Truth is stranger than fiction... (Part II)

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Somewhere in the Mediterranian

It was dark in the control room of USS Abraham Lincoln. Only green lights from the display panel lit the smoky air. She was a fine Nimitz class supercarrier; any captain’s pride, currently Captain Anderson’s. He was at his pipe, as always. The First Officer and other men in the room watched closely along with him at the big round dials of the radar.
“How are they doing now?” barked Captain Anderson.
“Falcon 1 – report status” the junior at the com unit spoke with hesitation. Only ten minutes before the Captain’s arrival he had seen his panel showing data no officer had seen before.
“This is Falcon 1. We are on course, bearing zero niner zero, holding speed nine-two-five-zero. We have structural damage, but we are stable and in control. Please advise.”
“Holy shit! That’s over Mach 12!” One of the other juniors whispered.
“Bring them around on course three-nine and get them on deck”, the Captain ordered.
“Falcon 1 – you are instructed to change your heading to vector three-nine and reduce air speed for final approach. You are cleared for landing.”
“Roger that.”

The blinking dot on the radar screen began to change its path as ordered, and suddenly the speaker in the room crackled to life –
“May-Day May-Day! This is Falcon 1. We have a rupture in the engine casing. We’re going in a spin! I… can’t reach…”
“Eject-eject-eject!” shouted the Captain. He knew he didn’t have to; his best men were in there; but that made matters even worse – he couldn’t afford to loose them.
“The thrust.. can’t reduce.. yaw rate is..”
Everyone in the room knew the consequences of a sudden and uncontrollable yaw rate – it was when an aircraft spun around its vertical axis as though someone had whirled it rapidly. It was the most dreaded situation of a pilot; in many cases he was never able to reach his ejection handle right in front of him and pull it, due to the high g-forces pushing him back in his seat with a force many times his own weight. Here, it would have been much more.
“The throttle.. not resp.. we.. hydrau.. fail..”

There was a huge static in the communication. Then it was over. There was a final beep on the radar screen before the dot disappeared. The room fell silent. Dead silent. Captain Anderson took off his cap and walked to his cabin.
“Set course for rendezvous with the Admiral’s convoy.”
“I I Sir. Setting course. ETA – thirteen hours.”

The following morning Mrs. Andrew was awakened by a phone call.
“Mrs. Andrew?”
“Yes.. May I know who’s speaking?”
“I am Captain Briggs from the Naval Headquarters. I’m afraid I have a bad news for you. Your husband Flight Lieutenant Pete Andrew was killed in an accident during a
routine exercise last night. I’m sorry Mrs. Andrew. ”
“No! He was a very fine pilot.. He couldn’t have.. It’s got something to do with that secret operation now isn’t it? Tell me.. I want the truth!”
“Please calm down Mrs. Andrew. The truth is, your husband was a very fine pilot indeed, but accidents do happen. I’m sorry but I am unaware of any secret operation.”
“I knew it all along.. I had told Pete not to sign up for anything dare-devil.. Why can’t you just tell me?! He had told me he was working on a.. a different project.. but he wouldn’t utter anything more..” (she started crying)
“Mrs. Andrews please control yourself. We are all sorry for your loss. Please accept my deepest condolence. I shall get in touch with you shortly for the funeral service.”
Mrs. Andrew kept the phone down.

Truth is stranger than fiction... (Part I)

A telephone rang in the distance...
He woke up from a tired sleep, quickly glanced over the big fluorescent dial of his Timex. 0313 the watch displayed. Cursing slightly he picked up the receiver.
"Agent Smith.. hello? who's.."
"Stop. Read tomorrow's paper.. right now."
"Is this a joke? who the hell is.."
The line went dead.

Smith had had enough instances of silly pranks played by drunken teenagers; but something told him this was not it. There was a distinct urgency in the hoarse voice. Urgency or not, how does one read the next day's paper?! He stood up quietly and walked to the front door. Not to his surprise, a paper was half slid under the door before he came. He peered through the eye hole, then opened the door slightly, looked in both directions, picked up the half folded paper and shut the door behind him as he came in.

He was now wide awake. He sat on his bed and flicked the light switch on and started going over the headlines page by page. He had read the date on the paper while it was lying down in the door itself; the phone caller was not in a mood for pranks. The first page had a big photograph of what appeared to be the remains of a crashed airliner in some corn field, an article about US-Russia technology exchange deal, a photograph of the local rugby team with a trophy and some other news. Subsequent pages had an equally wide array of news, nothing that would otherwise catch the eye of the general reader. There was however, one pamphlet of a newly opened shopping complex which fell out of the paper as Smith turned pages. It had photographs of various items on sale the coming weekend, along with prices.

This was what he was looking for - the photograph of a mobile phone had been encircled; the exact same model that he owned, out of ten other phones in the advertisement. Someone had obviously done their homework well. In the pamphlet were encircled some letters out of seemingly unconnected words. Smith knew. He lifted the receiver and started pushing the numbers corresponding to each letter's number in the English alphabet.
Before he had finished, a recorded voice announced "Diese Zahl ist nicht mit dem nationalen Telefonnetzes...... This number is not listed with the national telephone network...... Diese Zahl ist nicht.." He hung up. "Not so easy Michael!" he murmured to himself. There were virtually endless possibilities with these letters. But first he had to be sure he was not going to scuffle the haystack with the needle right in his finger; he reached under his pillow. Feeling the familiar metallic touch of his Beretta he moved over to pull out his cell phone next to it. He started pushing the numbers in the same sequence again; only this time there was no message heard till the last digit. There was a tone; of a connected call. He smiled a little.