Stranded (A Samantha Starr Thriller, Book 4)

by S. L. Menear

  “Thank you, Captain.” She smoothed her gown. “As you can see, I’m dressed for my performance on board.”

  “Lovely dress.” I moved aside. “This is my copilot, Lance Bowie.”

  Lance kissed her hand and turned on the Texas charm. “Pleased to meet you, Lisa.”

  She looked into his liquid-green eyes and then took in his hunky build. “The pleasure is mine, Lance.”

  I slid into my seat. “Alrighty, the flight attendants will show you to your seats, and we’ll get this flight airborne. We expect good weather, except for the usual thunderstorms over the Amazon basin, and we’ll circumvent those.”

  Barbi appeared and led the passengers out of the cockpit so we could get underway.

  It wasn’t long before we were headed south in blue skies.

  Four hours into the flight, the sky ahead turned dark and stormy. Turbulence jolted the Boeing 767 jumbo jet like we were driving down a road covered with deep potholes.

  I switched on the seatbelt sign and keyed the PA system. “This is your captain speaking. We’ve got a little bumpy air associated with thunderstorms along our route. Nothing to worry about. Just keep your seatbelts fastened while we navigate around the weather. Flight attendants, secure the cabin and take your seats.”

  A monster seventy-five-thousand-foot thunderstorm blocked our flightpath over South America near Brazil’s northern border with Venezuela. The dark sky around it flashed with multiple lightning bolts.

  I spotted an opening right of course. “Tell ATC we need to divert thirty degrees right to avoid that big boomer.”

  Lance made the call, and ATC responded, “Luxury five-one-five, turn right to heading one-eight-zero for weather avoidance.”

  “Luxury five-one-five is turning right to one-eight-zero,” Lance replied in his Texas twang.

  As soon as we passed the storm, we got clearance to turn back on course and deviate as necessary to avoid storms along our route. It was a time of day with little air traffic on the airway.

  “I’ll go around this next one to the east.” I banked left as Lance made the call to ATC.

  Our jet rose and fell in the turbulent air like a boat going over waves in the ocean.

  He finished the call and glanced at me. “All this deviating is cutting into our drinking time in Rio.”

  As I flew around the storm, I caught a whiff of something no pilot ever wants to smell on an airplane. “Is that smoke?”

  “Smells like it might be electrical,” Lance said. “Not sure where it’s coming from.”

  I glanced behind him. “Multiple breakers are popped. Tell ATC we’re investigating a possible in-flight fire and ask them to open a route to the nearest suitable airport. I’ll check with the flight attendants.”

  I keyed the interphone to call the lead flight attendant.

  Nothing. The interphone was dead.

  My gut tightened as I hit the call bell three times in rapid succession.

  “No radio response, not even on the standby radio,” Lance said.

  “Don’t reset any breakers until you check the electronics bay. I hope we don’t have a fire.”

  Barbi hurried into the cockpit. “What’s wrong, Captain?”

  “We’re smelling a little smoke here in the cockpit. I need you and Tiesha to conduct a thorough cabin search to rule out a fire. Get back to me ASAP.”

  “I didn’t smell any smoke in the cabin, but we’ll check everything.”

  Right after Barbi left the cockpit, the autopilot disconnected.

  “Autopilot failure. I’m taking over manually,” I said, my hands gripping the yoke.

  “We’re not getting any warning lights, but the system could be compromised.” Lance unbuckled his harness, moved to the back of the cockpit, donned a smoke/O2 unit, and grabbed a fire extinguisher.

  “Be careful down there. I’ll keep us away from storms.”

  He disappeared below while I waited several minutes in the silent cockpit.

  No radios. No cell phone coverage. No autopilot. Plenty of lightning flashes, turbulence, and whiffs of that damn smoke.

  Lance climbed up through the floor hatch and pulled off his oxygen mask. “We’ve been sabotaged.”

  My cheeks flushed with anger as I glanced back at him. “What did you find?”

  “Someone must’ve entered the electronics bay after my preflight walkaround and rigged devices with timers. They fried our autopilot, all the comm and nav radios, the transponder, and our navigation computers.”

  “Is there a fire?”

  “No fire, just some residual electrical smoke,” he said, wiping black smudges off his hands with a napkin. “This was a professional job. We’re in serious shit.”

  He clutched the side of the empty observer’s seat as turbulence pitched us up and down.

  “What about repairing at least one comm radio?”

  Lance stowed the smoke/O2 unit as he said, “No way to fix it. All the circuits are melted.”

  “We’re over the friggin’ Amazon basin in the middle of nowhere.” I held up my cell phone. “We can’t even get a cell signal, which begs the question, why sabotage our avionics but not start a fire?”

  “Or why didn’t they destroy the airplane with a bomb?” He slid into his seat as another sharp jab of turbulence jolted the jet.

  “Maybe we just haven’t found the bomb yet.” I bit my lip.

  Barbi burst in, her eyes wide and her voice tinged with panic. “No fires in the cabin, Captain, but I think I found three bombs!”

  Fourteen

  USS LEVIATHAN

  Rowlin gazed out the newly replaced windows on the bridge as his ship cruised along the east coast of Florida en route to the Mayport Navy Base in Jacksonville. A destroyer, the USS Wolverine, flanked their starboard side, and Texas guarded them underwater, while U.S. fighters rode herd overhead.

  “Good weather and plenty of firepower should make this a smooth journey.” The XO scanned the turquoise sea on their port side, his high-powered binoculars briefly pausing on bikini-clad women sunning themselves on Fort Lauderdale’s beaches.

  “It should, so why do I have a knot in my gut?” Rowlin gripped his coffee mug.

  “If you were anyone else, I’d guess too much coffee or a greasy breakfast, but your gut’s never wrong.” Lowes turned and scanned dark-blue water feathered by white caps on their starboard. “Think the North Koreans will take another crack at us?”

  The captain glanced at the destroyer surging through rollers on their starboard side. “If they come, my guess is they’ll attack when we’re about halfway to Mayport, probably assuming we’ll be complacent that far from Atlantis.”

  Rowlin grabbed the interphone and called the moon pool operator. “Prepare the Scorpions for launch. Full armament.”

  “Texas or Wolverine can eliminate any enemy sub. What’s your gut telling you?”

  “Several subs might attack simultaneously. I don’t know if Texas can handle multiple targets, and Wolverine has to be over the enemy to blast them with depth charges.” Rowlin clenched his jaw.

  “You could be right.” Lowes focused his binoculars on the water closest to their port side.

  “The Scorpions are our best defense underwater now that we’re away from the kraken’s territory.” Rowlin keyed the PA mike. “All Scorpion crews report to the bridge.”

  Fred, Bull, Jane, and Scooter rushed up to the bridge and saluted.

  “At ease,” Rowlin said. “We may be approaching an underwater combat situation, only this time we won’t be battling sea monsters. I’m guessing several North Korean Sang-O Class submarines will attack in unison.”

  “Their diesel-electric subs are about a hundred feet long,” Fred said. “Our little Scorpions are much faster and more maneuverable.”

  Jane nodded. “Yeah, ours are silent and deadly.”

  “They won’t even know we’re there until they go boom.” Scooter pulled his hands apart to simulate an explosion.

  “The Scorpions
were designed for multiple-target missions like this,” Rowlin said. “There’s a good chance the enemy will attack Texas and Wolverine first, then us.”

  “Why do you think that?” Fred asked, frowning.

  “Because that’s what I’d do,” Rowlin said. “It’s their only chance for a successful strike with a clean getaway.”

  “Captain, do the North Koreans know we’re equipped with Scorpion attack subs?” Bull asked.

  “No one knows, except the Brits after you saved their people from the megalodon,” Rowlin said.

  “Everyone else thinks our moon pool is just for launching the unarmed research sub,” Lowes said.

  An ensign from CIC rushed in and handed Rowlin a printout. “Emergency message.”

  Rowlin read it and clenched his fist. “A military contractor testing underwater sensors reported four unknown vessels, each approximately a hundred feet in length, fifteen miles east of the Palm Beach Inlet.”

  Lowes glanced at his watch. “We’ll pass by there in twenty minutes. Too late to send a bird to drop a sonar buoy and verify the targets.”

  Eager for their first military combat mission, the Scorpion crews’ eyes lit up as they did fist pumps.

  “Prepare to deploy,” Rowlin said. “I’ll call with your launch confirmations.”

  LIA Flight 515

  “Where are the bombs?” I asked, my heart pounding against my chest.

  “In overhead compartments. One near the front, one about halfway back, and one near the aft end.” Barbi bit her lip. “I’m not sure they’re bombs, but they look scary. I’ve never seen anything like them on our airplanes.”

  “Lance, get back there and check them out. Take pictures with your cell phone.” I looked into Barbi’s frightened eyes. “We’ll handle this. Prepare the cabin for an emergency landing. Secure everything and seat the passengers away from the bombs.”

  I focused on missing the storms while my mind raced, searching for solutions. Would we be blown apart in the next few minutes?

  After a long twenty minutes, Lance returned with Lisa Atwater, the British musician. She had changed from her satin gown into jeans and a sweater.

  His tone was grim. “Lisa says she’s undercover with MI6. She checked the devices and confirmed they’re bombs.”

  She gripped my seatback when turbulence jolted our jet.

  “MI6? Do you know Hugh Owen?” I asked, testing her.

  “You’re smart to be careful.” Lisa’s lips were a tight slit. “Hugh was killed in Edinburgh Castle last summer, right in front of you.”

  “Right, so what can you tell me about the bombs? Any connection to your mission?”

  “We had no concerns about this flight. I’m gathering evidence to prove Murciato has branched out from his drug cartel and is now selling illegal arms to African war lords.”

  “Carlene sure picked the wrong guy.” I glanced back as our jet zoomed up and down like a rollercoaster. “How big are the bombs?”

  A loud boom from a nearby lightning bolt made us duck involuntarily.

  “There’s enough C4 to destroy the aircraft. Lance told me about the sabotage. The bombs were activated with timers about the same time your radios were fried.”

  “So why didn’t they explode?” I asked, hoping the bombs had malfunctioned in a good way.

  “I’ve seen bombs like this before. The timers were only meant to make them live. Each one has an altitude detonator, which means they won’t explode until we descend to a preset altitude—2,000 feet above sea level.” Lisa wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and glanced out the cockpit windows. “We need to find an airport above that altitude.”

  “Any chance you can defuse them?” I asked as I banked to avoid a storm.

  “Afraid not.” Lisa gripped my seatback as another patch of unstable air jarred us. “Once they’ve been activated, they’re designed to explode if they’re tampered with. Landing above 2,000 feet is our only option.”

  “Could these nasty air currents set them off?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “The bombs are securely anchored inside the overheads, but…maybe.”

  “Then I’d better find a safe place to land before they get jarred into exploding.”

  “I’m on it.” Lance slipped into his seat and scanned a flight chart. “The highest mountains are near the west coast. Where do you want to go?”

  Before I had a moment to think, fate made the decision for me.

  Both engines quit, and all the glass displays on the forward panel went blank.

  The cockpit became deathly silent as lightning flashed outside and thunder boomed in the distance.

  “Dual engine failures!” Lance shouted.

  I glanced up at the overhead fuel gauges. “Shit! The tanks are empty.”

  “What the hell happened to all the fuel?” Lance asked. “We had plenty twenty minutes ago.”

  “I don’t know.” I eased the nose down and searched in vain for a safe place to land, my hands unconsciously tightening on the yoke.

  “Whoever destroyed our radios must’ve sabotaged the fuel tanks too,” Lance said, his eyes riveted on the fuel gauges.

  “Doesn’t matter now.” I glanced at him. “Where’s the nearest mountain?”

  He sucked in his breath. “Way too far for an engines-out glide.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Lisa. “Thanks for the help. You’d better return to the cabin now and strap in.”

  She bit her lip. “Sorry I couldn’t disarm the bombs. I know you’ll do your best.”

  I searched the ominous looking sky.

  Thunderstorms everywhere, no mountains, and endless jungle below.

  God help us.

  USS LEVIATHAN

  Rowlin grabbed the interphone and called CIC. “Send warning messages to Texas and Wolverine that there may be four North Korean subs lying in wait off the Palm Beach Inlet. Notify them I’m deploying the Scorpions.”

  Lowes tapped Rowlin’s shoulder. “Captain, we’re ten miles from the target area.”

  Rowlin keyed the radio and called Jane and Fred. “Scorpion One and Scorpion Two are cleared to launch. Locate the enemy subs and report back. If they attack, destroy them.”

  “Aye, Captain, Scorpion One is cleared to launch, locate the enemy, and destroy them if they attack,” Lieutenant Jane Hoebich answered.

  Lieutenant Fred Lichten gave the same reply for Scorpion Two and then asked, “Sir, any chance we can get permission for a preemptive strike?”

  “I’ll check with SECNAV and get back to you. Be careful down there.”

  Rowlin called CIC. “Sound the alarm for battle stations.” He turned to Lowes. “XO, you have the bridge. I’ll command from CIC.” Rowlin rushed down to the Combat Information Center as the klaxon horn blared.

  He entered the nerve center of the ship and strode up to the communications officer. “Ensign, get SECNAV on a secure line.”

  “Aye, Captain, I’m putting the call through now.” The ensign snatched up a secure satellite phone. Moments later, he handed it to Rowlin.

  “Admiral, this is Captain Rowlin on Leviathan. I believe we’re about to be attacked by four North Korean submarines. If that’s the case, do I have permission to destroy them?”

  “I was about to call you. I’ve already been notified about the possible enemy subs, Captain, and I just finished speaking with the President. We’re on the brink of war with North Korea, and we’re now at DEFCON 2. Do not engage the enemy unless they attack one of our ships. Understood?”

  “Aye, Admiral, understood, but if we wait until after they fire torpedoes at Texas, we won’t be able to save them.” Rowlin crushed an empty paper coffee cup and tossed it.

  “Texas can defend itself. Those commie bastards are accusing us of sinking their sub without provocation. Worse, they’re denying responsibility for their attack on your ship. We’re walking a fine line in the court of world opinion.”

  “Understood, sir,” Rowlin said, clenching his jaw.


  “One more thing: If you do get in a battle with enemy subs, destroy them all. No survivors.”

  “No survivors?” Rowlin’s gut twisted. “Isn’t that against the Geneva Conventions?”

  “Screw that! We need deniability to prevent a war. The Navy will take care of any debris while you continue up to Mayport. If anyone from the press or public asks, we’ll say we were testing weapons.”

  I hate doing that, but I understand why it’s necessary. Probably wouldn’t be any survivors from a sunken sub anyway.

  Rowlin bit his lip. “Aye, Admiral, total annihilation and no survivors.”

  “Good,” the Secretary of the Navy said. “Keep me informed and Godspeed, Captain.”

  Fifteen

  LIA Flight 515

  We were descending through 26,000 feet when I turned to miss a huge thunderstorm and spotted a dark mesa poking up out of the middle of the jungle. Narrow and flat, it extended a few miles and looked like it might be higher than 2,000 feet.

  “There’s our runway.” I pointed at it.

  “It looks long enough. Maybe not as wide as I’d like, considering the steep cliffs, but way wider than real runways.” Lance squinted. “Looks fairly flat, but if the elevation isn’t high enough, nothing else will matter.”

  “With our rate of descent, the distance to the mesa should work out.” I focused on the dark plateau. “I can always put the airplane in a sideslip maneuver if we’re high.”

  The PA system still worked, and I used it to call the cabin crew into the cockpit.

  “We only have a few minutes before we land there.” I pointed at the mesa.

  Tiesha gripped a cockpit seatback as turbulence buffeted the airliner, and a brief rain squall pummeled the windshield. She squinted. “It looks like the bow of a huge ship, except the sides have waterfalls shooting out near the top. Are you sure we can land there?”

  “Positive. Now pack food and water in garbage bags and pillow cases. As soon as the airplane stops, open the doors on whichever side is farthest from the cliffs, evacuate the passengers, and toss out our luggage, the supplies you packed, and at least one life raft. The tanks are empty, so if the airplane is stable and not too damaged, gather blankets, pillows, and anything else to keep us warm and comfortable until help arrives. We’re not staying on board with those bombs. Any questions?”