LACKING VIRTUES

Lacking Virtues

Before moving to Amazon, Thomas Kirkwood was published by Macmillan, Collier Macmillan (Europe), Donald I. Fine (an imprint of Penguin), Signet (an imprint of NAL), Brilliance (audio), and Stjerne-Spenning (Europe).
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

***

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1461141426

ISBN-10: 1461141427

.

Copyright 2012 Thomas Kirkwood

For Frank Thompson

Prologue

Atlanta

Spring 1999

Reverend Ogle felt the airplane being pushed back from the gate. The engines made a faint whine when they were started, sending painful vibrations through his nervous system. The noise of the engines rose steadily to a roar. When the jet began to roll, the roar settled back to a monotonous hum.

Ogle could feel the immense weight of the airplane by the way it took the bumps. On the farm, his father had let him drive the old Ford truck when he was a boy. It had felt pretty much the same.

They taxied for a while, then entered a traffic jam of planes and crept ahead, one position at a time. On the runway beside them, jets thundered past in the opposite direction. Exhaust hung heavy over the field and rose in long smudged fingers toward the luminous western sky.

Reverend Ogle hated flying. He wondered if he would become an alcoholic if he ordered a cocktail. When his mother was on her deathbed she had demanded a shot of bourbon every night. He couldn’t say whether or not she had become an alcoholic. The Lord had taken her so quickly.

Tommy, the youth pastor, finally unglued himself from the window. “Reverend, we might be able to see the new Baptist conference center.”

“I don’t think so, Tommy. There are a lot of buildings down there. They probably all look the same from the air.”

“There’s no harm trying. I’ll let you know if I spot it.”

“You do that,” Reverend Ogle said, closing his eyes.

Soon the dreaded announcement came: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re number two for departure. We’ll be in the air shortly. At this time I’d like the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for take-off.”

The Reverend dug his nails into the armrests, hoping Tommy wouldn’t sense his fear. He should be grateful, he thought. If there weren’t jetliners, they wouldn’t be able to attend the First International Baptist Convention in Frankfurt. He must have faith. God would look after him.

The engines roared to full thrust. The plane started slowly but was but soon accelerating at a breathless pace.

Ogle felt Tommy’s hand on his arm. “Reverend, please. Open your eyes and watch. This is the best part.”

“Okay,” Reverend Ogle whispered, “okay.” He squinted fearfully to the side.

Maintenance hangars flew past, and concourses with parked airplanes, and then the control tower. The nose tilted up. A clunk as the landing gear retracted took his breath away.

Ogle waited for the smoothness of flight. For some reason the plane vibrated more than it had on the ground. The wing seemed to be shaking violently. All around him were groaning and squeaking noises. He jumped against his seat belt when an overhead compartment flew open and a rain of carry-on luggage crashed into the aisle.

Flying was awful. If he hadn’t done it before and survived those strange shakes and howls of doom, he would think something had gone wrong. He closed his eyes again.

“Reverend!” Tommy cried. “Reverend, the engine just dropped off!”

“Shhh. Don’t joke. You might frighten someone.”

“I’m not joking. Look!”

The flight, which had begun with crazy vibrations and noises, had now become smooth and deathly quiet. But they weren’t flying in a straight line or making a turn. They were yawing about like a boat. Reverend Ogle had never felt anything like this on other flights.

He made himself look out. They were low, much too low. The earth raced past almost near enough to touch, his beloved southern earth, its tender springtime green scarred with slices of bare red soil.

What was wrong with the airplane? He was about to ask Tommy, but the youth minister spoke before he had a chance.

“Reverend, this is not good. Aviation fuel is squirting out where the engine ripped loose.”

The wing rose steeply, and Reverend Ogle saw that Tommy wasn’t joking. The engine, the great white cement mixer, was gone. The pylon that attached it to the wing jutted out like a twisted stump. There was a hideous wound on the front edge of the wing, a jagged gaping hole. Severed wires and tubes danced wildly around the opening. A white mist blew back across the wing.

“Reverend, look!” Tommy said in a loud whisper. “That wire is sparking! If it ignites the aviation fuel, we’re going to meet our Maker ahead of schedule.” 

“Dear God. Why is this happening now?”

“There’s a purpose to everything. We’re part of a divine plan. When He calls us, we must not fear. You taught me that, Reverend Ogle. Don’t you remember?”

The captain came on the PA system, speaking as though he were giving the weather report. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you may have noticed, the number one engine separated from the aircraft at take-off. There’s no need for alarm. We’re not in any danger. We’re presently returning to the airport. We’ve been cleared for landing and will be on the ground in a few minutes. Please remain calm and follow the instructions of the flight attendants.”

Ogle wanted to believe that emotionless voice, dear God how he wanted to believe.

A man in uniform who looked like a pilot came down the aisle. He stopped at the vacant seat beside Reverend Ogle. “Excuse me, Father,” he said, leaning in front of the minister to get a better look.

“Reverend,” Ogle corrected. Being taken for a Catholic could bring him out of a coma.

“That wire’s sparking,” Tommy announced. “I hope you shut down the power to the left side of the aircraft.”

“I’ll check.” The man was about to leave when the wire hit the wing and unleashed a fresh shower of sparks. He had been trying to appear calm so he wouldn’t alarm the passengers, but now he lost his composure and broke into a full sprint down the aisle.

Tommy said, “Well, Reverend, I suppose it’s time you resumed your praying.”

Ogle glanced out the window and saw a torch-like blaze shooting across the wing. He thought of his mother, then of his wife. He wondered if he would be reunited with them in Heaven.

“It’s part of a greater plan,” Tommy repeated. “We must not fear. We must not.”

Reverend Ogle, to his surprise, found comfort in the young man’s words. Or perhaps in his example. As incredible as it seemed, the fledgling minister showed no fear of death.   

The pilot or co-pilot or whoever he was reappeared, muttered an obscenity when he saw the fire and raced back to the cockpit. The man who had announced the loss of an engine called for one of the flight attendants. His voice was still cool and confident when he spoke to the passengers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a wing fire. We have alerted the airport, and emergency equipment will be standing by. We are going to be exiting from the right side of the aircraft as soon as we have landed and come to a complete stop. It is important that you remain calm and follow the instructions of your flight attendants. If you make an orderly exit and avoid panic, there will be time for us all to get out. Darlene, please begin your briefing.”

They were banking steeply, the wing looming above, coming around to land. The fire was growing; panels on the wing had started to buckle. When they leveled off, Reverend Ogle could see an enormous blue maintenance hangar. A big red sign on top said, “Fly Delta Jets.”

Not everyone obeyed the captain’s announcement. Dozens of passengers were already on their feet, fighting to position themselves near exits on the right side. A flight attendant shoved two women back into their seats. “Sit down!” she barked. “All of you, return to your seats and sit down! There’s time for everyone to get out
if you don’t panic
.”

The captain came on again. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me be very clear. If you do not return to your seats and follow the instructions of your flight attendants, you could cause a disaster on the ground. If you follow their instructions and exit in an orderly fashion, you will have more than enough time to get out of the aircraft safely. I implore you to return to your seats. We will be on the ground shortly.”

“We’re going to die!” screamed a fat man across the aisle from the ministers.

The woman beside him slapped him in the face. “Shut up, you fool.”

People began clawing their way over seat backs, fighting each other and yelling at the top of their lungs. Reverend Ogle saw one of the younger flight attendants look out at the fire and collapse. No one helped her. She was being trampled.

Through the rising chaos the head flight attendant’s emergency briefing droned over the PA like surrealistic background music.