Blackout

by Nance, John J. ;

  Bill Jenkins’s voice cut through the noise, triggering complete silence as everyone strained to hear a reassurance that all was well.

  Instead they heard another plea for anyone with aeronautical training to ring the Call button, a request urgent and frightening enough to bring several passengers to their feet, looking around in shock, unsure what to do.

  Those who stood were pounced upon immediately by flight attendants. “Are you trained as a pilot, Sir?” “Can you fly, Ma’am?” “Are you responding to the PA?” were questions fired at high speed with high hopes, but only one had the right answer.

  “Excuse me,” a tall, distinguished man asked, “some chap asked for anyone with any aeronautical training to come forth and I do have a bit.”

  Another call chime rang in the coach, and Alice Naccarato responded.

  “Hey, Miss?” a voice called out.

  Alice stopped and turned, looking past a teenage boy to an ashen-faced man in a window seat.

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Not him. Me,” the teenager said.

  Ah, yes. Alice thought. The kid Britta warned me about.

  “I’m Steve Delaney, and I know I’m just an unaccompanied minor, but I know about flying and you need a pilot, right?”

  “You’re a pilot, Steve?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “But are you a licensed pilot?”

  “No, but …”

  “Have you ever flown a real plane this size?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever flown a real plane of any size, Steve?”

  “No.”

  Alice smiled thinly. The last thing Dan needed in the cockpit was some adolescent amateur with an attitude.

  “Steve, I appreciate your responding, but we just had an experienced pilot come forward, and I think we’d better go with him.”

  “Yeah, I know the routine.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alice sighed, and stood. The boy scowled and looked away.

  In the cockpit the interphone call chime caused Dan to reach too rapidly for the handset, lacerating his knuckles before he could pull it out of the cradle.

  “Cockpit.”

  “Dan? This is Bill. I’ve found an older guy with Korean-vintage flight experience down here.”

  “Good. An Air Force type?”

  “British, actually. Not military aviation, though. Korean War-vintage. He says he took civilian flying lessons back then. His name’s Sampson.”

  Dan snorted to himself. Just my luck! “Thanks. Send Mr. Sampson up.”

  In seat 28G, Julia Mason had already decided to do more than sit and worry. After all, over the previous month, the forty-five members of her tour group had come to expect her to have all the answers. Well into her sixties, she took pride in being firmly in charge and refusing to accept head-patting answers from crew members.

  Julia rose quickly from her aisle seat and strode to the middle galley, finding one of the younger flight attendants, a brunette with beautiful dark eyes and a perfect olive complexion, who gave Julia a briefing she wished she hadn’t asked for: The captain was dead, something had exploded in front of them, and the copilot was flying.

  “My Lord, that’s awful. But shouldn’t that copilot be telling us something on the public address system?” Julia asked, trying to recover her composure.

  “Ma’am, all I know is what I just told you.” The flight attendant’s response was gentle but firm, triggering Julia’s instincts to bore in.

  “What’s your name, Dear?”

  “Nancy,” the flight attendant replied, her eyes focused on the other passengers.

  “Now, Nancy, surely we’re going back?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s simply not good enough, is it? Won’t you get on that interphone and find out? See, I’ve got forty-five people expecting me to know. What do I tell them?” Julia realized her voice was shaking.

  Nancy shook her head. “Ma’am, as soon as we know anything, you’ll know it. Please go back and sit down now.”

  “Absolutely not. Not until I have some information to give to my people.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “My name is Julia, Nancy.”

  “Julia, look, I’m … I’m worried too, because—”

  “Bottom line, Nancy, is you’re a crew member and supposed to be in charge. Now. What can we expect to happen next?”

  The flight attendant shrugged and pursed her lips, tears betraying the tension. She fought for control, but it was a losing battle. “I … I don’t know, but … I …” She flailed the air with her right hand as she struggled for composure. “Frankly, I’m scared, and I would appreciate … very much … your leaving me alone right now.”

  Julia felt her resolve evaporate as she looked at the young woman, forty years her junior, feeling the same apprehension that they were in uncharted territory. Julia moved forward to enfold the young woman in a motherly embrace.

  “Meridian Five, what is your status?” the voice boomed over the cockpit speakers, startling Robert MacCabe, who was standing behind the center console and gripping the captain’s empty seat as he surveyed the technological jungle of dials and gauges and lights on the forward panel.

  Dan Wade took a ragged breath and punched his Transmit button, talking into the tiny boom microphone he wore. His voice emerged strained and low.

  “We’re … ah … stable right now, Hong Kong, but we’re trying to find someone aboard with pilot experience … because I’m … not in good shape.”

  “Sorry to ask, Sir, but can you repeat what happened?”

  Dan sighed. “I don’t know, Hong Kong. Something exploded just in front of us. It shook the whole airplane, flash-blinded my eyes, and somehow triggered a heart attack or … or something in the captain. I don’t know what it was. I’ve never even heard of anything that bright and painful, other than a nuclear fireball, which is what I said earlier, but I guess it couldn’t have been. Ah … but Hong Kong, the explosion happened just after that unidentified aircraft crossed our path.”

  There was a pause from the controller, followed by a singular response that triggered a chill down Dan’s back. “Meridian, we’re missing Global Express Two-Two-Zulu. Is it possible you collided with him?”

  Dan swallowed hard, trying to envision the 747 essentially ramming the smaller jet. How could that happen without even depressurizing the cabin? But somehow it must have. It was the only logical explanation, short of some attack.

  “Either someone shot a missile at us that exploded in front, or we hit him. If he’s missing, then I’m sure we hit him. But if we’re not damaged …”

  “Meridian, are you able to land the airplane, Sir?”

  Dan tried to gauge what consequences there might be for speaking the grim truth on an open radio channel. If they couldn’t find another pilot, he would have one option only: use the autoflight system to let the airplane land itself, a maneuver that would require setting up the autopilot and autothrottles perfectly, and standing by to hand-fly a missed approach literally in the blind if anything went wrong.

  There was no reason to sugarcoat it, he decided. He couldn’t even open his eyelids, let alone see anything. For now he was a blind man.

  “Hong Kong,” Dan began in a constrained, almost hoarse voice, “I’m the only pilot left up here, and I cannot see to fly. But … ah … our autopilot is working, and I’m going to get us down with that.”

  “Roger, Meridian.”

  Dr. Graham Tash reentered the cockpit, brushing Dan’s arm.

  “Who’s there?” Dan asked.

  “It’s the doctor, Dan.”

  “How’s Pete?”

  The physician cleared his throat. “Dan, I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”

  “Oh, God! How? How could that happen?”

  Graham put his hand on the copilot’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Probably a coronary. Maybe a stroke.”

  Dan took a ragged breath and swallowed. “Pete only had six mon
ths before retirement. He … was going to take his wife around the world.”

  “We did everything we could. We could never get a heartbeat.”

  Dan was shaking his head. “He’s got a huge family. Kids, grandkids.” He was quiet for a few seconds before taking a sharp breath and wincing from the effort. “Doc, do you guys carry little black bags anymore?”

  “Not really. But there’s an emergency medical kit aboard.”

  “I … ah … need something for the pain. Not enough to run the risk of knocking me out, but to get the edge off. I’m … having trouble handling the pain and thinking.”

  “I have it right here,” Graham said. “I’m only going to give you a small amount, for the same reasons you indicated, Dan.”

  “Could you please hurry?”

  Graham ripped open an alcohol swab with his teeth as he struggled to unbutton the copilot’s left cuff and pull his sleeve up, swabbing the target area. He drew the appropriate amount of anesthetic into the syringe and injected it into Dan’s vein. “You should feel that almost instantly.”

  There was a sigh and a nod from the copilot as a wide-eyed Bill Jenkins came through the door with someone in tow.

  “Dan? I’ve brought Mr. Geoffrey Sampson.”

  The copilot nodded. “There’s no time for courtesies, Mr. Sampson. Please get in the captain’s seat—the left seat, and fasten the seat belt.”

  “Very well,” the man said in a classic Oxford accent, climbing into the seat.

  “Mr. Sampson?” Dan began as soon as he heard the belt snap to.

  “Geoffrey, if you please,” he said.

  “Yeah. Geoffrey. Look, I’m going to need your assistance flying this aircraft.”

  “Oh, dear. That could be a difficulty, then, Captain. I’ve had frightfully little experience.”

  “My name’s Dan.”

  “Of course. Dan, I had flight lessons in small single-engine airplanes during the fifties, but that’s a world away from this cockpit.”

  “You know the basics? Airspeed, altitude, heading, attitude?”

  “Most of them, yes.”

  Once again Dan had to remind himself to slow his breathing. He was getting light-headed—or was that the effect of the morphine?

  “Geoffrey. Take … ah.” Dan stopped and shook his head to clear it. A wave of pain rewarded the effort. He heard himself whimper, a sound he was determined not to repeat, and swallowed hard against a cotton mouth.

  “Okay … Geoff … take a good and careful look at every major switch and everything on the display screens and see how much looks familiar.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re … going to … have to let the autopilot land the airplane back in Hong Kong, since I can’t see.”

  “I must be misunderstanding this—are you telling me that you’re unable to see anything?”

  “That’s the problem.”

  “Oh my!”

  “Were you instrument-rated?”

  “No. And I most certainly can’t fly this machine! I—I—”

  Robert clamped a reassuring hand on Sampson’s right shoulder as Dan held up his left hand to interrupt the Englishman. “Hold it, Geoffrey. You’re not going to fly. The airplane will fly itself. You’re just going to be my eyes, reading the basic instruments and watching to make sure the autopilot doesn’t disconnect. Okay?”

  “Very well. I can try, but I must have you understand I am not able to fly an airplane like this.”

  “Understood. Robert, are you still here?”

  “Yes, Dan.”

  “And Doc?”

  “Right here, Dan.”

  Dan took another ragged breath. “Okay. All of you watch this panel.” He pointed to the push buttons on the forward glare shield that engaged or disengaged the autopilot. “As long as this button is lit, the airplane is flying itself. If that snaps off, we have to get it on again. Now. See the radar display, Geoffrey?” He pointed to the screen, and the man acknowledged.

  “Do you … just a second.”

  Once again Dan’s head went down into his hands, his body shuddering. The three men in the cockpit watched in alarm. After nearly thirty seconds the copilot sat up again.

  “Sorry. Okay. Do you see any big red areas in front of us? Those would be storm cells we don’t want to get into.”

  “Not in front of us,” Sampson replied. “There is a big red area to the left. Let me read the range. Yes. About sixty miles.”

  “Good! Keep watching that, too.”

  Dan leaned forward and gingerly touched his eyelids, feeling the swelling. He was dizzy, in pain, nauseated, tired, and scared, but the plan was becoming clearer. I can do this. She’s a new bird, the equipment works, and Hong Kong’s got a long runway. I can make this happen!

  He pulled himself back to an upright position. “Is Britta up here?”

  “No, Dan. This is Graham Tash.”

  Dan nodded, trying to swallow again. “Okay … ah … stand by.” He triggered the Transmit button. “Hong Kong Approach, Meridian Five. I’m going to need vectors to—no. I’m going to need more time to prepare for landing. Is this course okay?”

  “Roger, Meridian. Please turn left or right now to a heading of two-eight-zero degrees. We show you still level at one-two thousand feet.”

  “Okay. Coming left to a heading of two-eight-zero.” Dan inclined his head toward the left seat. “Geoffrey? Can you see the little window I’m pointing to here on the forward panel?”

  “Yes, Dan.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says oh, eight, oh.”

  “Zero-eight-zero, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “Look straight ahead of you at the compass rose on what we—what we call the HSI, on the video screen.” Dan sighed deeply.

  “Very well.”

  “What heading is under the lubber line, that little line at the top of the case?”

  “I believe it’s the same, Dan. We’re heading zero-eight-zero, as you call it.”

  “Okay. Great.” He was almost panting again. Got to keep the breathing slow! Pain’s eased up some, so I ought to be able to make it. Take it easy. “Geoffrey, that little window I was pointing to is the heading that we’re asking the autopilot to fly. Use the little knob beneath it now—we call that the heading selector—and turn it counterclockwise until it says two-eight-zero, okay?”

  “Understood, Dan. I’m moving it.”

  The 747 began a left bank, and Dan could feel the roll begin. There would be frequencies to set up for the instrument landing system approach, and they would have to descend carefully to 3,000 feet while he made sure a half-dozen other items were correctly positioned, but with a little help, they could do it.

  For the first time in several minutes, he began to feel hope.

  chapter 9

  ABOARD MERIDIAN 5, IN FLIGHT,

  WEST OF HONG KONG

  NOVEMBER 13—DAY TWO

  1:36 A.M. LOCAL/1736 ZULU

  Lucy Haggar, the newly elected mayor of Austin, Texas, released her seat belt and got to her feet, brushing back her impressive mane of silver hair before walking to the galley where Claire Brown and Alice Naccarato were standing in tense silence. Still trim and attractive in her late fifties, Lucy was used to being in control.

  She pulled back the privacy curtain and stuck her head in the galley. “Girls, excuse me, but I need to ask a question.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Claire replied, turning to face her.

  “What in hell is going on here? And don’t fib to me, now. Flight crews don’t beg for passengers who can fly unless there’s one granddaddy of a problem. Are the pilots dead?”

  She meant the question as a joke, but Claire, a young redhead, took a deep breath and nodded. “One of them is.”

  Lucy felt her eyebrows flutter up involuntarily and her stomach leap to her throat. All the progress she’d made over the years in suppressing her fear of flying evaporated in the space of a heartbeat.

  “You�
��re kidding. Oh Lord, you’re not kidding?”

  Claire motioned her inside. “You’re … Mayor Haggar, correct?”

  Lucy nodded. “Yes.”

  “Mayor, we don’t know much yet either, except that something exploded in front of our aircraft and the captain’s dead.”

  “But you have a copilot, right? Tell me he’s okay!”

  Claire pursed her lips and hesitated a moment too long.

  “Oh my God! The copilot’s hurt, too, isn’t he?”

  The flight attendant nodded.

  “How bad?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Oh Lord,” Lucy said, “I came back here to ask you to tell someone upstairs to please get on the PA and talk to us! I was only scared then. Now I’m terrified!”

  The sound of the PA system clicking on precluded a reply. They could hear a man clear his throat before his strained voice began speaking.

  Folks … this is your copilot, First Officer Dan Wade. I’m going to speak very frankly, and I expect you to remain calm and collected. Something of an unknown nature exploded in front of this aircraft a few minutes ago. It’s possible we hit another aircraft and he exploded. It’s also possible someone shot a missile at us that … detonated just in front of the cockpit.

  The PA clicked off for a few seconds, and then on again.

  Sorry. Whatever exploded was so bright, it somehow triggered a deadly physical reaction in the captain, and I’m very, very sorry to report to you that Captain Pete Cavanaugh has died … which is why we asked for any pilots to come forward.

  Again the PA clicked off, then on. More scraping noises and a heavy sigh before Dan Wade’s voice resumed, echoing through an absolutely silent cabin. Over 200 passengers looked toward the overhead speakers as if they could see into the cockpit.

  Ah, folks, I’m … ah … the only remaining pilot, which normally would not be a problem, but that explosion of light has injured me, too, and blinded me, at least temporarily. But … our airplane is undamaged, and this beautiful new Boeing seven-forty-seven is fully capable of automated landings. All I have to do is set things up, and I’m doing that now. No, I can’t see a damn thing. Yes, I’m in some pain, and I know I sound a bit strange. But I know this cockpit, and I’ve got several folks with me helping to be my eyes. Is this serious? Of course. Are our chances good? They’re excellent. I’m not going to give you some happy nonsense about there being no risk, but we should be okay. Anyway … a few prayers are in order. When we stop, we’ll be stopping on the runway to be towed in, since I can’t see to taxi safely. Okay. That’s it. I’m sorry to be short and brutal.