The Devil's Triangle (10 page)

‘I’m going to sit in the front?’ she asked.

‘Yep. You’re going to be more than just a passenger today, remember?’

Waiting behind the right wing for her father to get the keys, Niamh felt all knotted up inside. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and shifted her weight impatiently from foot to foot as she watched her father run across the hangar and retrieve the keys. The sense that Sam needed help had not abated. She could not help feeling that if they didn’t find him soon, it might be too late.

Matthew returned, climbed up onto the wing and into the cockpit. He had barely climbed in before getting out again. He raced round the aircraft, moving control services, checking panels and muttering the whole way round. There was no mistaking the urgency in the way he was moving. At one point, he touched something that set off a buzzer in the cockpit, but after a flash of panic, Niamh remembered this from previous trips. It was supposed to happen.

A minute later and he was back, climbing onto the wing root again and urging her to follow him up.

‘Remember to stay on the black area,’ he warned as he climbed in through the door and across into the left-hand seat.

Sitting in the front for the first time, she found it tempting to grab the steering yoke and play with it. Rather than annoy her father, however, she stowed the binoculars and strapped herself in. The straps were similar to that of a car, but instead of pushing the shoulder strap fastener into a slot, she found it hooked onto a metal spigot. It was a bit weird, but not difficult.

‘All set?’ Matthew asked. ‘OK. Put the headset on,’ he directed, pointing to where it was hanging. ‘We’ll just be a moment. I’ve got some checks to do before we can go, but they won’t take long. Can you pull the door shut for me?’

Niamh did as she was told, and he leaned across her for a moment and fiddled with the door until he was convinced it was secure.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you to shut a door,’ he said, giving her an encouraging smile. ‘But Cherokee doors have a bit of a reputation for coming open in flight. Let’s not take any chances.’

She watched with fascinated admiration as her father’s hands flashed around the cockpit, setting instruments, flicking switches and manipulating controls. He muttered an incomprehensible stream of jargon the entire time.

‘CLEAR PROP!’ he yelled suddenly, apparently to no one in particular, and with a cough and a splutter, the propeller chattered into life.

There was another quick flurry of hands and mutterings.

‘Temps and pressures in the green,’ he said clearly.

As Niamh related ‘green’ with ‘go’, that sounded good. It was. With a quick look around to make sure no one was anywhere close, Matthew Cutler released the brakes and began to taxi the aircraft out of the hangar and towards the end of the grass strip. Niamh knew enough to realise that his weaving path was to check the steering and compasses, rather than due to any lack of control.

Craning his neck to make sure no one was approaching the airstrip to land, Matthew drove them out on to the grass runway, lined them up and eased the throttle up to full power. Despite her anxiety about Sam, Niamh felt a thrill of excitement. The aircraft began to accelerate down the runway, bumping and hopping as it went. One final hop and they were airborne, climbing gently away from the ground.

Niamh loved this part: the throbbing roar of the engine and the rapid change from the real world to the surreal, detached view from high in the air. It was the most wonderful feeling.

‘Key West radar, this is Cherokee November tree ait fife fouer Echo, VFR out of Summerland, 500 feet, climbing 1000, turning north-east.’

Niamh glanced across at her dad. He sounded so different talking on the radio. It was almost as if he was talking another language. A woman’s voice suddenly responded, sounding loud through the headphones.

‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, good afternoon. Continue VFR to the north-east. Nothing to affect. Contact Miami FSS. Report on recovery.’

‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, wilco.’

‘What was that all about?’ she asked.

‘I was just telling the local radar station where we’re going,’ he explained. ‘It was a courtesy call. We’re flying under something called VFR, which is short for Visual Flight Rules. In most places around the world we wouldn’t have to talk to anyone, but the airspace around here is quite sensitive. Once we’re checked in with the Flight Service Station, I’ll just have to make position reports every ten minutes. They like to keep an eye on light aircraft in these parts, probably because of all the problems they have with drug runners.’

Easing the steering yoke to the left, Matthew tipped the aircraft into a banked turn that carried them across the Key and out over the water. The turquoise water of the shallows sparkled in the sunlight. Beautiful.
Real picture-postcard material
, Niamh thought. But she didn’t dwell on it. Even as they rolled wings level, she drew out the binoculars and started scanning the water for boats.

Niamh spotted Mitch’s boat quickly. He was well on his way to the edge of the reef. She pointed him out and her father nodded.

‘We’ll just go and let him know we’ve seen him,’ he said.

Niamh felt her stomach rise as her father pushed forward on the yoke, nosing the aircraft into a shallow dive. The sensation was rather like going over a humpback bridge, but it went on for longer. She could see Mitch’s boat clearly now through the binoculars. Mitch was waving.

‘He’s seen us!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s waving.’

‘Great. Let’s wave back then.’

To Niamh’s surprise, her father began rocking the wings of the plane left and right in a rapid oscillation.

‘Whoa!’

‘That should do it.’

‘I should say so!’ Niamh gasped. ‘Can you warn me next time you plan to do something like that, please, Dad? You nearly gave me a heart attack!’

‘Sorry!’

He glanced across the cockpit at her and gave an apologetic smile. The haunted look was still there in his eyes and yet, despite the circumstances, she could see he was getting pleasure from flying the plane. Flying was like a drug to him, Nimah realised. It was easy to see the attraction – especially in a location like this.

‘Apology accepted,’ she said. ‘OK, let’s see if Sam is where he said he was going. There’s a boat over there that’s about the right size.’

The next fifty minutes raced by as they checked all the boats close to the reef line for about twenty miles to the north-east. On the first return run, they flew over all the boats they could see up to about three miles further out, though there weren’t many. The line of huge black clouds rapidly approaching from the south-east had clearly put off the more cautious boaters from venturing far.

Next they flew up and down over the more immediate shallow waters off Summerland and the nearby Keys. There were many more boats here, some of similar size and design to theirs.

‘There!’ Matthew announced eventually, pointing with his throttle hand while easing the aircraft into a turn towards the boat he had spotted. ‘Eleven o’clock. Approximately one mile. It looks like our boat. Is it them?’

Niamh followed his directions and the line of his finger. The boat did look like theirs. She focused in the binoculars and tried to steady them.

‘Turn left a bit more, please,’ she said. ‘I can’t see them well enough.’

It took a moment before she could make out the occupants. The vibration of the aircraft combined with the distance made it difficult. The air was also growing progressively more turbulent as the storms approached.

‘Unless either Sam or Callum has suffered dramatic hair loss and doubled his body weight in the past few hours, then I’m fairly certain that’s not them,’ she said, trying to lighten the mood. She shook her head and looked again. ‘There also appear to be two scantily clad women on board,’ she added.

As she lowered the binoculars from her eyes, there was a loud
bang
from the front of the aircraft and everything began to vibrate. Niamh hugged the binoculars to her chest.

‘What’s that?’ she asked quickly, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

‘Not sure yet,’ Matthew replied. ‘Give me a moment.’

A stream of smoke started emerging from the engine cowling behind the propeller. Matthew eased the throttle back slightly and tapped at one of the gauges.

‘Oil pressure’s dropping and the temperature’s rising. This doesn’t look good,’ he muttered.

The engine gave a cough and Niamh screamed. She could not help herself.

Matthew squeezed the throttle forward again, pushing it all the way to maximum, but all it seemed to do was make the vibration worse.

‘Sorry, sweetie,’ her father said, his voice remarkably unflustered. ‘This might be a bit of a rough ride home. Even with the throttle and prop levers at full, we’re barely maintaining our height and I’m not sure how long the engine is going to keep going.’

‘Are we going to crash?’

‘Don’t panic, Niamh,’ he said, his voice remaining calm. ‘Something’s gone a bit wrong with the engine. It’s probably not too bad, but it’s overheating and smoking a bit, that’s all. I’m going to put out an emergency call and sort things out. OK?’

The engine coughed again and the vibration got worse. Occasional thicker puffs of black smoke spewed from under the cowling. A suffocating smell of burning oil filled the cockpit and streaks of black fluid began to run up the windscreen. Niamh sat rigid with fear, putting her arm across her mouth and nose in an effort to filter out the smell with the sleeve of her T-shirt. Her father reached across to the radio, clicked on to the emergency frequency and keyed the transmit button.

‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Key West Control, this is Cherokee fife fouer Echo declaring an in-flight emergency.’

‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, Control, your in-flight emergency is acknowledged. Launching Search and Rescue this time. Squawk emergency if able and state the nature of your emergency.’

At that moment, the sky darkened as the sun disappeared behind approaching cloud. Niamh shivered. It was like the sensation she had felt in the pool earlier all over again, except this time the danger was hers. She glanced across at her father. He looked . . . businesslike! There appeared to be no real concern on his face – more lines of concentration than there had been earlier, but no fear.

‘Make sure you don’t touch the throttle, sweetie,’ he warned. ‘The engine is still working and I want to keep it that way as long as I can. Any sudden changes in power might kill it.’

‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ she mumbled through her sleeve. ‘I won’t touch anything.’

A bright flash of lightning streaked between two black clouds to the south and the aircraft simultaneously lurched through a pocket of particularly severe turbulence. Niamh’s stomach churned and despite feeling cold with fear, she could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead. She had never been airsick before, but had the distinct feeling she might be about to add that experience to her list of firsts. There were sick bags stowed somewhere in the side pockets. She began fumbling for one, while trying to keep her mouth and nose covered. How could her dad breathe in this?

The engine gave another cough and the propeller momentarily stuttered before resuming its droning pitch. A particularly dense cloud of inky-black smoke filled the windscreen. When it cleared, more streaks of oil plastered the perspex.

‘Control, Cherokee fife fouer Echo, fife miles south-east of Summerland Key, 1,200 feet on the altimeter, two niner niner fouer, heading two niner fife. Overheating engine. Suspect mechanical damage. Recovering to Summerland for immediate approach.’

‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, your heading is good. Report finals.’

‘Are you sure we’re not going to crash?’ Niamh asked nervously.

‘There’s nothing to be scared of, Niamh,’ Matthew assured her, though this time he didn’t sound quite so convincing. ‘I’ll get us down safely, I promise.’

He pulled out a checklist and turned to the pages edged in red.

‘I’ve already done this from memory, but can you read me that emergency drill aloud as a double-check?’ he asked, pointing at a list.

‘Sure.’

Another fork of lightning stabbed at the sea with jagged tines. The storm clouds were racing shoreward now and although the approaching weather was still some distance away, the air seemed to tremble and quake at the impending onslaught. They had completed the emergency checks and were directly abeam the airstrip at a distance of about three miles when the engine gave a final spluttering cough and died. So, too, did the vibration. The sudden silence made it feel as if the aircraft’s heart had stopped beating, but to Niamh’s amazement, her father did not seem perturbed by this development.

‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, engine has failed. Commencing glide approach, finals this time,’ he transmitted. His voice sounded unnaturally matter-of-fact to Niamh. Could he really be as calm as he seemed?

‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, engine failure acknowledged. Summerland have been advised of your in-flight emergency.’

Niamh could feel the pressure building in her cheek muscles as she instinctively clenched her teeth tighter. Her father eased the nose of the aircraft down and started a gentle turn.

He grabbed the checklist from her and flipped the page.

‘That one now,’ he ordered.

She read the list quickly, checking to make sure her father responded as the checks required. He did. She was impressed that he was so quick and confident with his answers. They were descending quickly now, but to Niamh’s amazement, the approach did not look much steeper than those she had experienced before. After nearly an hour of feeling the droning vibration of the engine through her ears and body, the relative silence of their approach felt both surreal and unnerving. The wind rush outside seemed to whisper to her in a strange, otherworldly language that sent shivers running up and down her back. A grumbling crackle of thunder that would not have been audible if the engine had been running added a dark undertone to the whispering voice. To make matters worse, the further around the turn they went, the steeper their approach became as Matthew continued to lower the nose of the aircraft more and more.