A Sky Full of Terror

A Men In Black Dresses Adventure

By

Valentina Michelle Smith

September 11, 2001

The smell of jet exhaust was always present at the terminal. It was a smell that brought back fond memories to Alice Scott. It reminded her of the flight line and morning launches. She would walk around her C-5 to inspect it before she would climb up to the flight deck and take her seat. It was the pilot's responsibility to ensure that the aircraft was flightworthy before taking off. She remembered the thrill of revving up the four powerful jet engines. She would carefully taxi to the end of the runway. Then she would advance the throttle to full military power. The adrenaline rush was a formidable narcotic as the aircraft accelerated to V1. Pulling back on the yoke, she would bring the nose up off its landing gear as the mighty craft accelerated to V2. Then the main gear would lift up as the largest military aircraft in the world slipped the bounds of earth and leaped into the sky. Let the fighter boys brag about their F-15's and F-16's, she would think. It took a real man with real balls to drive a Galaxy!

She watched with a touch of envy as the flight crew made a walk-around inspection of their Boeing 757. How luck they are, she thought. Today they get to fly this behemoth of an aircraft. True, the 757 was not in the same league as a Galaxy, but it was still a massive machine that took the same sort of intestinal fortitude jockeying a C-5 required. Alice originally planned to become an airline pilot after her stint in the Air Force. Funny, she reflected, how her life diverged so radically from the life she had planned.

The obligatory period of Scott Delgado's active service was rapidly approaching its end. Scott had sent his resume to several airlines and already had a couple of enticing offers to choose from. That’s when he received the letter from a Mr. Peter N______ asking him to interview for an undescribed position with an unnamed organization. Scott was intrigued, in part because Mr. N______ was a well-known person of considerable influence. He made an appointment and interviewed with Mary Risberg at an office building close to his base. That meeting changed Scott's life forever.

Ms. Risberg opened a manila file folder and read from a dossier. The document detailed intimate aspects of Scott Delgado's personal life, aspects that most of the world including the Air Force knew nothing about. Scott led a secret life, a life of femininity. In the privacy of his off-base apartment, Scott would transform himself into his feminine alter ego, Alice. As Alice, he would roam cyberspace and occasionally venture out-of-doors for a nighttime stroll.

He thought he had been very careful in hiding his duality from the world. Apparently he had not been careful enough. But Risberg did not attempt to blackmail Scott or punish him for any military regulation he might have broken. Instead, she offered him a job in one of the most covert agencies in the U.S. Justice Department. Scott would have to give up his former existence and live a completely feminine life, providing cover and support for transgendered people vital to America’s interest. But this was strictly a voluntary act. Scott was free to decline without consequence, save that his memory of this meeting would be permanently erased.

The day Scott left the Air Force he kept a second appointment with Mary Risberg at a nondescript building located somewhere in a major metropolitan area. You may have seen this building many times without thinking much of it. It was just one more glass-and-concrete monolith rising from the asphalt terrain of the Urban Jungle.

Of course, if I ever told you its exact location, I would have to kill you.

Scott Delgado officially disappeared from the planet that day, and Alice Scott began her training in America's most covert agency. It had no name and officially did not exist. But for the thousands of transgendered people whose work was vital to America, this agency provided support, protection, and cover.

These memories washed through Alice's mind in a matter of seconds. She never let her attention wander for long. Today she was detailed to provide protection for a high-ranking official of the Defense Department. The protectee had been in Philadelphia visiting friends and was traveling to San Francisco on business. What the world did not know was that this particular official was also going to be making the rounds of the active crossdressing community in the city by the bay. Alice and her partner, Lisa Darling, would be this man's constant companions as he visited the various shops and clubs of San Francisco en femme.

Alice was dressed conservatively in a black business suit with tan hose and mid-heel pumps. She recognized her partner immediately but made no motion to acknowledge her. Lisa had accompanied their protectee through the check-in and security process. Alice considered the airport security to be lax to the point of being laughable, but she cooperated with the agents as her carry-on bag and oversized travel purse were x-rayed. Lisa was dressed a little more casually in a black jumper with a dark blue T-shirt and Birkenstock sandals. Lucky her, Alice thought, I get to fly cross-country in pantyhose and heels. Strange how she once would have given her right arm to do just that. What was once an exhilarating adventure was now an annoying part of her job. But what a job, getting paid to crossdress in public! That made her smile.

The first boarding call was announced. Alice, Lisa, and their charge were booked in First Class. Alice retrieved her carry-on baggage and queued up in line, her boarding pass at the ready. The attendant at the doorway smiled as Alice passed through to the Jetway and up to the aircraft’s hatch. A smiling flight attendant checked her pass and directed her to her seat. She stowed her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment and retrieved a book from her travel purse. She had just become interested in the Horatio Hornblower series. This long flight would afford her the opportunity to put a decent dent in the latest installment of her newfound passion.

Before she stowed her purse she examined its contents. It all looked quite ordinary, much like the contents of any woman's purse. But several of the items were actually high-tech devices so cleverly made as to fool the security devices used to screen passengers. So easy, she thought. I just hope the bad guys don't have access to stuff like this.

She kept one eye on the cabin as she read, splitting her attention between the passenger cabin and the adventures of C. S. Forester’s naval hero. The passenger load was light. There were only about a dozen or so persons in First Class. So much the better, she thought. She could spend more time on her novel and less time worrying about possible threats to her protectee.

The hatch shut and the Jetway detached itself from the aircraft. Alice remembered an Arlo Guthrie concert in which Arlo described the Jetway as the Time Tunnel. The image in her mind of the Time Tunnel attaching itself to the aircraft made Alice laugh to herself. The 757 was pushed back from the gate. The two powerful jet engines slung under the wings now revved up as the plane gently moved forward to the taxiway.

Alice now put her book down to look out her window. She still felt a tingle of exhilaration as the prodigious craft made its way down the taxiway and onto the runway. Traffic was light this morning. Only two planes stood ahead of the 757. Now there was one. And finally the bird turned onto the runway for its own takeoff.

Alice now envisioned herself at the controls of this beast. Given clearance to take off she advances the throttles sharply. The vibration of two jet engines at full power now shook the aircraft as it lurched forward. She felt the nose wheel lift. "V1," she said to herself. The plane picks up even more speed until the force of lift overcomes the force of gravity and the aircraft leaps skyward. "V2," she said as the main gear left the runway. Now she feels the whine of hydraulic motors and the dull thud of the landing gear stowing. She feels the aerodynamic stresses of course correction in her very bones as the pilot skillfully steers the bird into a course over the river. Noise abatement, she thinks to herself. From her window she watches as the flaps retract into the wings. They are climbing to their cruising altitude.

The second-most exciting part of flying was now over. Alice located her charge across the aisle from her partner Lisa . He had moved his seat back to a reclining position and had closed his eyes to get a little sleep. Alice went back to her reading. It would be a while before snacks or breakfast was served. Time was a luxury on these coast-spanning flights.

They had been airborne thirty minutes when all hell broke loose.

It started with two men getting out of their chairs and approaching the flight attendant. She had started taking drink orders and was standing in the aisle when the two swarthy men advanced on her. Before she could say a word the first man raised a metallic object and brought it down on her chest. She screamed as he repeated this action several times, driving the point of the weapon into her body. The flight attendant slumped to the floor bleeding from several wounds. As the other attendant stood frozen in fear, the attacker raised the bloody blade of his penknife. The second man held up a package wrapped in brown paper. "This is a bomb!" he shouted in heavily accented English. "Do as we say or..." He left the consequences unspoken.

Two others now joined the first man who had stabbed the flight attendant. They kicked down the cockpit door and entered, closing the door behind them. There was the brief sound of struggle and several strangled cries ending in a sickening gurgle, then silence.

As Alice stared at the moustached man with the brown package her training took over. Standard hijacking protocol was to cooperate with the hijackers and get them to whatever place they wanted with as little loss of life as possible. Either she or her partner would try to contact the agency as quickly and as secretly as possible. She slowly and quietly retrieved her purse from the compartment under the seat. She opened it, removed a few items, and placed them in her pockets. She mentally reviewed her training.

The door opened. One of the men shouted something in a foreign language and then shut the door. The bomb holder now shouted in English. "Do as I say!" he shouted. "Get up, one by one, and go to the front. Sit there. You first," he said, pointing to Alice. "You, get up slowly!"

Alice rose from her seat. "Hands up!" the hijacker shouted. Alice raised her hands. As she did, she started to cry. "Please, don't hurt me," she sobbed. "I'll do what you say, but don't hurt me!"

"Move! Now!" the hijacker snapped. Tears were streaming down Alice's face as she slowly made her way to the aisle. "Please," she cried, "I, I, I need to use the bathroom! Please! I think I'm getting sick!"

The hijacker regarded Alice with contempt. This painted harlot was a prime example of the moral degradation of society at the hands of the Great Satan America. That America would permit its women to expose themselves so lasciviously, adorn themselves so wantonly, and allow them to freely mingle with men, even to the point of working for salary only disgusted him further. But today the cleansing would begin! The first blow in a holy war of moral outrage would be struck!

"Go," he said to her, "but be quick!" As she passed the hijacker slapped her with the back of his hand. A few passengers started to rise, but the hijacker brandished his package. Alice held back her tears as she made her way to the lavatory.

Once inside Alice locked the door and examined herself in the mirror. Her crying act had made her eyeliner run and a red welt was welling up where the hijacker had backhanded her. She silently swore revenge on the bastard. Then she removed one of the items from her pocket.

It looked just like a plastic compact, even down to the pressed powder and puff, but it was in reality a sophisticated communications link. Alice opened it and spoke into its mirror. "Sierra Charlie Oscar Three Niner Five Oblique. Go secure," she said.

Complex voice recognition algorithms built into the firmware responded to the code sequence and opened a communications channel to agency central. At the same time, agency central applied a one-time-use randomly selected 512-bit encryption key, scrambling the transmission. A listener without the key would be unable to hear anything but gibberish. This channel was only to be used in the direst of emergencies. "Mary's Dress Shop," said the voice in reply. "How can we help you?"

"This is Galaxy," she said, using her code name, "I have a priority situation, code pink."

"Stand by one, Galaxy," said the voice. Alice's reflected image in the mirror disappeared as the plasma display assumed its normal function. It now showed the image of the agency's director, Mary Risberg.

"Galaxy this is Mother," she said. "What's your situation?"

"Mother, we have a hijacking in progress. I am in the lavatory. Amazon is still with Schoolgirl. Three bad guys have entered the cockpit and a fourth is holding a package he claims is a bomb. The bad guys have killed one flight attendant. I thing there is a fifth bad guy in the rear. It is also possible that the flight crew has been killed."

Alice could see that Risberg's normally calm exterior had been shaken. "Galaxy, listen carefully. This is not a normal hijacking. Five flights have been hijacked this morning, all taking off from East Coast airports and bound for the West Coast. Two of them have already crashed into the World Trade Center towers. The other three appear to be on a course for Washington, D.C., including the flight you are on."

Mary paused, as though she were trying to compose herself. Then she continued. "Alice, honey, this appears to be a coordinated terrorist attack on America. We have no idea who might be behind it. You and Amazon are to take whatever action is necessary to prevent that aircraft from carrying out its mission. And Galaxy, you, Amazon, and Schoolgirl are expendable. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Alice answered. She swallowed hard, understanding exactly what Risberg had just told her. If she could not somehow subdue the skyjackers, she was to destroy the aircraft before it could carry out its mission.

"God speed, Galaxy," said Risberg. "Mother out." The connection broke.

Alice closed her compact and put it back in her pocket. She then removed a small metal cylinder from her other pocket. It appeared to be a breath spray. As with Alice’s compact, appearances were deceiving.

Alice paused before leaving the lavatory. She dampened a paper towel and wiped away the eyeliner that had run down her cheeks. In doing so she removed some of her foundation and beard cover. Damn, she thought, I should have had my beard permanently removed. I don't have any foundation with me. She opened her compact and applied some powder, hoping it would be adequate. If one were to look closely, one might discern a blue tinge on Alice’s cheeks and deduce her true sex. She would have to chance blowing her cover. Taking a deep breath, Alice opened the door.

The skyjacker was still holding the brown package. He had made all of the passengers move to the forward seats with the men on one side and the women on the other. He turned around and scowled. "You! Get to a seat! You take too long. Move!" He motioned toward a seat.

It’s now or never, Alice thought. She lifted the breath spray and let a blast loose right into the skyjacker's eyes. Startled, he dropped the brown package. Now he was enraged! That painted American strumpet would pay for this insult! When he was in Paradise this bitch would be one of his houris and serve him for eternity!

As quickly as they had come, all thoughts of rage left the swarthy man. He felt as though he was floating in a sea of tranquil waters, suspended in the clouds without a care in the world. It was so peaceful here!

To Alice and the passengers in First Class, it seemed like the man simply switched off. He wore a stupid grin, stood still, and did not utter a sound. Good, thought Alice. "Lisa," she said, calling to her companion, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. "That was some stunt you pulled."

"Tell me about it! My heart is still going like a trip-hammer. But we still have work to do. We have to stop these guys."

Alice turned to the passengers. "Folks," she said, "we're Federal agents. I don't have time to explain right now, but we are in grave danger. I'm going to have to ask you to keep still and not panic while my partner and I try to sort this mess out."

Lisa looked at the curtain separating First Class from Coach. "There's another bad guy in the back. Should we take him out?"

"Yes," said Alice, "then we take the cockpit. We have to stop this plane at all costs. Orders from Mother."

Lisa did not wait for an explanation. She just said, "Okay. Get to the seat by the curtain while I try to lure the skyjacker forward."

Alice stood behind the bulkhead while Lisa parted the curtains. One man brandishing a brown package had moved the passengers to the rear of the cabin. "You have to come here," she said to the skyjacker, "your friend is sick. I think he might be dying."

With a scowl on his face, the bearded man strode forward. "No tricks!" he shouted as he entered the First Class cabin. He felt dampness on the back of his neck as Alice sprayed him with the powerful psychoactive drug. Then he stood still, wearing the same stupid grin as his companion.

"Sit down, buddy. You need to take a little nap," said Lisa. The bearded man complied, taking the first available seat. He closed his eyes.

"Just what is that stuff?" said one of the passengers.

"We call it 'Gas,'" Alice answered. "It's a particularly nasty drug that induces a state of euphoria and extreme suggestibility."

"Why don't you rig the plane so that this stuff can flood the whole cabin? That might stop these skyjackers."

"Because that much Gas would be lethal," said Lisa. "It would kill everybody in the cabin."

"Listen, folks," Alice said, "I've been in communication with my superiors and this isn't just a hijacking. These men are part of a terrorist plot to attack America. Two of these teams have already destroyed the World Trade Center. This plane is on a course for Washington D.C. I don't know what their intended target is, but these creeps obviously have no regard for their own lives. We have to re-take control of this aircraft. Failing that, we have to destroy it."

A hushed gasp. One of the passengers began to pray aloud. Another said, "We're with you, sister. But how do we do it? Do you want us to rush the cockpit?"

Alice said, "Nothing that extreme." She turned to Lisa. "Lisa, do you have your Gas with you?"

Lisa produced a small perfume spray bottle from her pocket. ""I was going to try something like this myself. What do you have in mind?"

"A little subterfuge," Alice said. She turned to the first hijacker, the man whose eyes she had sprayed. "You!" she said, "I want you to call your friends. Tell them you need help out here."

The short dark-skinned man arose and pounded on the cockpit door. He shouted something in a foreign language. An answer emanated from the cockpit. There was an exchange of words, then the door opened.

Lisa sprayed the man emerging from the cockpit door right in his face. He fell forward as the Gas took effect. Then Lisa and Alice both burst in to the cockpit. Lisa took the left side and Alice took the right, each spraying the men flying the 757. The Gas soaked into their skin and they were effectively neutralized.

"Get up," Lisa ordered them. They stood. Now Lisa and Alice had a chance to survey the carnage in the cockpit. Both pilots and the navigator had been killed, their throats slashed with box cutters that now lay on the flight deck. The cockpit smelled like a charnel house from the dried blood. Alice nearly lost her breakfast but managed to fight down the nausea. "You bastards!" she shouted.

She grabbed one of then by his hair and dragged him away from the flight controls. She still had her gas cylinder in her hand. One spray, she thought, that’s all it would take. One little spray and the total dosage would be lethal. The son of a bitch would be dead. And he would die happier than his victims had!

Lisa read the expression on Alice’s face and immediately understood. "Don't do it, sis," she said. "If you do it, I'll back you up all the way. I'll tell the world it was an accident caused by the struggle. But think for a minute. Can you live with a death on your conscience?"

"Can I live without one?" she replied. "Why should I let this scum stay alive when he killed these men? Their only crime was a strong work ethic! Tell me why I shouldn't exterminate this rat like the vermin he is."

"Because we're the good guys, hon. If you kill him now, you'll be putting yourself on his level. You're better than that, Alice. You're worth a million of him."

Alice hesitated. Then she lowered her hand. "Go sit down in the cabin," she said to him. Like a zombie, the skyjacker meekly walked back to the cabin and sat down.

Alice surveyed the cockpit. "Lisa," she said, "take these other two creeps back to the cabin and strap them in. Then get my flats out of my carry-on."

"Flats?" Lisa asked. "You want to change shoes?"

"I have to," said Alice as she sat in the pilot's seat. "I don't think I can work the rudder pedals in heels."

"Wait a minute. You are actually going to try to fly this thing?"

Alice grinned. "You bet your ass I am. I used to do this for a living."

Lisa took the two remaining men back to the cabin and strapped them in. They would remain stupidly calm for several more hours. Alice surveyed the instruments and controls. The 757's control panel was not very similar to the C-5's, but there were enough similarities that she felt comfortable.

She found the headphones and put them on. She located the radio panel and set it for guard frequency. "Air Traffic Control, this is hijacked 757. Please respond."

A voice sounded in the earphones. "757, this is Air Traffic Control. Who am I speaking with?"

"Control, this is Galaxy. I'm a Federal agent. We have neutralized the hijackers and regained control of the aircraft."

There was a pause while the controller relayed this information to a supervisor. The controller’s supervisor then instructed Alice to contact a military controller. She was given a frequency to tune to. "Advise them of your situation. Good luck."

"Thank you, Control. Galaxy out."

Alice tuned to the frequency she had been given. It was restricted and classified. "Military controller, this is Galaxy aboard hijacked 757."

"Galaxy, this is Military control. Please advise your situation."

"Control, the situation is bad but under control. The flight crew is dead. We have neutralized the hijackers. Over."

"Galaxy, Control. Understand flight crew is dead and aircraft is secure. Is there anyone aboard with pilot training?"

"Control, Galaxy. I've logged about 4,000 hours flying C-5's. I think I can drive this boat."

"Galaxy, Control. Understand you can fly. Maintain your current airspeed and altitude. Can you change your heading?"

Alice scanned the controls, finally locating the autopilot. "Control, Galaxy. I can turn."

"Galaxy, Control. Please turn left one five degrees and maintain your airspeed. We're bringing you in to McGuire Air Force Base."

"Galaxy, Control. I know the place. Turning now."

Lisa came back into the cockpit with Alice's flats. "You're just in time," Alice said as she removed her heels. "I have to turn this crate."

Lisa looked on as Alice put on her flats. She put her feet onto the rudder pedals and gripped the yoke. "You better sit down, Lisa," she said. "If I over-control this might get a little bumpy."

Lisa sat in the co-pilots chair. Alice pressed a button on the autopilot. A switch dropped down and a warning sounded. Alice pressed a button marked "ACK" and the klaxon went silent. Alice was now in full control.

She gently moved the pedals and the yoke, coordinating rudder and ailerons to put the 757 into a gentle turn. She watched as the gyrocompass turned slowly. She eased off on the rudder and yoke, restoring the bird to level flight. Fifteen degrees left, she told herself. She flipped a switch on the autopilot. "Okay, Control. George is back in the driver's seat."

"Acknowledged, Galaxy. We have a Boeing pilot trainer here who will fill you in on what you need to know to land the 757. You should be in the pattern in about two zero minutes. And by the way, we sent you some company."

Alice looked out to see an F-16 just off her left wing. "Confirm one Falcon escort, Control. Looking mighty nice."

"Galaxy, Control.  He has a few friends with him. We want to keep any bad guys that might still be airborne off your back.  Please decend to Flight Level two one zero and maintain airspeed."

"Control, Galaxy.  Confirm flight level two one zero."  Alice eased back on the throttles.  "Flight levels automatically adjust for atmospheric pressure," she explained to Lisa.  "It will put as at about twenty-one thousand feet give or take a few feet altimeter error."

Alice eased off on the throttles.  "The way we gain or lose altitude," she said, "is by adjusting airspeed.  We slow down and we have less lift, so we naturally decend.  When we get to two one zero I throttle up to maintain our altitude."

For the next twenty minutes, Alice got an extremely compressed course in the finer points of landing a 757. The bird could literally land itself, but everybody felt a little safer with an experienced pilot at the controls, ready to take over if the automatic systems failed.

The controller cleared the local airspace and brought the 757 straight in. Lisa read off the checklist items as the bird went into its final decent. Alice had the flaps out and the gear down as she brought the aircraft into the landing flightpath. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow as she held the wings level and compensated for wind direction.  She talked aloud to Lisa to help overcome her nervousness.

"Landing is basically a controlled crash," she said.  "I fly as close to the runway as I can.  Then when we are just over the end of the runway, I pull back on the yoke."  She pulled back just at that moment. The nose of the plane pulled up. "By increasing the angle of attack, I stall the wings. If I do this skillfully we drop gently onto the runway." 

Then the main gear touched the runway. Alice applied the brakes and activated the thrust reversers, advancing the throttle to slow the aircraft's speed. It rolled to a stop at the end of the runway with about 200 yards to spare.

"That," said Alice to her partner, "is the most exciting part of flying: landing."

Ground control now sounded in Alice’s headphones. "Galaxy, Control. Follow the truck to the secured parking area and shut ‘em down. And welcome home. Mighty nice flying, Galaxy."

"Control, Galaxy. Thanks for the assist. It’s good to be back on the ground."

A pickup trick with flashing yellow lights and a "FOLLOW ME" sign drove just ahead of the 757. Alice followed it to a remote concrete pad surrounded by Air Force Security Police armed with M-16’s. She brought the aircraft to a stop and shut down the engines. Flight line personnel chocked the wheels to keep the bird from rolling.

Security police entered the aircraft to remove the skyjackers. The passengers were permitted to deplane and were taken to a holding area for debriefing. Alice and Lisa showed their ID’s to the security officer and retrieved their charge.

"This has been a hell of a day," Alice said. "Something to tell my grandchildren."

"If the story is declassified by then," Lisa said. "I have a feeling the details will be secret for some time to come."

September 25, 2001

Lisa was correct. The story of this thwarted hijacking was kept from the public for reasons of national security.

It was two weeks after the hijacking. The President had finally read the report and was speaking to one of his security advisors. "This is incredible," he said. "How long has this agency existed?"

His advisor answered, "It has existed in some form since the 1930’s when it was part of the FBI. Since the early days of the Cold War it has been an independent agency of the Justice Department."

"Well we were damned lucky these agents were on board. It was just plain…" He faltered for the right word.

"Serendipity, sir?" his advisor answered.

"Yes, exactly. Are the agents outside?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Good. Send them in. I want to thank them personally."

The door to the Oval Office opened. Mary Risberg entered, followed by Alice Scott and Lisa Darling. The three tall women were wearing black business suits with tan hose and black pumps. They reminded the president of the Secret Service agents detailed to his family and himself. He stood as they entered and offered his hand to each, then bade them to sit. A steward brought coffee around.

"Ladies," he began, then hesitated, "at least, that’s what I’m told is how you are addressed…" He hesitated again.

"It’s all right, Mr. President," Mary said, "Most of us have given up trying to keep pronouns straight."

They all laughed. "Well it’s still hard to believe. If I hadn’t been told that you were really men I never would have suspected. Not for a moment."

"We have a lot of training, sir."

"I guess so. And you have been operating for over sixty years?"

"Correct, Mr. President. During that time we’ve provided cover and protection for transgendered American officials and vital security interests."

"Well, you’ve done a good job of it because I never even heard of you until I took office. And until the events of the last few weeks I thought it was some kind of joke."

"We’re real enough, sir. And we’re serious about our work."

"You did a fine job. I asked you here today to personally thank you and your agents for a job well done. And I wanted to tell Agents Scott and Darling that they have both been awarded an Intelligence Silver Star. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Mr. President," said Lisa, "but to tell the truth, Alice did most of the work."

"Lisa is being too modest, sir," said Alice. "If she hadn’t been with me I don’t think we would have been successful."

"You both earned your medals, agents," the President said, "as well as the thanks of a grateful nation. I’m only sorry that we can’t publicly acknowledge your actions. Security must be maintained."

"We understand, Mr. President," Alice said. "Believe me, sir, we aren’t in this for the glory."

"You more than earned your share of it, Agent Scott. The five men you captured have become our most valuable intelligence leads in tracking down the organization and rooting it out. We have a long, hard job ahead of us, but thanks to you we have a starting point."

"Mr. President," Alice said, hesitatingly, "about that hard job ahead of us…"

The President eyed Alice. "Yes, Agent Scott? Go ahead, speak up."

"I was wondering, sir, that is, I would like to request a transfer and return to active duty in the Air Force."

This request caught everyone by surprise. In the stunned silence, Alice continued. "Sir, I have extensive experience flying C-5’s and maybe it isn’t a glamour job, but moving the stuff we need to fight this enemy is an important function. When I took the controls of the 757, I knew that I belonged there. It’s not that I hate being an agent, sir, I love it more than you could believe. But I can contribute something positive to our war against terrorism. It’s time for me to leave feminine things behind, sir, and take care of more important matters."

The president stood and paced. "Agent Scott," he said, "I appreciate your feelings. I’m a fighter pilot myself. Nothing would give me more satisfaction than to strap on my F-102 and rain some righteous firepower on these bastards."

He looked at her intensely. "But I can’t. I have a more important job. And so do you.

"Because your agency is so covert, you represent an asset we cannot afford to ignore. These terrorists have a vulnerability we intend to exploit. They don’t consider a woman to be a threat of any kind. That’s why you succeeded in thwarting their plans, agent Scott. The foe cannot bring himself to believe that a woman could overpower him."

The president turned to Mary. "Director Risberg, how many of your agents are former military pilots like agent Scott?"

Mary was taken aback. "Quite a few, sir. We recruit a lot of our girls from the service."

"That’s what I thought. Director Risberg, I want you to identify former pilots in your organization. Bring them up to speed on current commercial aircraft so that they can land in an emergency. I want you to augment the Federal Sky Marshals. Your agents will fly on selected high-risk flights and be prepared to take action if needed. You ladies will be our ace in the hole."

The president turned to Alice. "Agent Scott, would you like to be a part of this special detail?"

Alice did not hesitate a second. "Yes, sir. When do I start?"

The president smiled his trademark smile. "You already have, Alice. And thank you."

Everybody stood and handshakes were once again exchanged all around. Mary, Alice, and Lisa left the oval office and the president shook his head, still smiling. Who would have believed it, he thought. Our secret weapon against terrorism turns out to be a bunch of men in black dresses.

November, 2001

Alice took her place in line to board the cross-country flight. Security was a lot tighter at the airport these days. Her purse was opened and its contents were thoroughly searched before she was allowed to enter the departure gates. Lines were long and slower, but most people didn’t complain very much. A few months ago a wait like this would have enraged the meekest of air travelers. Now they seemed grateful.

Alice made her way to the departure gate and waited for the boarding call. She still wished she was actually flying the DC-10 she would be boarding, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to. She spent a lot of her non-flying time in flight simulators these days. And she actually got to fly an agency Learjet to keep her skills current. She loved to fly.

As she made her way to her seat in coach she passed her partner Lisa in First Class. Lisa got to be the "business woman" on this flight. Mary didn’t mind. She stowed her bag overhead, retrieved a few items from her purse, stowed her purse, and took her seat. In her jumper pocket she had a compact, a breath spray, and a lipstick. The compact was a sophisticated communications link and the breath spray was actually a Gas dispenser. The lipstick was just lipstick to freshen up after her meal. Hey, a girl has to look her best, even when dressed casually.

As she sat down, one of the flight attendants handed her a magazine. The cover said Cosmopolitan. The contents, however, consisted of a seating chart and dossier for all passengers flying today. The details were somewhat sparse. America was still, after all, a free country. Despite the paranoid claims of some talk radio hosts, the government did not engage in wholesale espionage on private citizens. It did, however, try to get a handle on potential terrorists.

Alice briefly scanned the passenger list and then looked around to put a face with each name. Nobody looked very suspicious on this flight, but she still took the time to identify anyone who might pose a risk. She would pay these folks extra attention, as would her partner in First Class.

The vibration of engines starting shook the plane. The hatch shut and the plane was pushed back from the gate. As it taxied to the runway, flight attendants repeated the mandatory safety briefing Alice had heard so many times that she could repeat in her sleep. But now neither she nor any other passenger ignored the attendant. Funny how everybody now felt it vitally important to locate the nearest exit. People took this seriously these days.

The plane now stood poised on the end of the runway. The throttles advanced and the thrust of three turbofan engines gently pressed Alice into her seatback. She felt the vibration of the landing gear as the behemoth raced down the runway. "V1," she whispered to herself as the nose wheel lifted off. "V2," she said as the main wheels left the ground. "Gear up," she said as the landing gear folded into the airframe. What had been an ungainly beast on the ground was now an agile bird of paradise as it danced in the air. Alice returned to her book. She was airborne again, and she offered a small prayer that this would be the second-most exciting event of her day.

©2001, Valentina Michelle Smith