Test Pilot's Daughter: Revenge

by Ward, Steve

  “Anybody know how to operate this thing?” Christina asked.

  “Sure. It can’t be that much different from my dad’s diesel-powered sailboat,” said Heather. She turned the key, pushed the button labeled START, and the inboard diesel lumbered into action.

  “It’s very important we hold a precise heading, try 315. Even a small error, and we won’t be able to get back.” Christina shuddered at the thought. Marking the panel by the fuel indicator, she added, “William, your job is to watch that fuel gauge. When the needle is dead centered on that mark, we have to return. Let’s hold the speed down to about fifteen knots and try to get a good distance out of our fuel.”

  Heather pushed the throttle forward and turned the boat to a heading of 315 degrees. She accelerated to fifteen knots and tried to hold a constant speed. With the breeze blowing her hair, she squealed with joy, “My God, it feels so good to be going somewhere!”

  Luckily, the sea was calm. After weeks on that hot, sandy tract, Christina loved the feel of the salty wind in her face. She prayed silently, God help us find our way.

  After about twenty minutes, they saw an island rise up on the horizon, dead ahead. All three were jumping up and down like cheerleaders. Soon, they could see it wasn’t much of anything, and passing the length of it, it was clearly uninhabited. Disappointed Christina stood on her tiptoes carefully scanning the horizon with binoculars. She hoped to see one of the larger Bahamian landmasses. Over the next hour, they passed several more pockets of sand, but none offered rescue.

  Time passed slowly as Heather carefully held her heading. “If only we had enough fuel,” she said. “We could just keep going all the way back home.”

  The great expanse of ocean seemed endless. On several occasions they thought they saw something important, but it always turned out to be a cloud on the horizon or a hazy mirage. They saw porpoise, sharks and flying fish, but no signs of humanity. After a two-hour run, Billy moved up to Christina and yelled, “Okay, that’s it, we’re dead on the mark.”

  She signaled Heather to cut the throttle, and they slowed to a stop.

  “Billy, stand on the bow and hoist Heather up on your shoulders.”

  He looked like he’d been asked to eat a Haagen-Dazs ice cream bar. Heather climbed aboard, and Billy held her legs tight and grinned. She slowly scanned the horizon with the powerful binoculars and saw absolutely nothing but miles and miles of blue-green water. Disillusioned, Christina knew that if they just kept going, there was a chance of success. But she also knew the lives of Billy and Heather were in her hands. One wrong move, and they might all three suffer a slow, painful death.

  “Gotta turn around and go back,” Christina ordered.

  “Aye aye, Captain,” Billy saluted loyally.

  “Wait a minute,” Heather said. She sounded desperate. “We should just keep going. Bound to find something in another twenty or thirty miles.”

  “No, we stick with the plan.”

  “To hell with the plan! We’ve got to find some help.”

  “Heather, don’t you think we should make sure our friend William here lives through this ordeal?” Christina asked.

  “Damn right!” screamed Heather. “And if we keep going, he’ll be home in no time.”

  “But what if we don’t find anything?”

  “We will.”

  “Come on, Heather, think it through. If we run out of gas we’ll be drifting across hurricane alley at the worst time of year. How would you like to be caught in this little piece of shit boat riding thirty-foot waves? On our island, we have a good supply of food and water, some form of shelter and a better chance of being rescued,” Christina reasoned.

  “Sure. You said we’d be rescued right away, and you were wrong.” Heather wailed. “You said we’d be safe, and we were attacked. Christina, I know you think I’m stupid, but you don’t have all the right answers.”

  “Never said I did.”

  “And you want to blame everything on my fiancé, when you don’t really know.”

  “I know exactly what happened. Weston is fungus. He’s not worth the powder it would take to blow him up. I can guarantee you I’m right about that one.”

  Heather wouldn’t respond directly. She started swelling like a red balloon. Looking as though she might explode, she let ‘er rip, “So you’re the big, bad Captain. You’re in charge, huh? Then why didn’t you set up some kind of security? Why didn’t you make sure someone was standing guard? Maybe Jessica would still be alive.”

  It was like a dagger right between the shoulder blades.

  “Goddammit, Heather, that’s not fair!”

  “Billy warned us about the bad people, and you just ignored him.”

  Christina had had just about enough of her abuse and said, “I may not have all the answers, Heather, but at least I’m smart enough not to fuck a child molester!”

  Heather’s face contorted with rage. “Well if you’re so fucking smart, can you guarantee Andros Island isn’t just over that horizon?” Heather stomped on the deck and pointed west.

  “No I can’t, but I’m in charge, and somebody’s gotta make the call. Push your throttle forward, and set your course at 1-3-5. That’s an order.”

  “In charge? In charge of what? Who do you think you are, bitch? I say we keep going!”

  Christina was shocked. Heather had never spoken to anyone like that in her entire life. “I’ll tell you who I am, Heather. I’m the goddam Captain, and what I say goes. You agreed that I take charge, remember? If you don’t turn this boat around and start back right now, I’m gonna blacken that other eye.”

  Infuriated, Heather’s eyes bulged, and her nostrils flared. She got right in Christina’s face and shouted, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself!”

  “I’m ordering you to sit down and shut up!”

  Suddenly the fury unleashed, and Heather charged like a wild animal. Christina was knocked on her back in the bottom of the boat with a painful thud. Heather grabbed hands full of hair and tried furiously to pin her down. Christina winced in pain and used her body to throw off her attacker. Heather quickly scrambled to her feet and kicked Christina in the side with all her might. As she doubled over in pain, Heather balled up her fist, taking a big swing at her face. Christina managed to block the blow and grabbed Heather’s hair with her right hand. Swinging an open hand in a wide left-cross, she smacked Heather across the side of her face so hard her knees buckled, and she went down.

  Christina stood over her friend. “God almighty! I’m. . .I’m so. . .I can’t believe I did that.” She grabbed Heather quickly pulling her up in a tight hug so she couldn’t move. “I’m sooo sorry.”

  After Heather regained her senses, they sat side by side. Heather put her hands over her eyes and started crying. “No, it’s my fault,” she bawled. “You’re probably right. I just don’t like the idea of going back. It might seem like home to you, but it’s hell to me. I can’t sleep on that godforsaken island. I’d rather die out here.”

  “Oh Heather,” she hugged her tight.

  Billy sighed aloud. “I can’t believe this crap. Women!” Without another word, he went over to the console, thrust the throttle forward and turned the boat to a compass heading of 135 degrees. The decision was made. They were going back.

  Time oozed as Christina eyed the fuel gauge. It was a sick feeling with nothing but downside risk. She began to second guess her own decision. At best they would find their island and remain stranded, but at worst they would be lost at sea. If they missed the return heading by only a few degrees either side, their island would never rise above the horizon. Along the way they saw a couple of islets, but it wasn’t at all clear they were on the same path. All the ocean looked the same, and Christina started getting a choking feeling. Her stomach knotted in fear of running out of fuel. The needle crowded the empty mark, and all she could see in every direction was water. After what seemed like forever, she began to panic, thinking they might well end up adrift with little hope of survival.


  “Let’s drop the speed to ten knots,” she ordered. “Might get a little farther on the remaining fumes.”

  “Aye Captain,” Billy eased back the throttle.

  Two hours on the return route, the fuel gauge said, “Bone Dry.” Christina knew the engine would stop at any moment. Finally, a dark blotch appeared on the horizon off to the starboard. She closed her eyes and prayed. As the fading sun flashed a specular glint off the wings of the beached airplane, Christina gave a huge sigh of relief. It was a beautiful sight. Billy navigated around the corner of the atoll and pulled right back into the same cove they had left four hours earlier.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Henry Daniels was an entrepreneur and self-made millionaire. His only child meant everything to him, and he wasn’t about to listen to government officials who concluded the plane had gone down in the ocean with no survivors. There wasn’t a shred of evidence, no eyewitnesses, no reports of debris and nothing floating up on the beach. Both he and Lt. Col. Pat Matthews agreed their daughters were probably still alive.

  Daniels was a very clever man, and he would leave no stone unturned. When the official search was finally abandoned, he hired his own special team of searchers, giving them one week to find anything they could, anything at all, no matter how small or insignificant. On July 1, he organized a meeting of the families in Atlanta to discuss their findings. In attendance were Billy’s parents, Phil and Kay Rogers, Jessica’s mom, Rachel Ward, Lt. Col. Pat Matthews, Mike Clark and Daniels’ wife, Peggy. Dr. Steve Weston had been invited but declined. Matthews also asked John Furgeson to come over from PDK, and he was there. They met in a conference room at the Airport Hilton, where management guaranteed their privacy.

  When Daniels arrived with his unusual team of investigators, he started off by introducing everyone including the three unfamiliar faces: Bill Wells, a famous psychic detective, Raymond Benson, a private investigator and Willa Thomas, an astrologer known for advising Nancy Reagan.

  Daniels began, “I’d like to start by saying this is not a memorial or a funeral by any means. The good Lieutenant Colonel here and I do not believe our children are dead.”

  “How can you believe anything else?” asked Mrs. Ward who was already crying. “It seems they’ve vanished off the face of the Earth. With all the publicity, someone would’ve come forward if they were still alive.”

  “That’s just the point, Mrs. Ward. When a plane crashes, even in the ocean, it doesn’t just vanish. Debris of some kind should have turned up. Even if Hank made a soft landing in the water, they would’ve been able to get out of that plane, and something would’ve been found. When a plane mysteriously vanishes into the Bermuda Triangle, you have to reach out for some other explanation.”

  Matthews spoke up, “I’ve got a question for Mr. Furgeson. He is my Christina’s flight instructor. John, on the small chance that Hank had a heart attack or something in route, do you feel Christina had the skill to take control of the aircraft and fly it to safety?”

  “Colonel, I have to say that girl is the most natural born flyer I have ever seen. If we assume he expired with the plane on autopilot, no doubt in my mind she could figure out how to get that Saratoga down safely. Of course, if she wasn’t in the right front seat, it might pose a problem,” he scratched his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that theory holds up. She would’ve contacted air traffic controllers and declared an emergency. I just went over those procedures with her before she was released for solo cross-countries.”

  “So if we eliminate a plane crash, soft landing, space aliens and the Bermuda triangle, what other possibilities are there?” Phil Rogers asked with a puzzled look. His wife was also crying.

  Daniels went over what they had prepared. “Well, it’s a pretty short list, but we feel there are three other possibilities. They could’ve had an engine failure and landed on an island, they may have been hijacked or there is a small possibility they were shot down by the Cubans.”

  “Oh, my God!” Kay Rogers sobbed aloud.

  He continued, “We only know they cancelled their IFR flight plan mid-course. That’s very unusual, but they may have decided to do some sight-seeing. It’s also possible someone on board became ill, and Hank decided to fly to the closest airstrip. One would expect him to declare an emergency in such a case, but he wouldn’t have to. Probably wouldn’t want to hassle with all the paperwork.”

  Rogers spoke, “My dad knew the Bahamas like the back of his hand, and he could’ve navigated to any number of alternate airports. But he was also a professional. I’ve flown with him many times myself. He wouldn’t cancel IFR. He would’ve just modified the plan and asked for a deviation.”

  “Well, they say he cancelled,” Daniels shrugged.

  “In any case, canceling the flight plan opens the door to all three scenarios,” Rogers agreed.

  “That’s right.”

  “But if they were shot down by the Cubans, wouldn’t there be debris, not to mention national press coverage?” Rogers made a good point.

  Lazer jumped in, “Damn right, Mr. Rogers. But Cuba has missiles that can pretty much vaporize a Saratoga, undetected.”

  “Oh, my baby boy!” Kay Rogers wailed aloud.

  “Please, Mrs. Rogers. Don’t jump to conclusions. I believe your boy is safe and unharmed.” Willa Thompson walked over and put her hands on the woman’s shoulders trying to offer some comfort. “The charts show no reason for him to be suffering in any way.”

  Daniels jumped back in, “I don’t know how you all may feel about psychics or the occult, but since everyone seems convinced that our kids were swallowed by the Bermuda Triangle, I thought it might be a good idea to try something out of the ordinary. I asked these fine people to give it a week and come here to report any findings. Bill Wells regularly works with police departments to find missing persons and solve crimes. He’s a psychic investigator. I asked him to fly over the entire route to Exuma. Bill, can you tell us anything at all?”

  “Well, first I should say psychic investigation rarely deals in absolutes, but on occasion, especially when victims endure great suffering or death, true psychics can sense the location of the atrocity or find the body. I’m happy to report that I believe at least some of the people in this party are still alive.”

  “So that means you feel some are dead?” Mrs. Ward cried.

  “I didn’t say that,” Wells said. “I don’t want to make such a statement without further investigation. All I can say is that some are definitely alive. I feel very sure of that. I can also report that I didn’t have any of the usual sensations associated with a plane crash or explosion.”

  “What about the location?” Daniels asked.

  “No, I had some very strong feelings about half-way through the flight, but no way I could pinpoint their location from a commercial aircraft at 35,000 feet. I do, however, feel strongly they are on an island.”

  “I like the sound of that,” stated Matthews.

  “Ray, what were you able to find? I know time was short,” Daniels asked the private investigator.

  Benson gave his brief report, “I spent most of the week on the phone. Went through all my old contacts in Florida, the Bahamas and the Caribbean. These people are well-plugged into the drug cartels. The good news is, there’s no any indication underground that a Saratoga was recently hijacked or stolen. Several other planes went into service but not a Saratoga. I think you can eliminate the possibility that the plane was taken.”

  “Do you see any other scenarios we may have overlooked?” Matthews asked.

  “Well, there is one, but you don’t want to hear it,” the detective looked at his notes.

  “Go ahead, we’ve got to consider everything.”

  “What if they themselves were involved in some kind of drug deal?”

  “Not a chance,” Daniels answered quickly.

  “Well, I am paid to consider every possibility. With the huge amounts of cash at stake, you’d be surprised how many honest
people get involved. Travelers to those islands are sometimes offered deals they can’t refuse. Some actually disappear by choice.”

  “Not possible,” Matthews spoke. “You can scratch that one.”

  Daniels turned to the astrologer and asked, “What about you, Willa? Did you come to any conclusions?”

  “I analyzed the profiles on each individual. As you would usually find in any kind of group study, some in the group were favored and some were not. The readings indicate that one or more individuals may well be dead, but I agree with Bill, some are alive. The only one I’m sure about is Billy. I feel quite certain he’s not been harmed.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “No, at this point I’d rather not. I don’t want anyone to suffer unnecessarily with the little information we have.”