Chapter 14 - THE MID-AIR INTERCEPTION
Within twenty minutes, Malachi and Grace were rushed back inside the O’Hare air traffic control tower. The watch commander, an aging veteran named Miller with silver hair and tired eyes, spun his leather chair around as the boy walked through the heavy security doors.
“Kid, you’ve got a death wish,” Miller muttered, pointing at the radar display where the rogue Gulfstream was currently tracking north at 400 knots. “The pilot on that jet is an ex-military contractor named Vance. He’s locked out our remote frequency overrides. He’s heading straight for Canadian airspace where our jurisdiction ends.”
Malachi stepped up to the master communications console. He didn’t hesitate. He picked up the heavy brass-plated desk mic, adjusted the frequency selector to the emergency guard band, and pressed the talk switch.
“Vance,” Malachi’s voice echoed clearly through the cockpit speakers ten thousand feet above Lake Michigan. “I know you can hear me. Your employers are sitting in handcuffs on the tarmac below. You’re flying alone for a company that doesn’t exist anymore.”
A harsh crack of static hissed back over the speaker. Then, a gravelly, defensive voice snarled, “Who the hell is this? Get off the frequency, kid!”
“My name is Malachi Brooks,” the boy replied, his tone chillingly calm, carrying the exact cadence of his late father. “And you’re burning fuel on a dead vector. If you cross into Canadian airspace with those encrypted drives, North American Aerospace Defense Command will intercept you with F-15s within four minutes. You won't make it across the border.”
Silence stretched across the control room. Miller watched the radar screen intently, holding his breath.
“Prove it,” Vance’s voice crackled back, laced with desperation. “Prove American Skyline is finished.”
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Malachi looked at Grace. She nodded, typing a single override command into the tower’s secure terminal, broadcasting the live news feed of the corporate executives being led into federal custody directly to the Gulfstream’s onboard navigation screen.
Ten seconds later, the blip on the radar screen banked hard to the right, reversing its course back toward Chicago.
