Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (20 page)

This
can’t
be
happening
to
me
.

Ryan pulled the key from his pocket. Thankfully, the car had a remote door locking system. He raised the key fob above his head, swinging it left and right, repeatedly pressing the unlock button.

Nothing.

He ran up and down the rows of cars, continuing to press UNLOCK, searching for taillights, listening for a chirp or beep.

Finally, yellow taillights flashed. “Yes! Thank you Lord!”

He ran to the car. Chuck was right, it was a beater. A dark green Dodge Omni built in the early 80’s. The key fit. He wrestled with the door, wondering why Chuck bothered to lock it.

He removed his holstered gun and tossed it into the passenger’s seat, sat behind the wheel, and slammed the door closed. He probed in the dark with the key, searching for the ignition, found it, inserted the key, and turned it.

Nothing.

“Crap!” Dead. He pounded the steering wheel. “Not now!”

The thunder of a jet pulled his eyes in the direction of the black sky above the runway. It was Chuck.

“Com’on!” He turned the key again. The starter caught, and after a cough and a pop, the engine fired. He pumped the accelerator, forcing fuel into the faltering pistons. Fumes of exhaust filled the car. Finding reverse, he backed out of the spot, shifted into drive, and punched the accelerator. The beater stalled and died.

“NO!”

He slammed the shifter into park and turned the key. The battery struggled against the load, seconds seemed like minutes. The engine fired.

“Yes!”

He found drive, hammered the accelerator, sending the car lurching like a rabbit. He exited the parking lot and began the 68 mile drive. Without traffic, he was looking at 55 to 60 minutes.

Too dark to see his wristwatch, he searched the dash for a clock. No clock. He flipped the switch for the overhead light. Burnt out. After another scan of the dimly-lit instrument panel, confirming the beater was clockless, he spotted the fuel gauge.

No
!

“Chuck! Why? I don’t have time for this!”

The needle was bouncing off the top of the ‘E’. In desperation, he calculated. The engine was small, probably under 100 horsepower. Even with its sick condition, it should squeeze out thirty miles per gallon. Two gallons was all he needed.

Assuming the gas tank held somewhere between 12 to 14 gallons, the distance from the top of the ‘E’ to bone dry should be at least two gallons—60 miles. He needed 68.

CHAPTER 28

10:43 p.m.

Chuck unbuckled his seat belt and shoulder harness, climbed into the captain’s seat, and reeled the escape rope back into the cockpit, leaving it piled on the floor. He saw Ryan glance up, gave him a thumbs up, then cranked the window closed.

“Good luck,” he said, knowing he was talking to himself.

He strapped into the copilot’s seat, took a deep breath, and called the tower.

“Tower, Angel 54 is ready.”

“Angel five four heavy, two five right, position and hold.”

“Roger, Angel five four heavy, two five right, position and hold.”

Chuck released the parking brake, and eased the throttles forward. The plane shook as it rolled. With only one nosewheel steering tiller, located across the cockpit on the captain’s side, Chuck had to maneuver the jet onto the runway by using differential thrust and tractor breaking.

After lining up, best he could, on the centerline of the runway, he glanced over at the empty captain’s seat.

What
am
I
doing
?
I
must
have
lost
my
mind
.

“Angel five four heavy maintain three thousand, runway two five right cleared for takeoff.”

“Maintain three, cleared for takeoff on two five right, Angel five four heavy.”

He pushed the throttles to takeoff power. The engines rumbled to life, pressing Chuck against his seat as the jet thundered down the runway and up into the dark night. He retracted the landing gear and engaged the autopilot.

“Angel five four heavy, contact departure.”

“Angel 54 going to departure.”

Chuck flipped the radio to the departure frequency.

“Departure, Angel five four heavy passing three, for five.”

“Angel five four heavy, climb and maintain one zero thousand.”

“Roger, Angel five four heavy, 10,000.”

Chuck planned to wait until just prior to reaching 10,000 feet before declaring an emergency—approximately two minutes. He engaged the secondary route in the flight computer. The navigational display instantly changed, showing the new route. The small TV-like computer screen displayed a colored line from LAX to the first turn point, approximately 150 miles west, out over the Pacific, just past the Channel Islands. Clicking the display to a range of 320 miles, Chuck could see that the course turned north after passing the Channel Islands.

“Angel five four heavy, turn left heading two two zero.”

He couldn’t turn left. If he did, he’d fly through the course displayed on the nav display. He had to declare the emergency, now.

“Departure, Angel five four heavy is unable. We have a flight control problem…can’t turn left.”

“Angel five four heavy, I understand you have a flight control problem?”

“Affirmative! We can’t turn left!” Chuck tried to sound stressed, which wasn’t hard.

“Angel five four heavy, state your intentions.”

“We need to continue straight out, heading two seven zero! We’re declaring an emergency! I’m leveling at 10,000 feet.”

“Roger, Angel five four heavy, state fuel and souls on board.”

“It’s all we can do to keep it level! Standby on the fuel and souls!”

“Roger, Angel five four heavy, let us know your fuel and souls on board when you’re able.”

“Angel 54, we need some space to troubleshoot the problem.”

“Roger Angel five four heavy, we will clear the airspace. Keep us advised of your intentions.”

“Roger.”

Chuck connected the autopilot to the nav computer ensuring that the jet would precisely fly the alternate route’s course, speed, and altitude. He pressed a button on the flight computer’s keypad showing the calculated arrival time at the final destination of 12:00 a.m. Chuck glanced at the clock on the forward instrument panel—10:50.

So far, ATC was buying the emergency as the real deal. Next, he needed to contact the company and inform them he had a problem. They would get tech support and company maintenance involved. The more realistic he could make the mechanical problem appear to the world, the less chance of fighter jets being launched.

The interphone chimed twice.

“Crap!” He’d forgotten about the flight attendants. He lifted the handset.

“This is Chuck.”

“Chuck, this is Bev. Is it okay if we get up?”

Normally, the captain signaled the flight attendants with a chime to indicate it was safe to begin their cabin duties. Chuck forgot.

“Ahh…listen, Bev, we’re working a small flight control problem. Maybe it would be best if you stay seated for a while.”

Bev peppered him with questions, “Are we returning to L.A.? Do I need to make a safety briefing? Should I make a PA and let the passengers know?”

“No! Just stay seated, and DO NOT make a PA! We’ll get back with you in a minute.”

In a stern voice, Bev said, “Let me talk to the captain.”

Chuck glanced at the empty captain’s chair. “He’s sorta busy right now. He can’t talk.”

Chuck slammed the handset into its cradle.

The jet leveled at 10,000 feet with the flight computer married to the autopilot. From this point on, the computer would send signals to the autopilot and autothrottle systems to ensure the jet flew the path Ryan had programmed into the alternate route.

Chuck dialed the company dispatch frequency into the number two radio. He paused momentarily, reviewing how he would present the make-believe problem to the company. He had to make it sound believable. Some type of flight control problem that would only allow him to bank the jet to the right. That way, once he hit the first checkpoint, he could fly north up the coast to the second checkpoint without alarming ATC. If they suspected he was under duress, they might launch the fighters if only as a precautionary measure. He wondered if Rex Dean had tried a similar stunt. If he had, ATC would definitely be putting the fighters in the air,
again
.

“Dispatch, Angel 54.”

“This is dispatch. Go ahead 54.”

“We’ve got a flight control problem. We need you to connect us to tech support.”

“Roger, 54. Standby.”

Chuck looked out his side window at the lights of Santa Barbara sparkling on the coast. A quick check of the flight computer showed he would cross the first checkpoint, on schedule, in twelve minutes.

“Angel five four, we’ve got tech support on the line. Go ahead.”

“Tech, this is the first officer on flight 54.” Chuck tried to act cool with a touch of panic.

“Go ahead Chuck, this is Tom in tech support. What’ve you got?”

“After takeoff, once the flaps were retracted, we had to add full left aileron to keep the jet level. If we release any pressure, it banks right. It’s taking all we’ve got to keep it flying straight and level.”

“What about the rudders? Can you bank it with rudders?”

“No. The pedals are stiff. I can move them, but when I do, all it does is put us into a slip.”

“Sounds like it could be a split flap. Do you have any other indications; any advisory or caution lights?”

Chuck failed to think about the numerous warning systems that should accompany his make-believe flight control problem. Telling tech that there were not any warnings to accompany the problem would make it harder to sell. He was in too deep.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“There are no warnings, and both the flap and slat indicators are normal.”

“What about pitch control?”

“There’s nothing unusual with the pitch. We’re level now and there was nothing unusual with the pitch during the climb until the flaps were retracted.”

“Strange you didn’t get a warning. Are you sure the flap and slat indicators are normal?”

“No warnings and the indicators are normal.”

When Tom keyed his mike, Chuck could hear voices in the background. He suspected Tom was not working alone.

“Chuck, have you got enough ailerons to keep it level?”

“Yeah. But the captain wants to try and bank it right to a more northerly heading to stay close to the coast.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Let us know how it acts in the turn.”

“Roger. I’m going back to ATC to coordinate.”

“Okay, we’ll keep working on it from our side.”

Chuck turned the volume down on the number-two radio, and up on the number-one.

“Departure, Angel five four heavy.”

“Angel five four heavy, this is departure. Go ahead.”

Just as Chuck spoke, the jet crossed the first checkpoint and started a smooth bank to the right, following the course line to the second checkpoint.

“We’re turning north and plan to fly along the coast while we troubleshoot the problem. We plan to maintain 250 knots and 10,000 feet. We are talking with our tech support.”

“Angel five four, we’ll clear the airspace. You are cleared as requested. What’s your fuel and souls on board?”

“Two-hundred and twelve souls, ten crew, and seven hours of fuel.”

“Angel five four heavy, we copy, two twelve plus ten, with seven hours of fuel.”

Chuck returned to the company frequency. “Tech, this is Angel 54.”

“Go ahead, Chuck. This is Tom.”

“The jet banked smoothly to fifteen degrees.”

“How much did you relieve the controls?”

“About half.”

That
sounds
about
right
.

“Are you level now?”

“Yeah. We’re level at 10,000 and holding our heading fine. The captain wants to talk with me, standby.”

Chuck was stressed and tired of all the back and forth, but so far it seemed to be working. Everything was cool. He would fly over the bridge, circle around and land at Oakland. Until then, he only needed to feed ATC and the company enough information that they would buy the lie. That’s all he could do. He checked the computer. Only 45 minutes remaining.

Downhill
from
here
.
Sit
back
and
chill
.

The interphone chimed three times—two was normal—three was urgent. Chuck forgot about the flight attendants,
again
.

Instead of using the handset, he selected the interphone button on his audio panel. This would allow him to speak to Barb using his boom-mounted microphone while still monitoring ATC and the company.

“This is Chuck.”

“What’s going on up there?” Barb said. “I’ve got passengers back here going crazy! They see the lights on the coast and want to know why we’re flying so low! Let me talk to Captain Mitchell!”

“Listen, Barb! The captain is doing all he can to keep the airplane right-side-up! He doesn’t have time to talk to you!”

“Well, someone needs to talk to these passengers, now! If you don’t, I am!”

“Okay. We’ll say something.”

He needed to tell the passengers something to calm them down. The last thing he needed was a mutiny. He selected the PA button on his audio panel, continuing to monitor ATC, the company, and Barb on the interphone.

He spoke in a calm, controlled voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. Some of you have noticed we’ve been flying rather low. The captain and I are troubleshooting a minor flight control problem—nothing serious. Once we get things worked out, we’ll be returning to Los Angeles. Please follow the flight attendant’s directions. We’ll keep you updated.”

Before he could punch off the PA button, the interphone chimed.

Ding
,
ding
,
ding
.

“This is Chuck.”

Barb’s voice started immediately. “What did you mean ‘this is the captain’! And then you said ‘the captain and I’? That was a real confidence builder for the passengers. I want to talk to the captain! Now!”