouted

      He pushed the controls forward as far as they would go, and beside him Fariq did the same. The plane shot forward as if someone had grabbed it by the nose and jerked it down. Within moments they were diving at a nearly 90-degree angle.

      37,000! Fariq shouted.

      The ocean waters rushed up at them, although all they could see was blackness. Zahare was thankful they were flying at night – the sight of the ocean rushing up would likely have given him a heart attack.

      32,000! Fariq yelled out.

      They were getting closer, but the plane was beginning to shake. Deafening screams came from the 239 people onboard. Both pilots drowned them out as best they could.

      26,000! Fariq’s voice came.

      They were moving faster now, and the screams from the passenger cabin lessened as many passed out or simply died, either from the shock of the dive, the g-force involved, or a combination of both.

      21,000!

      Zahare and Fariq pulled at the controls with all of their might.

      Pull! Zahare shouted out as sweat beaded his forehead.

      The plane’s nose began to come up, and then a few moments later they had the aircraft leveled out.

      20,000 on the nose, Fariq said, nodding toward the altimeter.

      A move like that could only be a hijacking, Zahare said.

      Fariq nodded. We’re coming up on Kota Bharu.

      Roger, Zahare said. How long?

      Wait for it...wait for it...and...we’re over.

      Zahare nodded. Bang Lang National Park was just over the border with Thailand and about the emptiest place over land they were going to find. And empty places meant empty spaces – no radar.

      Everything as we planned, Zahare smiled a few moments later as the lights beneath them vanished away into the high hills and undulating plains of the park.

      Fariq frowned. How many do you think are still alive?

      He nodded his head back over his shoulder towards the door to the passenger cabin. Screams, and now increasingly crying, could be heard coming from there.

      "Hard to say until–

      Captain, what’s going on? a woman’s frantic voice suddenly filled their ears. "People are hurt...people are dead...captain we need–

      Zahare pulled the headset from his head and tossed it down to the floor behind him.

      Do the same, he said to Fariq.

      But we need–

      Do it! Zahare shouted.

      Alright, the young co-pilot said as he slowly slipped the headset from around his neck and dropped it onto the floor near Zahare’s. It’s just that we need to know if anyone’s trying to contact us!

      Why? Why does it matter? Zahare said. Already he was getting tired of this young fanatic he’d been paired with.

      Because I don’t want some loose thread coming back to haunt me a month from now, the copilot sneered.

      Neither do I, Zahare thought as he looked out the corner of his eye at Fariq.

      Fariq frowned. "Are they really going to be sold into the sex trade?"

      The women, I don’t know what’ll happen to the men.

      And the children?

      Zahare shrugged, and was about to say that it didn’t matter again when Fariq’s hand shot out and pointed at the navigation system, a blip from their instruments catching his attention.

      There’s Bang Lang, he said, referring to the large body of water 20,000 feet below them.

      Turning north by northwest, Zahare said.

      He started the turn that would take them up through the unpopulated and dense jungle areas of Thailand, each well out of radar-range. They’d simply skirt along the northwestern border with Malaysia all the way to the Andaman Sea, coming out south of Hat Chao Mai National Park. Zahare had put the course together months before, nearly a year ago in fact, when he’d first started planning the mission seriously. When his backers had gotten involved they’d gotten him that flight simulator he’d always wanted. After that the pieces just fell into place.

      Setting course, Fariq said as he reached over and pressed the button on the plane’s navigation system.

      Zahare watched his co-pilot’s hand move back, as if in slow-motion. He smiled at him, and Fariq smiled back. Now!

      Zahare reached his right hand down to the side of his seat and then under. His fingers lit up on the hilt of the knife there and he pulled it up and stabbed it at Fariq. The blade bit into the young man’s throat, and Zahare pulled it out quickly and plunged it in again, then a third time before ripping his hand back.

      Fariq’s hand’s immediately shot up to his throat and the blood shooting out all over the cockpit controls. The man’s eyes lit upon Zahare with a frantic look, then they began to glaze over as the loss of blood took effect. Within moments he was slumped over to the side, his seatbelts the only thing keeping him in his chair.

      Zahare smiled. Now it was just–

      Hey! someone shouted from the other side of the cabin door at the same instant fists began pounding on it. What’s going on in there? We’ve got people hurt out here!

      Zahare reached down and took the earplugs from his pocket. He didn’t intend to be bothered for the rest of the five-hour flight – not until they landed at Pothana Bay.

      2 – A Bumpy Ride

      Hey, what’s going on in there? We’ve got people hurt out here!

      It’s no use, another of the passengers said. He’s not letting us in.

      "That Muslim bastard!" a shout came from further back.

      Mike Jackson frowned and turned back from the cockpit door to see who it was, but the majority of faces staring back at him were just frantic Chinese people. Many others were simply lifeless bodies with sightless gazes fixed ahead. Most others. He shook his head and squeezed his hands open and closed into fists a few times. All the banging on the cabin door had made them sore, although not as sore as he felt at their situation.

      Maybe we can knock it down with something, pry it open somehow...something! a frustrated passenger said, one of the only other Americans Mike could see.

      What’s your name? Mike asked the older man. He had long blond hair going gray, a hippy-like appearance, and nervous eyes.

      John...John Chapper, the man said.

      Mike nodded and offered his hand. Mike Jackson. Mike had black hair going gray at the temples, as well as several deep lines etched into his face. Most would take him as older than his 45 years.

      Well this is a helluva fix we find ourselves in, Mike.

      You can say that again, Mike said with a sigh, but I don’t think we’ll be knocking out that door. He felt around it’s edges then turned back and nodded. They make these things a lot stronger now, after...

      John nodded. Let’s not think about it.

      There’s no way we could reach New York from here anyway, Mike said after a moment. Although I can’t say I’d mind if we did – I was taking a flight there from Beijing.

      San Antonio myself, John said.

      Well you two can forget that, one of the Malaysian or Chinese passengers (Mike couldn’t tell them apart) said in broken English.

      What’s going to happen? one of the stewardesses called up from the seat she was in. Her head was wrapped in a small towel, although the gash she’d received when the plane had dropped sharply was bleeding through the cloth.

      They’re going to kill us, that’s what’s going to happen! an older woman wailed from a few seats back.

      Hey! Mike shouted, pointing his finger at her. That attitude’s not gonna help anyone. The woman slumped back down in her seat to cry, and Mike turned back to the stewardess. How many of you guys are still with us?

      The stewardess nearly broke out in tears at the question, but somehow managed to choke them back.

      Just me and Melinda, the woman said.

      Mike nodded. He was surprised even that many were still alive, what with the turbulence they’d suffered. The climb they’d experienced hadn’t been too bad, and probably wouldn’t have caused so much damage if the stewardesses hadn’t been serving drinks at the time. They’d handled that pretty well, even with the carts speeding down the aisles to smash into the back of the plane (Mike was sure at least one of the male flight attendants had been killed when that happened). It was the dive shortly after, however, which had done the most damage. After leveling off and then entering into a turn the plane had shot down, nearly at a 90-degree angle, at least as far as Mike could tell from where he’d been strapped into his seat. Not all had been so lucky. The seatbelt sign had gone off shortly after takeoff and several people had been up and walking about. Even more had been sitting without their belts on. When the plane shot down all those standing were simply thrown forward to the bulkheads of their particular cabin. Mike saw the people in his cabin smash hard against the wall there, and many didn’t move after their heads left large red stains. The carts had tumbled back down the aisles, if you wanted to call rolling and then flying through the air ‘tumbling.’ The worst were the passengers that’d been too tall or had been looking backward, their heads out into the aisle. Some were lucky enough to just get smacked, their heads pushed back to the seat. Some were killed with the blow. The worst were the decapitations. Three rows ahead of Mike a taller European man had had his head severed clean-off. Screams had erupted from the women beside him as his neck had shot blood into the air like those geysers Mike had seen as a kid at Yellowstone.

      The screaming had been unbearable, or at least Mike had thought so until many people suddenly shut up. The woman next to him had done that and he’d looked over to see her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open – she’d had a heart attack and died. Mike had never been a religious man, but he bent his head forward and was about to start praying at that point when the plane suddenly began to pull up again. A deathly silence had fallen over the passengers after that, most in a state of shock, and feeling complete surprise that they were still living. Then the crying, wailing, and screaming had started up again, and passengers began to get up. Mike had rushed forth from his second-class cabin all the way up to the front of the plane, and had been the first to reach the cockpit door. Several minutes later and all he’d accomplished was bruising his hands and meeting a fellow American.

      It could be that the pilots are dead, John said.

      It could be, Mike nodded, but then why would the plane have leveled back out?

      Auto-pilot? another passenger said, a short Chinese man with fishbowls for glasses.

      Mike shook his head again. I don’t think so.

      "Well, how do you know, really? a woman asked behind him. What do you know about planes?"

      Quite a bit, actually, Mike said.

      You a pilot? John asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

      Mike laughed. No, no...nothing like that.

      Then what are you? the woman asked, hands on hips.

      I work for the Department of Homeland Security, Mike said.

      An Air Marshall? John asked, his eyes wide.

      Paper-pusher, Mike said.

      John frowned. "Oh."

      Hey, I didn’t always–

      "Wode dianhua! Wode dianhua!" someone shouted out from behind them.

      Mike gave a puzzled look to the stewardess.

      Chinese, she said, someone’s phone is working.

      John’s eyes went wide as he heard that, and he whipped out his own cell phone and then powered it on. After the tell-tall Nokia sound he hit a few buttons, then frowned.

      There’s no signal.

      Not this high or far out, Mike said. You need to be in range of a cell tower for those to work, and once you get further than forty-five miles they’re worthless.

      But they’re on! another passenger shouted out in broken English. They work!

      Mike shook his head. Just because a cell phone’s on doesn’t mean anyone’s tracking it.

      But they could! John said.

      Mike shrugged. I guess, but why would they want to?

      Because we’ve been hijacked! someone shouted out.

      We don’t know that, Mike said. What just happened could have been some control problem, a loss of cabin pressure, even some kind of medical emergency.

      Neither of the pilots are answering or opening the door, so they could have died in the dive.

      Didn’t we just go over this? John said with frustration to the Asian woman (he couldn’t tell them apart either, even after four months of living in Kuala Lumpur).

      If they’re not answering but they’re still flying it means one of two things, someone else yelled out, another European it looked like.

      What’s that? John asked.

      "A, the pilots are dead but somehow

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