Blackwater Sound Read Online Free PDF

Lauderdale, extending ten miles out to sea and halfway across the state.
    â€œYou feel that?”
    Mark Hensley, the copilot, was staring down at the instrument panel.
    â€œJust a fritz in the system,” he said. But he didn’t sound so sure.
    She glanced over at him.
    â€œA fritz?”
    â€œYou know, some little hiccup, dirt in the fuel line. Like that.”
    â€œDirt in the fuel line?”
    â€œIt’s from Bonnie and Clyde , the movie. Some auto mechanic is working on their car…”
    Out the windscreen of the MD-11, Kathy could see the sun about to melt into the Gulf, splashes of purples and pinks rising up from the horizon. They had one hundred and forty-three aboard, seven crew. American, Flight 570. On their way to Rio.
    Mark was still chattering about the movie scene when all the cathode ray screens went blank. Kathy stared down at them. Everything gone except the analog backup instruments.
    Mark rapped a knuckle on one of the instrument display screens. All the panels were dead, even the overhead lights were off. They were down to four instruments: airspeed indicator, whiskey compass, altimeter, and the ADI, the artificial horizon. Bare essentials.
    â€œShit, we’ve lost the glass. Everything’s dark.”
    A second later the engines began to wind down, reverting to a preset power setting.
    â€œOh, man, oh, man.”
    â€œWe can still fly,” she said. “We’ve got power. No ailerons, but the rudder’s still there. Thank God for cables.”
    â€œJesus, what the hell is this?”
    â€œCall the tower, tell them we’re coming back.”
    He tapped a fingernail against his microphone.
    â€œRadio’s gone,” he said. “Everything’s fried. Absolutely everything.”
    Then she felt another jolt, an electrical stab in her belly, like the first wild kick of her only child.
    That’s when the artificial horizon indicator began to spin. At night or in clouds, the instrument showed their upright position, sky above, ground below. It was hooked to a dedicated battery. So whatever they’d just experienced was more than a general electricalfailure; their backup systems had been zapped, too. Without the artificial horizon, she’d have to rely on her senses to keep their wings level, stay right side up. Senses that were already more than a little scrambled.
    Then the yoke went loose in her hands.
    â€œOh, Jesus.”
    â€œAll three engines flamed out.” Mark tightened his shoulder harness. Took a quick look out the windscreen at the Florida Bay a half mile below.
    The big jet slowed like a roller coaster reaching its steepest crest. She heard a single piercing scream from the cabin.
    Kathy Dubois drew a long breath, tried the yoke again, but it was still dead. She swallowed hard, realigned her microphone, bent it close to her lips.
    She whispered something for the black box. A few words to her daughter. Then as the plane began to drop, she and Mark went to work, cycling the hydraulic systems, the electrical panels, trying to crank the auxiliary power unit.
    â€œIt’s back,” she said. “It’s back.”
    She wasn’t sure what they’d done, but the yoke was alive. And Kathy Dubois started to pull them out of the free fall. Fifteen hundred feet, a thousand, seven-fifty, five hundred, enough time left, drawing up the nose, getting it level for a water landing. But no time to make announcements, pull out the manual, go over ditching procedure. She had to keep the landing gear up, flaps down, that much she knew.
    There was nothing on the Florida Bay. Calm seas. A long silvery runway. She had to keep the wings level with the water, not the horizon, she remembered that. Get speed down. She was thinking of the flare and touchdown, rotating ten degrees nose high, she was thinking of the APU and engine fire handles that she would have to override. Or would she? The engines weren’t turning. She