Tags:
Fiction,
thriller,
Suspense,
adventure,
Thrillers,
Suspense fiction,
Espionage,
Mystery,
Crime & mystery,
Fiction - Espionage,
Crime thriller,
Aircraft accidents
copilot’s harness and clutched the dead man under the arms. With all of his strength, Donovan eased him out of the seat and laid him on the floor. He took the oxygen mask from his own face and secured it around that of the captain.
Moving quickly, Donovan slid behind the controls and searched for the pressure mask. Pilots had masks vastly superior to the one he’d been using. He found it and looped the straps over his head. The seal bit hard and the pressurized 100% oxygen streamed into his lungs. He took wild gulps of the precious air as he looked out the windshield. The line of storms loomed large.
In nearly 10,000 hours of flying, Donovan had never seen such a completely useless instrument panel. He searched quickly for the two instruments that didn’t need any power. All airliners had a small backup airspeed indicator and emergency altimeter. He found them; both appeared to be functioning.
Down, we have to get down , Donovan urged himself. Not knowing what to expect, he put one hand on the controls and with the other, reached for the two throttles and pulled them back. The thunderstorms were dead ahead and he was running out of time. Churning upward toward the heavens, the hard-edged cumulonimbus clouds seemed to reach out for the 737—a lightning-lit wall of angry weather directly in their path.
Donovan’s mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton as he eased the nose down and tried to turn the airliner. Instantly, the damaged airplane picked up speed. The controls buffeted in his hands. He corrected the pitch and eased off on the power. The pilot in him kept searching in vain for critical flight information on the panel. Only his raw instincts could now tell him what the unfamiliar aircraft would do next. He had to tighten the turn, he knew, to get around the storm. But if he allowed the 737 to get too slow, they would go into a spin and surely crash. If he penetrated the weather they could be ripped apart. A vivid burst of lightning lit up the thunderstorms—white-hot tentacles spreading out into the sky below them. “ Come on baby, turn. Just turn and stay together .”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lauren stayed close to David Tucker as she was ushered through a heavy steel door into what she was sure must be Wayfarer Operations. There was a small lounge area. Pilots in uniform were standing in small groups talking or reviewing their paperwork. Beyond, Lauren saw a large, high-ceilinged room full of computers. One wall supported several oversized monitors, another was covered with what appeared to be a flow chart of some sort, Lauren thought it was most likely the Wayfarer schedule. Next to it was a screen that depicted the entire area of North America, it was awash with green blips that Lauren recognized as airplanes. The place seemed chaotic, and Lauren stayed close to Tucker as he made his way across the room.
“Glen! Have you seen Henry Parrish?” Tucker called out as they neared a long counter.
“I just talked to him. He’s on his way in.” Glen Connaghan, a heavy-set, florid-faced Irishman, glanced up from the small group of people he’d been conferring with. He spotted Lauren and immediately tucked in the front of his wrinkled white shirt that had been pulled out by his ample stomach. “Why? What’s up?
“Not here,” Tucker answered, nodding toward Lauren. “Someplace private.”
“I don’t have the time right now.” Glen shot a thumb over his shoulder toward one of the monitors that showed the listing of cancelled flights. “This blizzard is killing me.”
Tucker looked around to make sure he wasn’t being overheard then motioned for Glen to step closer. “This is Dr. Lauren McKenna. She was talking with someone aboard flight 880 out of Dulles. She thinks we might have a problem.”
Glen snapped his head from Tucker to Lauren. “What exactly did you hear?”
“Are you talking to them?” Lauren gripped the edge of the counter, her fingers beginning to turn white. “Are