Dr. Cooper put his finger on the talk button, but then asked Brock, “What if he tried to land the plane—on land?”
Brock scowled. “Don’t be crazy! You’d lose them both. At least this way you have a good chance of saving your son!”
“Dad?” came Jay’s voice again.
Dr. Cooper pressed the talk button. “Son, make sure the doors are unlatched. That way, even if the cabin gets bent up, you’ll still be able to swing them open.”
“Okay.”
“And son, I’d make sure the windows are left open too. That way the water pressure won’t keep you from getting the doors open.”
“All right.” Jay loosened his seat belt and reached across in front of his uncle to find the window latch on the left side. With a quick little twist the latch released and the window popped open, letting in a rush of wind. The door latch was large and easy to find. He flipped it up and the door unlatched. The wind held the door loosely shut, but came shrieking in through all the cracks around it.
“Left turn, Jay,” came Brock’s voice.
Jay found the autopilot turn knob and turned it to the left just the right amount. He could feel the airplane doing something, but had to trust it was a turn.
The latch for Jay’s door was near his right hand and he found it easily, pulling it up and unlatching the door. It popped loose, letting more wind and noise into the cabin. By now the cockpit was a canful of noise: the fierce rush of the wind, the roar of the engine, the rattling and vibrating of the airframe. Jay was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hear further instructions in his headset. “Okay. Doors are unlatched, windows are open. It’s noisy in here. How’s the turn going?”
“Looks good. Just keep it turning until I tell you to roll out.”
“Okay.”
Brock and Dr. Cooper followed Eight Yankee Tango as it made a slow, descending turn to the north over Puget Sound.
“Two thousand feet,” Brock reported.
“And about five and a half minutes to Alki,” Dr.
Cooper figured.
“Okay, Jay, roll out.”
The Skylane out their window rolled out of the turn and continued a straight descent.
Dr. Cooper was praying, struggling in his soul. Come on, Rex. Come on! He pressed the talk button.
“Jay, how’s Rex? Is he stirring at all?”
Jay reached over and nudged his uncle, but there was no response. “Uncle Rex?” He reached up and thumped his uncle’s face with his fingers. No response.
“Give us another left turn, Jay,” said Brock.
“This will be a short one.”
Jay found the knob and turned it. This time he could feel the plane lean to the left. “Dad, Uncle Rex is out cold. He’s still breathing, but he must really be hurt bad.”
“Stop the turn,” Brock instructed, and Jay turned the knob to neutral.
“Jay, slap him,” Dr. Cooper ordered desperately. “Yell at him. Pinch him, I don’t care. He has to wake up.”
Jay reached over, found his uncle’s face, and gave it a slap. “Uncle Rex! Hello! Good morning! Come on, rise and shine, we’ve got a plane to land!”
There was no response.
Jay radioed back, “He’s out, Dad. He could be dying for all I know.”
Dr. Cooper dropped his head in despair, but he quickly forced himself to straighten up and gather a stern resolve. “Then let it go, son. Concentrate on flying the plane. Let’s get you down.”
He could see Alki Point approaching. It was a large, squarish section of Seattle jutting out into Puget Sound with a lighthouse on its northwest corner. A well-traveled, four-lane street ran along the shoreline, with bike and rollerblade rental shops, restaurants, boutiques, and rows of expensive homes packed shoulder to shoulder facing the view. Traffic would probably be heavy on that street today and on the public beach. It was going to be quite a show.
“Fifteen hundred feet,” Brock reported.
Ben Parker’s voice came through their headsets. “Winds are southeasterly at ten knots. I recommend you approach to the south along the west shoreline.”
“South along the west shoreline,” Brock acknowledged, then told Dr. Cooper, “We’ll keep him heading north, then turn him around and bring him back south again. We’ll time it so he hits the water just off the Point.”
Dr. Cooper could see a white and red Coast Guard cruiser racing into position just off Alki Point. Another Coast Guard chopper was already hovering above the water, its rotor like a silver windmill in the sun.
He radioed, “Jay, we’re almost abeam Alki, descending through twelve hundred feet. We’re just a little high, but we’ll keep heading north to bleed off some more altitude, then turn you around. I can see a Coast Guard boat and helicopter down there right now waiting for you.”
“Okay,” Jay answered.
“Better get Rex’s coat over his head to protect him, and then get yourself wrapped up too.”
“Okay. I’ve got his coat here. I’ll put it over his head.”
“Don’t smother him.”
“I won’t.”
“And then cover your own head. I’ll let you know how high you are above the water so you can brace yourself.”
As they waited for Jay to complete the task, a question just about leaped out of Dr. Cooper’s mouth, “Jay, I’m just wondering, do you think you could—”
He held it back.
“Say again?”
“Uh, nothing. How’s Rex doing?”
“I’ve got his coat over his head but it’s loose enough for him to breathe.”
Brock joined in, “Okay, we’re at nine hundred feet. Jay, we’re going to continue north for two minutes, then make a right turn back to the south, and then two minutes after that, you should land in the water.”
“Make sure your seat belts are tight,” Dr. Cooper advised.
“Roger. Seatbelts secure.”
“Good.” And now it was time to deal with the subject he’d been dreading. “Jay, listen to me now: the moment you hit the water. . . .” The words stuck in his throat. “The moment you hit the water, you need to get out of the airplane.” That wasn’t saying it. Dr. Cooper started digging in his heart and mind for the words.
“I’m not worried about me,” Jay answered. “I’m just not sure if I can get Uncle Rex out.”
Dr. Cooper made a fist in his pain and frustration, then forced the words out. “Son, the truth is, you can’t. Listen to me. We’ve had several people consulting on this and they all agree that the plane won’t stay afloat long enough for you to pull Rex out of there.”
Jay felt a stab through his stomach. “I don’t think I understand.”
Brock’s voice broke in, “Seven hundred feet and one minute to the turn, Jay. Stand by.”
“Dad?”
His father spoke haltingly, painfully. “Son, once the airplane hits and starts filling up with water, you’ll only have enough time to get yourself out. If you try to get Rex unbuckled and out the door before you get yourself out, you’ll both go down with the plane. Do you understand?”
Joyce shook her head. Her whole body trembled. “No . . . NO!” Lila reached out to hold her. Some staff also came alongside to restrain her as Joyce started screaming. “NO! DEAR GOD, NO!”
Jay understood, but couldn’t believe it. “You’re . . . you’re saying that Uncle Rex is going to drown?”
His father replied, “We don’t know that for sure. Something else could happen we don’t foresee. Maybe the divers will be able to get to the plane in time. We don’t know. We only know that you won’t have time to save him and yourself.”
Jay actually felt angry. “Then why are we doing this?”
Dr. Cooper still had that unasked question burning in his heart. “Son, there’s still one alternative, if you’re willing.”
Jay was already ahead of him. “Why don’t we just go back to Boeing Field and land this thing on the ground?”
Brock shook his head, but Dr. Cooper was dete
rmined to settle the question. “Jay, are you sure about that?”
Brock interrupted, “Right turn, Jay. One hundred eighty degrees, about a minute long, start now.”
Jay was still angry, and his mind was brewing up a storm as he tweaked the autopilot knob to the right and began the turn. “I’m sure I’m not going to leave my Uncle Rex to drown in a sinking airplane!”
Brock’s voice cut in, “Jay, it’s a choice I would recommend if you want to live. This is no time to be a hero.”
Lila could bear it no more. Johnny Adair was busy helping the others restrain Joyce, who was still crying and wailing for Rex. His handheld radio lay on a table nearby. She grabbed it up, pressed the talk button, and said, “Jay, this is Lila! Go to Boeing Field! Land the plane!”
Adair groped at her, trying to grab his radio. “No! Don’t tell him that!”
But Lila only jerked away from Adair and repeated it. “You hear me, Jay Cooper? Land the plane! You can do it!”
Brock shouted “No” to no one in particular, but Dr. Cooper felt his heart soar as they heard Lila continue, “God is with you, and He loves you, and He can guide your hands, I just know it! Nobody has to die today if God doesn’t want it to happen! You can land it, Jay, I know you can!”
Brock spoke sternly, “Lila, get off the frequency. Jay, roll out of the turn! Four hundred feet. Prepare to ditch!”
As people gathering on the beach at Alki watched, pointing, peering through binoculars, the Skylane rolled out of the turn and came at them from the north, sinking lower and lower over the water. The Coast Guard chopper hovered above the lighthouse, watching and ready; the news choppers shadowed the airplane like big mosquitoes, the rumble of their rotors carrying loud and clear across the water.
Jay reached over and found his uncle’s hand, still warm. He felt for his pulse, and quickly felt his chest and head. “You’re counting on me, aren’t you, Uncle Rex?”
Then in a decisive moment, he radioed, “Dad, what do you think?”
Brock cut in, “Don’t be a fool!”
“Mr. Axley,” Jay said angrily, “I’m asking my father!”
Brock snapped back, “Two hundred feet to touch down, Mr. Cooper! Get ready!”
They were chasing alongside Eight Yankee Tango as it descended, its shadow on the water drawing ever closer to its wheels.
Dr. Cooper only had a few seconds to think of an answer. It would be a choice between saving Jay’s life and most likely losing them both, and yet, with a strange, unnatural peace, the answer came to him. He knew what his son would do, given the choice. “Jay, with Rex unable to pilot the aircraft, that makes you pilot-in-command. We can all tell you what we think, but only you can decide. I’m with you, son, one hundred percent.”
There was no answer from Eight Yankee Tango. In the few seconds left before it would hit the water, Jay Cooper was thinking, praying.
“Thirty seconds to impact,” said Brock Axley.
SEVEN
Jay had only a brief second to cry out to the Lord.
“It’s all Yours,” he said.
And then he shoved the throttle forward.
“Let’s land it!” he yelled.
Only a few feet off the water, The Yank roared to life, nosed up, and climbed like a homesick angel.
Brock shoved his throttle forward and climbed after The Yank as he gave Dr. Cooper a troubled, bewildered look.
Dr. Cooper objected, “Hey, I didn’t tell him what to do. It was his decision.”
Brock scowled. “But you knew what he’d do!”
Dr. Cooper smiled proudly. “Yeah. I knew.”
Brock stewed for a moment, and then just shook his head in amazement, if not admiration. “Okay, let’s land it.”
The people on the shore had mixed reactions as The Yank, followed by Zulu Mike, flew right by them, climbing together into the sky. Some moaned with disappointment; but those having heard the communications over their scanners began to cheer.
“It’s not over yet,” said the lady in Channel 7’s chopper as the camera showed the two planes regaining altitude over the sound. “Having made a remarkable, courageous decision, young Jay Cooper will attempt to land the plane!”
Joyce and Lila embraced, not in joy, but in renewed hope. As the lady on the television said, it wasn’t over yet.
The reporters in the room were shoving microphones in Johnny Adair’s face.
“What do you think of this decision?”
“What are his chances of a successful landing?”
“What happens now?”
Adair just looked toward the ceiling, thinking of the folks upstairs in the control room. “Parker’s gonna love this.”
Ben Parker had not been idle. The moment he heard Jay say he was going to land the Skylane he had turned to Bob Konishi. “Bob, tell the Coast Guard boys to stay right where they are. We’ll still need them . . . if this doesn’t work out.” He told Josie Fleming, “And let’s get the fire trucks and emergency vehicles out on the field.”
Konishi got on the radio; Fleming got on the phone. Across the field, the fire trucks appeared from their garage, their lights flashing.
In the control room, all eyes were now on Ben Parker. He was standing in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, his grim, brooding face like chiseled granite. They could tell his steely gaze was not focused on the runways visible through the window but on the mental image of that Skylane.
Abruptly, he went to his console, switched frequencies, and spoke into his headset, “November Seven Five Eight Yankee Tango, Boeing Tower.”
Jay realized at once that the Boeing control tower was calling him. “Boeing Tower, Skylane Seven Five Eight Yankee Tango, go ahead.”
“We understand you are now pilot-in-command of the aircraft. What are your intentions, sir?”
Jay felt honored to be so addressed but didn’t let it go to his head. Instead, he set his jaw and his determination and replied, “Eight Yankee Tango requests a landing at Boeing Field, full stop.”
Dr. Cooper listened, smiling from deep inside and nodding in approval.
Ben Parker checked the weather console and replied, “Roger, Eight Yankee Tango, you are clear for landing straight in on Runway One Three Right. Winds are One Six Zero at Eight.” The wind was coming from 160 degrees on the compass, or from the southeast, at a speed of eight knots. “The altimeter . . .” he almost smiled in amusement. “Well, for all of you up there who can see, current altimeter is Three Zero One Five.”
Brock adjusted the altimeter in his airplane to the correct barometric pressure Ben Parker had given and then turned to Dr. Cooper. “Take him in, Jake. I’m with you.”
Dr. Cooper radioed, “Jay, we’re up to one thousand. Ease back the power about one finger’s length and start a right turn.”
“Roger,” said Jay. “Pulling back the power, and here goes a right turn.”
They followed The Yank as it climbed through a wide, gentle turn to the right.
“We’re going to take you up north,” said Dr. Cooper, “and then turn you around and line you up with the runway to bring you straight in. Boeing Tower, did you copy?”
Ben Parker replied, “Roger, Zulu Mike, we copy.” He stole a glance at Barbara Maxwell, who was searching her radar screen and talking to any other aircraft in the area. “We are advising other traffic to leave the area. The sky’s all yours.”
“Interesting day,” Parker observed to Maxwell, who nodded.
“Okay,” said Dr. Cooper. “One more half a finger joint out on that throttle and you should be about there.”
Brock and Dr. Cooper watched carefully as The Yank’s nose eased down and the airplane began to level out of the climb. The two Skylanes, accompanied by the three news helicopters, were at fifteen hundred feet—the blue waters of Puget Sound below them, the impressive Seattle skyline off to their right. They were heading north toward a point of land commonly called West Point, a peninsula that jutted into the Sound and had the distinction of b
eing Seattle’s westernmost piece of real estate. From there, an aviator could look southeast and see right down Runway One Three Right at Boeing Field, about nine miles away.
“Winds one six zero,” Brock mused. “That means he’s going to have a thirty degree crosswind coming from his right. He’s going to drift sideways over that runway.”
“How wide is the runway?” Dr. Cooper asked.
“Two hundred feet, I think. And ten thousand feet long.”
“Looks like we’ll have a little bit of room—if the wind doesn’t kick up any worse.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to use a runway, I suppose,” Brock considered out loud. “Just as long as he lands somewhere that’s flat and doesn’t hit any people or runway lights or signs or vehicles or parked airplanes or buildings.”
“We’re not asking for much, are we?”
They reached West Point and all five aircraft made a slow, steady turn like a flock of birds to the southeast. Brock maneuvered Zulu Mike to a position slightly above and behind Yankee Tango. From there, Dr. Cooper had a good view of The Yank and what it was doing. Five miles away was the south shore of Elliot Bay, prickly with wharves, shipyards, and warehouses. Beyond that lay the wide, flat Duwamish Valley covered with low-structured factories, warehouses, freeways, and overpasses. Beyond that, nine miles in the distance, Runway One Three Right lay like a big gray stripe on a field of smog-hazed green.
Jay closed his eyes to pray out of habit, but again, it made little difference in what he could see. He prayed along as he heard his father pray, “Dear Lord, Rex and Jay are in Your hands. We ask You for Your mercy and protection, and we trust You for the outcome. We love You, Lord, no matter what. Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Amen,” said Ben Parker and all his crew.
As soon as Joyce and Lila said “Amen” and opened their eyes, they were on their feet.
“We’ve got to get out there!” said Joyce.
“Please, get us out there!” Lila told Johnny Adair.
Adair nodded and then led a parade—Joyce, Lila, and about twenty television and newspaper reporters with notepads, mikes, and cameras—out into the hall to the elevators and then down to the street level. A security fence stood between them and the vast apron where light planes, cargo planes, and commercial airliners were all parked. Beyond all those parked airplanes was Runway One Three Right.
Mayday at Two Thousand Five Hundred Page 7