Turbulence

by Nance, John J. ;

  Janie let the curtain go as a small kernel of fear begin to grow in her stomach. She turned and moved to the opposite side, to the curtain separating the galley from first class, searching the seat backs for any signs of deployed emergency oxygen masks.

  When do they drop? she asked herself, the answer almost instantaneous and echoing through a decade of recurrent training. Twelve thousand feet, of course. When the cabin reaches twelve thousand, the masks deploy automatically. But we can breathe just fine below twelve thousand feet, so if they haven’t deployed …

  Janie turned to face Brian and the other two men. “Are any of you feeling light-headed?”

  “Yeah,” one of the men responded. “I am.”

  “Me, too, I think,” another answered.

  Brian glanced at them, then looked back to Janie. “He’s depressurizing us, isn’t he?”

  She nodded, slowly and reluctantly, yet unable to hide it. There was no point in lying about it, she decided. With her ears popping, the masks would probably drop at any second. “Could be,” Janie said, “although the masks haven’t dropped, so we should be below twelve thousand cabin altitude.” She quickly explained the mechanism. “No masks, no problem. We might be a bit light-headed, but he can’t really knock us out from lack of oxygen unless the cabin is much higher. A cabin altitude of twenty-five thousand feet, for instance, would be a big problem, but even then we’re okay for about thirty minutes without the masks, and maybe good for as much as an hour with everyone using oxygen. Of course, if he climbs the cabin above twenty-eight thousand, that’s another story.”

  “Why twenty-eight?” Brian asked.

  Janie bit her lip and looked at him, aware she was blurting out everything. But it was boilerplate aviation physiology, and she thought back to the Air Force altitude chamber class she’d taken once at the insistence of a fighter pilot boyfriend. He knew she needed such knowledge if she was going to spend much of her life at high altitudes, and he’d been appalled that most flight attendants never received such training.

  “Above twenty-eight thousand,” Janie continued, “we’d need oxygen under pressure and special masks and regulators, like the pilots have. The passenger masks don’t deliver oxygen under pressure. So above twenty-eight thousand, we’d all pass out in about a minute. It’s called pressure breathing, and time of useful consciousness.”

  Three more passengers, two men and a woman, came through the curtain from coach and Brian turned to them. “Any other pilots back there?”

  All three shook their heads. “We asked everyone,” the woman replied. “There are two private pilots in coach who used to fly single-engine airplanes, but they said they’d be clueless in a 747 cockpit.”

  Janie recognized one of the passengers from the Chicago-to-London leg. The man had been in coach and slow to anger, but he’d sought her out in flight to complain about the attitude of her Chicago crew, and she’d helped him write a complaint. Brown was his name, she remembered. Dan Brown.

  “You told that fool to go to Cape Town, didn’t you?” Brown asked. “And now he’s defied us again and turned north, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Brian said, “but we’ve got another problem.” He briefed them on the decreasing cabin pressure.

  “Then we’ve got to get up there and confront him,” Dan Brown added.

  “He claims he’s got a gun, and an unbreakable door.” Brian replied, unconsciously looking at the ceiling as his breathing quickened. He looked at Janie with an accusatory expression. “This feels a lot higher than twelve thousand,” he said.

  Janie glanced through the curtain at the first section again, verifying the absence of oxygen masks before turning back to Brian. “The masks haven’t dropped, so we can’t be above twelve thousand feet cabin altitude. He may be trying to make everyone sleepy, but I can’t believe he’d try to knock us out.”

  “I can,” Brian said. “You forgetting this is the guy who just left his first officer for dead?”

  Janie looked at the others standing around them, reading a combination of panic and anger in their eyes.

  “I’m feeling hypoxic right here, right now,” Brian said. “Janie, are you sure that mask system is automatic?”

  “Yes,” Janie replied, her mind racing through the possibilities.

  “How does it run? What powers it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe electricity.”

  Brian looked at her for several long seconds.

  “If it’s electrical,” Dan Brown said, “it’s got to be protected by a circuit breaker.”

  “Probably,” Janie said.

  “Located in the cockpit?” Brian asked.

  “I … I don’t know. Maybe. Most things aboard are, except for galley equipment.”

  “That must be it,” Brian said, breathing hard and feeling weak. “The bastard’s pulled the circuit breaker so the masks won’t come down,” Brian said, turning to the others. “He’s going to raise the cabin altitude until we all pass out from hypoxia.”

  “What’s hypoxia?” Brown asked.

  “Lack of oxygen in the bloodstream. Leads to confusion and unconsciousness. Long exposure means brain damage … eventually brain death.”

  Janie watched the stunned expression on Brown’s face. Brian raised his voice so the other passengers gathering around could hear him.

  “Okay, people, that has to be his plan. He’s going to depressurize this cabin until we all pass out, and he probably doesn’t know he could kill us.”

  “Brian—” Janie began, but he interrupted her.

  “You’ve got portable oxygen bottles back here, right?”

  “Yes, but just a few.”

  “Where are they?” Brian asked.

  Janie shook her head. “Brian, look. Let’s call him …”

  “No! There’s no time. He won’t listen, and we’ve got to act now.”

  “He’s armed up there,” Janie said. “I told you, having a battle with a single pilot is insane, and you’ll never get through that door anyway. You heard these people. There are no other—” She stopped cold, remembering Robert MacNaughton’s qualifications, and realizing the time had come.

  “We’re dead down here if he succeeds,” Brian was saying, reasoning his way through the case for taking over as the others listened and nodded and gained in numbers. The small space of the galley was already glutted with passengers, all of them breathing more rapidly than normal and all of them increasingly alarmed.

  Brian’s right hand closed firmly around Janie’s arm. “This is deadly serious! The cabin altitude’s probably already above eighteen thousand feet. He may not know what he’s doing, but if we spend too long up here, he’ll be flying a load of dead bodies.”

  “What do you mean, Doc?” one of the latest to arrive in the galley asked, his face flushed.

  “Remember the golfer in the runaway plane? Payne Stewart?”

  They nodded.

  “Same thing.”

  An interphone call chime sounded, indicating a call from the rear galley, and Janie automatically scooped up the handset to hear a familiar and plaintive voice. “Janie? Elle’s passed out back here, and we’re all feeling very faint. What’s happening? The masks haven’t dropped, but it feels like a rapid decompression.”

  “Get out the portable bottles and sit down. Share the masks,” Janie ordered, toggling the connection off and punching in the cockpit code.

  The electronic ringing tone sounded repeatedly, but no one answered.

  “You’re calling him and he’s not answering, right?” Brian asked.

  She nodded and started to replace the handset as Brian took it from her, punching in the memorized PA code and raising it to his mouth.

  Captain? If you can hear me, this is Doctor Logan. We know what you’re trying to do with the pressurization. You either stop it right now and repressurize this airplane, or we’ll batter down that damned door and come in after you. You understand me, you bastard? Repressurize this cabin immediately!

  Bri
an turned and reached past two of the men standing nearby, yanking the curtain back as he held the handset to his mouth with the PA still engaged.

  Folks, the captain is trying to make us all unconscious by depressurizing. That’s what’s happening. He’s trying to kill us, in other words.

  The words seemed to echo through the cavernous 747 cabin as he replaced the handset, aware that the exchange had probably frightened the passengers of Meridian Six to the depth of their beings.

  “Let’s go get the son of a bitch,” one of the men growled.

  Janie turned on him, her voice hardening, her breathing rapid. “And then do what?”

  Brian answered instead, his hand gently placed on her shoulder. “If we can find the circuit breaker he’s pulled, we can push it in and drop the masks,” Brian said.

  “Wait a minute!” Janie said, “Wait! There may be another answer. I’ll be right back.”

  Brian glanced after her, but turned immediately to the others. “Okay, all of you, go back there and open all the overhead compartments and find the oxygen bottles and bring them here.”

  Dan Brown and four other passengers turned instantly and disappeared back into the coach cabin as Brian turned to watch the feminine form of Janie Bretsen disappearing into the first-class cabin. He caught himself wondering in a tiny flash of puzzlement how such a pleasing image could register so suddenly on an oxygen-starved brain, and he wondered at the same moment why she seemed to be having trouble keeping her balance.

  Janie stopped at the rear of the first-class section and popped open an overhead compartment, scooping the oxygen bottle and packaged mask out of its bracket with one hand before moving quickly to Robert MacNaughton’s seat, where she knelt down by the sleeping man. She shook his shoulder and he stirred, but only slightly, and she felt a flash of alarm as she shook him again and again, more violently each time.

  MacNaughton came awake with a start.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. MacNaughton, Janie Bretsen.”

  “Yes?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’m feeling rather odd.”

  “You said you could fly a Boeing 737, right?”

  He looked at her and nodded slowly. “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing yet, but we’re out of time. He’s truly gone nuts up there.” She quickly summarized the situation. “If they get that cockpit door open and disable him, you’re all we’ve got.”

  “Take over the flight, you mean?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That could be considered an act of piracy, you understand.”

  “Yes, sir, I do. But I’m trying to control this, and …”

  “Strange method of control for a member of the crew,” he said, still rubbing one eye.

  Janie stood suddenly, feeling herself wobble on her feet as the truth of his words sank in. Good God, what am I thinking?

  “Stay here. I’ll be back,” Janie told him as she forced herself to walk back toward the galley, leaving the oxygen bottle beside his seat. She pushed into the galley to find Brian Logan holding another portable oxygen bottle and passing the mask around as he spotted her.

  “Okay, Janie. We’re heading upstairs. What was the urgent errand?” he asked her, gesturing toward first class.

  She ignored the question and willed herself to grab the interphone handset and pull it to her face. It took three tries before she could get the cockpit number punched in correctly. Her fingers were not working right, and her frustration was filtered by a growing fuzziness.

  This time Phil Knight answered on the second ring.

  “Yes?” the captain said, his voice muffled by what was obviously an oxygen mask.

  “Ah … captain?” she began, gasping for breath as Brian slipped the oxygen mask between her mouth and the handset. She breathed deeply a few times, wondering why the colors around her suddenly seemed brighter. She pushed the mask aside. “Captain, this is Janie Bretsen, one of your crew.”

  “Oh, one of my crew? I heard your announcement, Bretsen. You are so fired. Ever heard the term mutiny?”

  “Captain, you’ve got to lower the cabin altitude now. They know what you’re doing, and if you don’t reverse it, this crowd’s coming upstairs after you and there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to stop them.”

  “Anyone who starts banging against this cockpit door gets a bullet in the chest. Tell them that.”

  She ignored the threat.

  “You’re going to kill some of the passengers, Captain. They’re already passing out down here. You can’t do this.”

  “The hell I can’t!” he snapped.

  She felt short of breath again. The cabin was getting very cold as Janie tried to think of the right thing to say to counter him, convince him. She felt her anger building from somewhere within, and her voice took on an unearthly quality as she all but screamed into the phone: “LISTEN, DAMN YOU! I’M TRYING TO CONTAIN THE ANGER DOWN HERE.”

  The passengers crowding around her moved back slightly, startled by the ferocity of her words. She felt another wave of light-headedness as she forced her voice back to normal. “Captain, please! I’m trying my best, but I’m losing control of these people, and they’re going to come after you if you don’t listen, and there’s something else you should know.”

  “And what’s that?” Phil snorted in reply.

  “There’s another Boeing pilot aboard, and he’s ready to take over if you won’t listen.”

  She heard a summary click on the other end at the same time she felt the sudden silence around her.

  “You’ve found another pilot?” Brian asked incredulously. “Who?”

  She looked up, trying to decide what to say as Robert MacNaughton stepped in the galley carrying the portable oxygen bottle and mask.

  “I’m terribly afraid it’s me,” he said. “And judging from the people passing out all around us, I’d say we haven’t got long.”

  Brian looked at MacNaughton as he took another long draw on the oxygen mask and then handed it to Janie. “The cabin’s probably above twenty thousand by now. She tells me above twenty-eight we’re screwed.”

  “That is essentially correct. Let’s go,” Robert said.

  Brian looked quickly at Janie. “Do you have a key to the cockpit?”

  She shook her head no. “Not any more. After the World Trade Center, the keys were history. He has to let you in, and your handprint has to be registered by a … a thing up there.”

  “Then we’ll batter it open, however long it takes. As soon as we’re sure he doesn’t have a gun,” Brian nodded to MacNaughton, “you come in, take the right seat, and stabilize things while we drag his sorry ass out of the left.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Robert replied.

  “This is crazy!” Janie said, looking between the two of them. “Suppose he clicks off the autopilot when and if you burst in? What then?”

  “Then,” Robert MacNaughton added, “I’ll have only a few seconds.”

  “We’ve only got seconds now,” Brian said. “Everyone else stay here.” He turned and moved rapidly toward the foot of the stairway to the upper deck, taking the steps two at a time as Robert MacNaughton followed and Janie tried to keep up. Two of the other men started after them, but slowed, one of them sitting on the bottom of the stairway to catch his breath as the other simply pitched forward, falling to the floor, unconscious.

  Brian reached the top step and turned, dismayed to find Robert MacNaughton stalled halfway up.

  “The oxygen!” Brian yelled, gesturing for the older man to don the mask and turn the bottle on. “Put the mask on!”

  MacNaughton looked increasingly puzzled as his right hand moved the mask back and forth toward his face in confusion while Janie came up behind him, fading as rapidly.

  “I’ll … do it,” she said, panting for breath as she pulled the mask from his hand. She turned on the regulator and took several long breaths herself before putting it on his face.

  Brian watched MacNaughton slowly revive and
reach for Janie, pulling her along as they continued to the top and turned toward the cockpit.

  They moved rapidly through the upper cabin, Brian’s pulse pounding as he realized they were almost out of time. There were unconscious passengers all around him as he reached the cockpit door and raised the steel oxygen bottle in a wide backswing, bringing it down hard on the cockpit doorknob.

  It didn’t budge, but he heard startled voices within and leaned to one side, half expecting bullets to come tearing through the surface of the door.

  Nothing.

  Again he slammed the bottle into the doorknob, but to no avail. The effort hadn’t made a dent.

  The big jet suddenly lurched and rolled to the left, the motion throwing Brian in the opposite direction. He fell heavily against the rest-room door and let himself roll to the floor as the bank angle increased and things began sliding to the left. He glanced back in time to see Janie grab successfully for a railing, her feet swinging almost out from under her as the roll continued and the 747 yawed left.

  Robert had lost his footing before reaching the small hallway leading to the cockpit. Brian watched him grabbing air now in slow motion as his oxygen bottle slipped away and he leaned uncontrollably to the left before falling headfirst into the sidewall, the oxygen bottle skittering uselessly to the floor, the mask detached from his face.

  Janie let go of the railing and slid toward MacNaughton, scrambling for the oxygen mask and putting it on herself.

  There was nothing but darkness outside the 747’s windows, but it felt to Brian as if they were turning upside down. Yet, Janie and Robert MacNaughton were still on the floor as the gyrations continued. She tried to shake him awake, but it wasn’t working, and she turned to Brian and shook her head. She pulled the mask from her face long enough to shout the words.

  “He’s out,” she said. “There’s no one to fly!”

  The PA activated as the captain’s voice echoed through the cabin.