Blackout

by Nance, John J. ;

  “Yes?”

  “You, Britta, are going to have to make the determination of when and how to evacuate. If … things don’t go well, and you don’t hear from me, make sure we’ve stopped, then get them out of there. Okay?”

  “You’re going to do fine, Dan. We’ll make it.”

  The copilot took a deep, ragged breath. “I’ll do my best, but we’ve got to get on the ground while I’m still functioning.”

  Britta began massaging his shoulder as she looked forward through the windscreen, trying to discern anything familiar. There were very few ground lights visible in the darkness. Just the hint of a town somewhere to one side and the glint of distant lightning on the ocean’s surface to the left; the staccato flashes illuminated huge clouds on both sides in a visual melange worthy of van Gogh.

  Britta looked back down at Dan and leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “I mean it, Danny. You’ll do fine.” She straightened up. “Who do you want here in the cockpit?” she asked. “Mr. MacCabe is here. Should he stay?”

  “I can’t believe you remembered my name,” Robert said.

  “Britta,” Dan replied, “you need to be in the cabin. Stay upstairs, but sit in the cabin. Mr. Sampson sits where he is, in the left seat. Mr. MacCabe, if you don’t mind, sit where you are in the jump seat. Britta, if you should find another pilot hiding somewhere, get him up here.”

  “You bet, Dan,” Britta replied.

  “And please keep Rick Barnes out of my cockpit. He’s not much of an inspiration.” Dan paused and rubbed his head again, breathing rapidly, before continuing. “What I really need is Leslie Nielsen standing in the back, reminding me every few seconds that everyone’s depending on me.” He tried to smile, turning his head carefully to face forward again.

  Good! Britta thought. If his sense of humor is still alive, we’ll make it.

  “I just want you to know we are all depending on you, Danny!” she said, echoing Nielsen’s repeated line from Airplane!, the movie that had become an icon to airline crews.

  The overhead speakers tuned to Hong Kong Approach came alive again. “Meridian Five, how many miles out from the airport would you like to start the ILS approach to Chek Lap Kok?”

  Dan held up his right hand for silence.

  “Hong Kong, I need a lot of room to make sure we’re … lined up. Can you … see me on radar … far enough out to give me a … fifty-mile turn on the localizer?”

  “Our weather radar is painting a line of severe thunderstorms forty miles to the west, Sir, moving east at ten knots. We’d like to keep you clear of those.”

  “Okay, Hong Kong. A thirty-mile turn to the inbound course, then, I guess.”

  “We can do that, Meridian,” the controller replied. “Call me when you’re ready, Sir. Meanwhile, turn left now to a heading of one-eight-zero degrees.

  Britta Franz descended the stairs to the main cabin deck and motioned Bill Jenkins, Claire Brown, Alice Naccarato, Nancy Costanza, and four other flight attendants to the middle galley for a quick briefing. She tried to sound as upbeat as possible.

  “Okay, this is what we train for. The public thinks we’re glorified cocktail waitresses and waiters here just to serve drinks, but this is when we shine as professionals. I’m in command in the absence of Dan giving any orders. You know the protocol. If I say evacuate on the PA, do it. Under no circumstances do you pop those doors and slides until we are stopped, and do not make an independent decision unless you’re certain that I physically can’t order the evacuation. Understood?”

  They all nodded.

  “We’re going to make it, team. Dan’s hurt, but he’s a pro, and he’ll get us down safely.”

  Britta returned rapidly to the upper deck to secure the galley, unaware that someone was following her up the stairs and calling her, the unfamiliar voice not registering.

  “’Scuse me! I said, excuse me!”

  Britta turned to find herself face to face with the owner of the voice.

  “I was trying to catch you below,” the woman said. “You the head mama?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Britta replied, her eyebrows rising slightly at the woman’s phraseology.

  “Head mama, Darlin’, as in chief flight attendant and whip-cracker.”

  “I am the head flight attendant, if that’s what you mean.” Britta instantly regretted her tone. She had puffed herself up in reaction to the woman and knew she sounded haughty.

  “That’s exactly what I mean, Honey.” The woman smiled brightly, glancing around at Graham and Susan Tash. “Look, you’d probably forgive my linguistic vernacular if you knew I was black, which I was until just after takeoff, when I got the color scared out of me with people asking for replacement pilots and all.”

  Britta closed her eyes and shook her head as if to restart the entire encounter. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?”

  The woman stuck out her hand with a smile, and Britta shook it somewhat tenuously. “I’m Dallas Nielson, from seat Two-A downstairs. I’m one of your first-class passengers, okay? I’m really not some peon who crawled up out of the baggage compartment. Don’t let these dreadlocks fool you.” She tossed her head.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply …”

  Dallas Nielson held a palm up in a stop gesture. “It’s okay, Honey, I’m just so damn nervous I’m chattering at Warp Seven. That’s a Star Trek term.”

  “Yes, I know Star Trek, but—” Britta began.

  The huge smile again as Dallas Nielson continued. “Good. Good! See, we’ve got something in common, other than being trapped in a giant pilotless airliner.”

  Nancy Costanza had come up the stairs and moved in behind Dallas to motion for Britta’s attention. Britta looked at her with no intention to snap, but did so anyway. “What, Nancy?”

  The young flight attendant stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “Britta, I’m sorry, but I need your help. There’s a tour director down there …”

  Britta shook her head in self-disgust. “No, I’m sorry. There was no reason to bark at you, Nancy. Give me a couple of minutes, please.”

  Britta turned back to Dallas Nielson, still trying to discern the thrust of the conversation. “Ms. Nielson, are you by any chance a licensed pilot?”

  “Me? Good grief, no! I’m dangerous enough driving.”

  “Then I’m really not sure why we’re having this discussion, or what I can do for you, and I don’t have much time. I’ve got to get the cabin prepared for landing.”

  “Britta, was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, Britta, I’ve just got one question, but it’s a doozy. How in hell is a blind pilot going to land this monster? I’ve been sitting down there trying to stay quiet like a good girl, but I’ve gotta know.”

  “Oh.” Britta glanced over her shoulder at the cockpit, then looked back. “We have an automatic flight system that can literally fly the aircraft to the runway and even stop it. Now, would you please take your seat?”

  Dallas was already nodding. “I didn’t ask that right. I know this airplane is automated. I heard the pilot. Autopilot, autothrottles, auto-brakes. But how’s he going to set them up if he can’t see them? Anyone up there helping? Come on, girl. You don’t have to give me the usual airline crap. I’m not licensed to fly airplanes like this, but I know a lot about them, so maybe I should go up there and volunteer to help. Whaddaya think? Good idea?”

  Britta shook her head no. “This would not be a good time, Ms. Nielson. Not unless you can fly.”

  “The name’s Dallas. So when would be a better time? After we’ve crashed? After we let that poor guy on the PA fly us into the ground because no one was up there to read the instruments for him? Or do they have readouts in braille as well?”

  “Brai … what? Certainly not,” Britta replied. “But unless you’re a pilot, you have no business on the flight deck at this critical moment, and we already have someone up there with pilot experience helping the copilot read the instruments.” An image
of the reporter sitting just behind the unlicensed pilot who occupied the captain’s seat popped into her head. She tried to push the image away.

  “I want to at least stick my head in,” Dallas said, “and offer to help be his eyes and double-check whatever the other guy is doing. I know what I’m doing.”

  “How? How do you know what you’re doing, if you’re not a pilot?”

  “Because I have hundreds of hours reading Boeing seven-forty-seven flight instruments during my years as an engineer, okay?”

  Britta felt her mouth fall open. “A flight engineer? Well, good heavens, why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  No, Honey, Dallas thought, as a bored broadcast engineer playing video games like Microsoft’s flight simulator, but you don’t need to know that!

  “Okay,” Britta said. “Follow me, quickly!” She began to turn, then looked back at Dallas. “But if he asks you to leave for any reason, you must promise right now that you’ll return to your seat instantly.”

  Dallas Nielson reached out gently and put her hand on Britta’s shoulder, her voice warm and friendly and low. “Honey, I’m about as subtle as a pig at a tea party, but I’m not the idiot who’s going to distract a blind pilot trying to land a giant airplane that happens to be carrying my ass.”

  Britta motioned her to follow as she made her way through the cockpit door. She pointed Dallas to the lefthand jump seat behind the captain’s position and quickly explained to the copilot why Dallas was there, then turned to leave.

  “You can read the instruments?” Dan asked Dallas.

  “You mean like the Attitude Deviation Indicator, the HSI, the altimeter, VVI, airspeed, and whiskey compass?”

  “That’s an A-plus answer, Ms.…”

  “Dallas.”

  “Okay. Dallas. Mr. MacCabe, would you let her sit in that seat, please?”

  Robert was already ushering Dallas to the jump seat behind the captain’s seat.

  “There’s a second jump seat there in the middle, Mr. MacCabe. You have to fold it out from the wall.”

  “I see it.”

  “Okay, Dallas,” Dan said. “Have a seat and back us up. The fellow in front of you is …” Dan took a long, deep breath before continuing. “… ah … Geoffrey Sampson. Listen to what I ask him, and speak up instantly if we don’t get it right.”

  “You got it, Chief.”

  Britta had paused in the cockpit door behind Dallas, pleased that the woman had fallen silent and was studying the instrument panels with what appeared to be practiced familiarity. The realization sent a small jolt of hope through Britta’s knotted stomach.

  chapter 11

  HONG KONG APPROACH CONTROL,

  CHEK LAP KOK/HONG KONG INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  NOVEMBER 13—DAY TWO

  1:55 A.M. LOCAL/1755 ZULU

  The chief of Hong Kong Approach Control and two of his controllers had been in urgent consultation over how to handle the emergency that Meridian Flight 5 had become. When ready, they would bring the flight in from the west, lined up carefully with Runway 7, the aircraft flying on autopilot and tracking in on the Instrument Landing System radio beams, which could guide it right through an imaginary target box fifty feet over the end of the runway. The expansive new Chek Lap Kok airport near Hong Kong had incorporated the latest electronic equipment, and the ILS system was new and reliable, sending steady radio beams back up the approach that gave pilots precise guidance. Any aircraft flying the ILS within normal tolerances would arrive fifty feet over the threshold precisely aligned with the runway.

  The chief had authorized open phone lines to Meridian Airlines’ operations center back in Los Angeles, and had spoken to several American officials, including the American Federal Aviation Administration, as well as officials in the Chinese Air Force. Even the local American Consulate had been fully briefed, since there were American citizens aboard and no one knew if the explosion could be a hostile act. Customs, immigration, the Hong Kong police, the appropriate fire departments, and everyone else on the emergency plan was ready.

  No one knew anything about an explosion to the south, east, or west. The blinded copilot’s initial mention of a distant nuclear detonation as the possible cause had touched a spark to a powder keg of official angst and reverberated all the way from Beijing to Washington, D.C. So, too, had the possibility that Meridian 5 had collided with the Global Express business jet that had disappeared from radar before the incident. The increasingly shrill question of what, exactly, had blinded the flight crew of Meridian 5 was a secondary issue to the facility chief, who, more than anything, wanted to see his men guide the 747 to a safe landing.

  One of the controllers gestured west. “What do you think his chances are?”

  The chief took a deep breath before replying. “Seven-forty-sevens land at our airport every day using their automatic landing systems.”

  “Yes, Sir. I understand. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  UNITED STATES CONSULATE,

  HONG KONG, CHINA

  After locking the door to the consulate’s guest suite, Kat shed all her clothes and slipped between the elegant percale sheets of the king-size bed, enjoying the scent of flowers throughout the room. She had just closed her eyes when the phone rang. The consular officer who’d greeted her was on the other end with the news of Meridian 5’s emergency.

  Kat sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, holding the receiver. Robert was a target, and now his flight was in deep trouble and might have been attacked.

  “I’ll need immediate transportation to the airport,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

  There was a brief silence on the other end.

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  ABOARD MERIDIAN 5, IN FLIGHT

  The voice on the PA speakers was labored, but clear.

  Ah, folks, this is your … pilot. I’m ready to start the approach to Hong Kong. Here’s … what I wanted to tell you. I … have several people up here to help me operate the right, ah, controls, and read the instruments for me. As long as … all the automation works, it will be a gentle landing. I won’t lie to you, though. If anything goes wrong with the automatic system, and I have to take over manually, it could be a rough ride. All I can say is I’ll do my best. And whatever your religious beliefs, a few prayers right now would be appreciated. Please stay seated and strictly follow all instructions the flight attendants give you. They speak for me.

  A stunned silence filled the passenger cabin as the PA clicked off, as if the announcement had reinstated a level of fear that most of the passengers had been able to reason away.

  Britta Franz stood in front of the coach cabin feeling numb, aware of the sudden motion as over 200 people checked seat belts, adjusted pillows, held hands, and tried to reassure one another—some of them openly bowing their heads in prayer.

  She issued a reassuring pat to Claire’s shoulder and headed back up the stairs to report the cabin ready.

  And who will reassure me? Britta thought, and was instantly dismayed with herself for even a moment of self-pity.

  In the cockpit Dan Wade moved the landing gear handle to the Down position. The 747’s four main gear assemblies and the nose gear shuddered into place, gently rocking the cockpit with reassuring vibrations.

  “What … do you see now on those landing gear lights?” Dan asked.

  “They’re all green,” Geoffrey Sampson replied. “Some were red, but now they’ve all turned green.”

  “Okay. Now … I need you to tell me what the number is in the mileage window,” Dan said.

  Sampson leaned forward again, his eyes searching the bewildering array of displayed numbers in front of him.

  “You want the DME, Honey?” Dallas Nielson asked from the jump seat.

  Dan turned his bandaged head to the left. “You understand DME?”

  “Sure do. Distance Measuring Equipment. It’s showing eleven miles, and I can see the lights of the airport out there at about the same
distance. There’s some lightning to the left, almost ahead, and some dark clouds over the airport. The altitude is still three thousand feet.”

  “That’s correct!” Geoffrey Sampson echoed. “That’s the very instrument you were pointing to earlier.” He swiveled around to look at Dallas, who was sitting directly behind him. “Ms. Nielson, are you certain you shouldn’t be sitting here?”

  “No. I can’t handle the controls, but I can help you guys with what I see.”

  There was another ragged sigh from the exhausted copilot. “Ah, don’t hesitate to speak up, please.”

  Dallas Nielson chuckled. “One thing I’ve never been accused of is hesitating to speak up.” She glanced over at Robert MacCabe and rolled her eyes with a huge smile that Robert couldn’t resist returning.

  Dan’s right hand moved into position on the control yoke, even though the autopilot was flying. “In about two miles … we’ll intercept the glide slope. The lights on that display I showed you … will change. Please tell me when it happens, and what it says. At that point, the throttles will come back some and we’ll start down.”

  He leaned forward again, breathing hard, before raising his head. “And then I’ll need to know how fast we’re coming down. That’s really critical.”

  “You mean the rate of descent?” Dallas asked.

  Dan nodded. “Do you know where to look?”

  “Sure do,” Dallas answered.

  “The display is changing, Dan,” Geoffrey said.

  “How?”

  “It’s—I think it’s—like you said, captured the glide path. The button that has GS on it is now green, and the throttles are coming back.”

  “We are descending, Dan,” Dallas added. “We’re coming down about five or six hundred feet per minute.” There was a small series of lightning strikes just to the north of the runway, but she was trying to ignore it. What could they do, go around?

  The voice of the Hong Kong controller cut through the cockpit. “Meridian Five, cleared to land. Emergency equipment is standing by.”

  “Roger, Hong Kong,” Dan replied. “Altitude?”