Not on His Watch

by Cassie Miles

  “We’re going to land this plane,” Quint said. “You and me.”

  She wanted to believe that was possible. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, you’re a pilot.”

  “I’m an ace when it comes to piloting a baby Cessna. On this thing, I need your help.”

  She hammered at the safety door to the flight deck until Jerome Harris popped it open. His eyes were wild. His nose twitched.

  “Thank God, you’re here,” he said.

  Behind him, the instrument panel flashed with red warning lights.

  Gregory from Marketing looked up in panic. “I don’t know what to do. This isn’t like the small planes I’ve been on.”

  “It’s okay.” Quint gestured for him to get out of the pilot’s seat. “I’m back.”

  As Gregory staggered toward her, Natalie assured him, “You’ve been great. Quick thinking. Smart.”

  He tried to smile, but his face was frozen. He managed to blurt, “Quick thinking is a good quality for a vice president.”

  “Gregory, you’ve got the promotion.” She grinned. Only a marketing man would try to sell himself in the midst of a crisis. “I have one more job for you. Take the guys from legal and go down to the rear cargo hold. Tie up the hijackers. There’s one really big guy you’ll want to be careful with.”

  When Natalie lowered herself into the co-pilot’s seat and looked through the side window, she saw an F-14 to her right. There was another fighter plane on the opposite side. She held the cell phone to her ear. “Colonel Roberts, this is Natalie. We’ve still got the F-14s. Is something wrong?”

  “Don’t worry,” the colonel said. “They’re acting as an escort.”

  “I’d prefer friendlier companions.” The fighter planes were built for one thing only—efficient warfare. “You’ve talked to them, haven’t you? They know not to shoot us down, don’t they?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the colonel said. “Let me speak to Quint.”

  She looked over at her cowboy, who was concentrating hard, dealing with each set of flashing lights and making necessary adjustments on the instrument panel. As he leaned forward, the wound on the back of his head was visible. His thick brown hair was matted with blood. He needed medical attention.

  “Quint, your head. It looks—”

  “I’m okay. What does Roberts say?”

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  “I’ve got both hands full,” he said. “You have to relay the instructions.”

  In the midst of all this high-tech machinery, it seemed impossible that they didn’t have some device to transmit Colonel Robert’s voice over the cell phone into the flight deck. She turned to Jerome and explained her need.

  “We’re riding on fumes,” Quint said. “And there’s no extra fuel in the auxiliary tanks.”

  “But we should have had enough to make the round trip from Washington.”

  “The hijackers must have jettisoned some of our fuel,” he said. “They wanted to force us to fly low so they could make the parachute jump. Tell Roberts we need to come in for a landing. Right now.”

  She relayed Quint’s words to the colonel.

  In an utterly calm voice, the colonel said, “You’re approximately sixteen minutes away from Chicago, cleared to land at O’Hare. In seven minutes, you’ll need to prepare for landing. Do you copy?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “You can’t think it,” he said crisply. “You have to know for certain.”

  “Well, excuse me, but I’ve never flown a turbojet before. You can’t seriously expect me to pretend that I’m going for a walk by the lake.” Her voice rose to match her level of tension. It felt as if the co-pilot’s seat was upholstered in pins and needles. “I’m a tiny bit nervous.”

  “Calm down, Natalie. It’s better if you pretend you know what you’re doing. Trick yourself into being unafraid. Roger that.”

  “Roger yourself,” she snapped. “I’ve hardly even been in a cockpit.”

  “Flight deck,” he corrected. “Trust me. If you do as I instruct, you’ll be fine. Let’s start by having you talk like a pilot. Roger.”

  “Roger,” she grumbled. She sighed and relayed his instructions to Quint.

  “Seven minutes?” he asked.

  “Probably six by now. Why?”

  When he looked at her, his gaze seemed unfocused. His breathing was shallow. “I don’t want you to worry, but I’m feeling like a cat that’s been swung around by his tail.”

  “Don’t pass out, Quint. Please.”

  “If I can’t get my vision clear, you’re going to have to be my eyes, Natalie. If something happens to me, here’s what you do.” He pointed to a switch near the middle of the panel. “Flip this, and you’ve got the con.”

  “The what?” Hysteria was building inside her.

  “The control. Control, Natalie.”

  It was going to take more than deep breathing exercises to make her feel that she was in control. “Maybe I should get somebody else up here.”

  Weakly, he smiled. “I never thought I’d see the day when Natalie Van Buren stepped aside.”

  “My God, Quint, this isn’t a press conference. There’s several tons of complex machinery here. And no room for error.”

  “You’ll have instructions. And you’ve got more than that.”

  “Do I?” She was rattled. “What more do I have?”

  “A hell of a good reason to go on living.” He reached out toward her. “I love you, Natalie Van Buren. And I want you to be my bride.”

  Her heart went thud. She swallowed hard. “Was that supposed to calm me down?”

  “Think of our life together. In Chicago. And on the ranch. You can teach me how to eat escargot, and I’ll show you how to ride.”

  It sounded crazy and impossible and absolutely wonderful. More than anything, she wanted to share her life with him, to mingle their two worlds into one spectacular universe as endless as the eternal stars.

  “Will you marry me, Natalie?”

  “Roger that,” she said. On this issue, she was confident. “I love you, cowboy. And I’ll gladly be your bride.”

  Jerome returned to the flight deck. Quickly, he hooked up the cell through the speakerphone so they could both talk to the colonel at the same time. Though she couldn’t keep her hand linked with Quint’s, she felt connected to him. They were going to be married. He would be her husband. She would be his wife. His second wife. It seemed like the best job in the world.

  “Actually,” she said, “it’s good that you were married before. You’ve already been broken in.”

  “Guess so,” he said. “I know how to leave the toilet seat down and to pick up my socks off the floor.”

  The thought of Quint’s socks on the floor gave her a rush of pleasure. Domesticity flooded her mind, and her panic began to ebb. She’d do anything to ensure the wonderful life that lay ahead. She would land this plane. They would live happily ever after.

  “It’s ready,” Jerome said.

  “Colonel,” Natalie said, “we have you on speakerphone. Can you hear me?”

  “I read you loud and clear. Is Quint still there?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “In two minutes, I want you to turn off the autopilot. You’re coming in toward O’Hare, south by southwest. There’s a high cloud cover.”

  “No joke,” Quint said. “I can’t see through it.”

  Natalie peered through the windshield. Below them was a landscape of thick, fluffy clouds that appeared to be soft as a sea of pillows. When she was a child, she imagined this was what heaven looked like.

  Colonel Roberts advised, “Weather on the ground is clear. Low wind shear.”

  Natalie turned to Jerome. “It’s best if you leave us now. Close the door and tell everybody to prepare for landing.”

  “Can I take the dog with me?”

  She nodded.

  As rabbity little Jerome exited, he called, “Come along, Skippy. We need to take care of the passen
gers.”

  “His name is Scout,” Natalie said.

  “Not anymore. This puppy is going to have a whole new life. He needs a new name.”

  And Skippy was a good name for a dog that had formerly been known as Scout, the pet of a monster. It pleased her to think of Jerome giving the Border collie a good home.

  “Ready?” Quint asked. He had both hands on the yoke. “I’m taking her off autopilot.”

  “What should I do?”

  “For now, sit tight.”

  When he pressed a button on the yoke, the plane took a little jolt, then immediately evened out as Quint grasped the yoke.

  Over the speaker, Colonel Roberts advised, “You need to capture glide slope. One dot high on the glide slope. Minimum drag speed at two hundred knots.”

  “Roger,” Quint said.

  He felt the power of the massive turbojet engines coursing through the yoke and into his body. Flying a small plane made him feel free as a hawk sailing on currents of wind. Handling this jet was like riding bareback on a rocket, but Quint was up to the task. He could handle this plane. He wouldn’t need Natalie’s help.

  The throbbing inside his skull had eased to a dull ache, and his motor skills remained sharp. He was able to make sense of the instrument panel and comprehend instructions from Colonel Roberts.

  But his head wasn’t right. Leaning toward the window, he sensed a tilt to the wings, but the LCD screen showed they were stable. Quint feared his inner equilibrium was messed up from the blow to his head. His peripheral vision was fuzzy. There was no way in hell he could navigate the last phase of the landing. Natalie was going to have to guide the plane into touchdown.

  He glanced over at her. His future bride. Competent. Capable of anything. At least, he wanted to believe that she could do anything. Landing a turbojet at night was asking a lot.

  She relayed more instructions from the colonel.

  Quint checked their speed. Two hundred and ten knots. Every landing was a matter of thrust and pitch. Balance and rudder. On instruments, their descent was a graceful slope, perfectly smooth.

  They entered the cloud cover that obscured the earth below. With no visual markers, their only guideposts were the LCD screens on the instrument panel. It was a netherworld, limbo. They emerged. City lights flared below them.

  He heard Natalie gasp and reassured her, “It’s pretty, isn’t it.”

  “Pretty scary,” she said tersely. “The clouds looked a lot softer.”

  “It’s the real world,” he said. “That’s what we’re coming back to. And it’s a good place. A good world.”

  “With only a few bad people,” she said. “By the way, Colonel Roberts, would you relay a message to Vincent?”

  “Tell me.”

  She said, “I want Zahir’s butt taken into custody as soon as possible. He’s behind the hijacking.”

  “Roger that,” the colonel said. “The Feds are already on top of the situation. The prince is in the slammer.”

  Quint saw two F-14s pull even with the flight deck. He struggled to focus on their sleek outline, and noticed a skull and crossbones painted on the tail of one. The fighter planes darted in front of them, riding at their nose. Simultaneously, the F-14s dipped their wings from side to side.

  “What are they doing?” Natalie asked.

  “Wishing us good luck,” Quint said. “It’s kind of a salute.”

  The rear jet engine on the fighter planes flared dramatically and they zoomed away, through the clouds and out of sight.

  “Wow!” Natalie stared up, trying to follow their swooping departure. “I’m glad those guys are on our side.”

  “The world’s finest,” Quint agreed.

  Over the speakerphone, Colonel Roberts said, “Do you have visual on the airfield?”

  “Negative,” Quint responded. “We’re still too far out.”

  He squinted through the windshield, and all the lights became a blur. He could manage the instruments, but there was no way he could sight in precisely enough for the actual touchdown.

  Now was as good a time as any to tell Natalie. “I’ve got a little problem here. My vision isn’t so good. I can work the instruments and get us right on top of the runway, but you’re going to have to guide us down.”

  “Okay.” She sounded breathless. “I can do this. Colonel Roberts, did you hear what he said?”

  “Copy that,” the colonel said.

  He offered no further words of encouragement. “Okay,” she said. “How do I make the plane go down?”

  Over the speakerphone, Colonel Roberts groaned.

  “We’re on a slope,” Quint said. “When I tell you, just keep it steady and steer with the yoke like you’re driving a car.”

  The colonel added, “It’s not hard to land, Natalie. Do you have visual? Can you see the airfield?”

  She saw an impossibly narrow corridor of lights. “Yes, I think I see it. I mean, roger.”

  Her ears buzzed with the sound of the engines. Shivers raced through her body.

  “Prepare for final approach,” the colonel said. “Quint, you need five degrees nose up.”

  “Roger,” he said. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I’m letting you down, but I can’t see the landing strip. It’s a—”

  “Shut up, Quint.”

  Colonel Roberts said, “Two-point-five degrees nose up for flap thirty. Stabilize.”

  “Roger,” Quint said. “Natalie, I want you to take hold of the yoke. When I tell you, steer toward the runway. Line up the center of the landing strip to run directly between your knees.”

  “Landing sequence,” the colonel said. “Flaps to slow. Lower the landing gear.”

  “Roger.” Quint flipped a switch, and she felt a clunk as the landing gear descended.

  The earth rushed up to meet them. Suddenly, they were close to the ground. She stared at the blue flares outlining the landing strip. There were a lot of other lights. Emergency vehicles. Police cars.

  Colonel Roberts said, “Thrust reversers to idle.”

  “Roger,” Quint responded. “I’m turning it over to Natalie. Get ready, darlin’.”

  He hit the switch. The turbojet was in her hands. Raw power surged through her. They were only fifteen feet from the ground. “I can’t handle it. It’s too much.”

  “You’re doing fine. Aim for the center.”

  She wanted to be cool like everybody else, but it was impossible. Staring with all her might at the runway, Natalie steered toward the center line. Too fast. It was coming too fast. Keeping her gaze fixed to the line, she opened her mouth and screamed like a banshee.

  The wheels hit ground and bounced.

  “Good,” Quint said. “I’m taking back the con.”

  White-knuckled, her fingers continued to grip the yoke. She felt the power transfer.

  “Nose gear down,” Colonel Roberts reminded.

  “Roger,” Quint said.

  Several more instructions passed between them, but Natalie heard not a word. They were on the ground. The plane was stopping. They were safe at last.

  She felt Quint’s hand on her arm as he reached across the center console. “You did good,” he said.

  She transferred her death grip from the yoke to his forearm. Her eyelids blinked rapidly, trying to erase the images of rushing lights.

  Once the plane had come to a stop, he helped her stand up. “We’re okay, Natalie.”

  She collapsed against him. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  “In the future,” he drawled, “I reckon we ought to avoid hijackings.”

  She clung to him. With a gasp, she started breathing again. It was really true. They’d landed. They were safe at last.

  Quint opened the flight deck door. The first one through was Skippy, the hijacker’s dog. He was followed by Jerome and Maria Luisa. Everybody was cheering and crying and laughing in a big, happy blur.

  But there was little time for congratulations. Natalie found herself being rushed by the flight attendants tow
ard the emergency exit in the middle of the cabin. She and the other passengers who were uninjured bounced down inflatable ramps to the tarmac. At the same time, emergency personnel from ambulances charged into the plane to assist those who were injured. Two fire trucks stood at the ready. There were at least a dozen police cars. Plainclothes detectives led by Special Agent Yoder of the FBI raced onto the aircraft with guns drawn to take the hijackers into custody.

  She looked up at Quint and grinned. “Where were all these people when we needed them?”

  His gaze—still unfocused and squinty—aimed toward a small clump of people who stood apart from the others. Chicago Confidential.

  Together, she and Quint approached Whitney and Vincent and Andy. In the midst of congratulations, she even smiled at Law Davis.

  When they met Colonel Robbie Roberts, an eagle-eyed older man who wore a sweater-vest and golf slacks, Quint snapped a crisp salute. Natalie flung her arms around the retired colonel. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He whispered back, “You almost popped my eardrums when you landed.”

  “Not my thing,” she said. “I promise never to enter a cockpit again.”

  “Flight deck,” he corrected.

  He kept one arm around her and placed his other hand on Quint’s shoulder, turning them toward the rest of the Confidential crew. “Ladies and gentlemen, I overheard a conversation between these two on the plane. I think they have an announcement.”

  “Wait,” Quint said.

  Questioning, she glanced toward him. Had he changed his mind about marrying her? Now that he had both feet on the ground, perhaps he’d thought better of his proposal.

  Quint separated from the group and walked toward a solitary figure. Her father. Henry Van Buren stood alone on the tarmac. The flashing lights from emergency vehicles reflected on his white hair. She watched as Quint approached him.

  Natalie couldn’t hold back. These were the two most important men in her life. She ran so fast that she passed Quint as she leaped into her father’s arms and gave him the biggest, most enthusiastic hug since she was a little girl and believed he could make every rainy day turn out bright.