“If that’s the case, they should just pop out again,” John explained. “Then at least we’ll know.”
Donovan nodded. “Okay, let’s give it a try. But as an extra precaution, I think we should have a fire extinguisher handy before we do this.”
“There’s one right here,” Audrey said, and pointed. “Hang on, I’ll pull it out.”
“Perfect. Set it right up here and either one of us can grab for it if we need to.” Donovan looked at John. “I’m ready whenever you are, captain. Audrey, are you set?” Adrenaline rush through Donovan’s body, perking his senses; if this worked, they were moments away from having functioning instruments.
“Just tell me what you want me to do,” Audrey said, her eagerness accompanied by uncertainty.
“On my mark, just push in the breaker,” John replied. “But don’t lose sight of it; we may need to pull it out again in a hurry. Everyone ready?” John paused for a moment. “Push it in, Audrey, and then take your hand away and watch for flames or any other breakers to pop.”
“It’s in.” Audrey did as she was instructed.
“I don’t see anything happening,” John said quickly. “Are you sure it’s in?”
“Oh my God! We’re on fire!” Audrey screamed and pointed up above them.
“Pull the breaker out!” Donovan reached for his oxygen mask. Dense white smoke began to pour out of the overhead panel. He knew that breathing even a small amount of the noxious vapor could kill him. An electrical fire could engulf the entire cockpit in minutes. He pictured being burned alive, trapped in his seat as he piloted the doomed 737.
“I got it! It’s out,” Audrey called, her voice a mixture of both terror and triumph.
The three of them sat, helplessly waiting for the smoke to get worse, or flames to fill the cockpit.
“We’re in deep shit,” Donovan said finally, as he watched the diminishing smoke drift aft toward the cockpit door. There appeared to be no residual fire. “We know we have at least one working generator, but there must be a massive short on the bus.”
The very real threat of fire had served to bring John completely out of his haze. “Jesus Christ! This is so screwed up. Let me think for a moment, there has to be something else we can do.”
“What about the other side?” Donovan said, referring to the opposite generator, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t a very good idea.
“Same song, different verse, I’m afraid.” John slowly shook his cherubic face as he studied the overhead panel, taking in the odd angle at which it hung from the ceiling. “This is just one huge electrical fire looking for a place to happen. How is it flying?”
“Not great. But then, I don’t know how a healthy one flies.” Donovan replied. “It’s been a little tricky. I’m pretty sure the tail is damaged, but for now it’s manageable.”
“This whole thing is a mess.” John sunk and let out a breath while he gazed out the side window. “Memphis was our alternate, so I think we need to head this plane back to the south. The weather in Chicago was going downhill fast. We’ll have to find some decent weather or we’re not going to get this airplane on the ground in one piece.”
“We can’t go back that way,” Donovan cautioned. “Those thunderstorms are between us and Memphis. The storms were still building. There weren’t any breaks as far as I could see, north or south. Besides, I don’t think the airplane would take the turbulence if we tried to punch our way through a soft spot. We know we can’t fly above them, there’s probably not enough oxygen left if we even tried to climb to a higher altitude.” Donovan had already thought through the scenario. “How far to the west did the system stretch?”
“Too far. It was really getting wound up. The report before we left Dulles showed marginal conditions as far west as the Dakotas.”
Donovan leveled his eyes at the sun, low on the horizon to the southwest. “It’s going to get dark soon. We don’t stand a chance if we can’t get this thing on the ground before the sun sets.”
John, too, squinted at the setting sun, then quickly looked away. “We still have some time.”
“Any idea how much fuel we have?” Donovan asked. The bleak expression on John’s face confirmed what he was already thinking. There was no way of knowing how much was left in the tanks, or how much they were burning. At best, it was going to be nothing more than an educated guess.
“I’ll have to give that some thought,” John shrugged. “I put on quite a bit before we took off. We’re not going to flame-out the engines anytime soon.”
“What we need is a cell phone,” Donovan said. “We’re going to need some help from the people on the ground.”
“That was my next suggestion,” John said. “Audrey, why don’t you go start that search. The quicker we can get help, the better.”
“I know all of my things are gone, the overhead compartments and seats were all sucked out.” Audrey remarked. “What about the phones in back, the ones mounted in the seats?”
“You can try,” John shrugged. “But I doubt if they have power.”
“Does the cockpit door have an electric lock?” Donovan finally asked. He’d been wondering how he’d made it into the cockpit so easily.
John nodded. “The lock would have failed when we lost power. Otherwise you’d have never been able to get in here. Thank God for small favors.”
“I have a phone in my briefcase. It’s a leather bag in row 19,” Donovan said to Audrey. “It was still under the seat in front of me after the impact.”
“On my way,” Audrey replied. “Do you need anything else?”
“We’re good.” Donovan turned to John after Audrey left. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck. My head hurts like hell. I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”
“I’m Donovan.” He wished he could make an accurate assessment of the captain, to judge if his faculties were impaired. It was a difficult task even under ideal conditions.
“I want to thank you, Donovan.” John made eye contact with him. “If you hadn’t done what you did, none of us would be here now.”
“I just did what any pilot would do. Glad I was here to lend a hand.”
“Not everyone can jump into an airplane they’ve never flown, let alone one this messed up, and get the job done. Nice work.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Donovan replied
John fumbled for the adjustment on his seat back. “There we go.” He used the back of his hand to gingerly wipe the perspiration from his face. “Okay. I’m ready to take her.”
“Are you sure?” Donovan said.
“I’m fine except for a headache.” John placed his hands on the controls.
“I think I’d better brief you on how she flies.” Donovan felt somewhat reluctant to hand over the controls. “Much faster than 250 knots and the buffet in the elevator gets pretty bad. She wants to turn to the right and the aileron control is pretty sloppy. A couple of times when I let it get a little slow, I had a problem getting the nose back down. I think the tail must have taken a pretty good hit.”
“I’ll figure it out,” John said. “I’ve got it.”
Donovan released his grip. He was poised to regain control at the slightest hint of a problem. He watched as John over-controlled briefly, then quickly developed a feel for the damaged airplane.
“I see what you mean,” John said finally. “You’re right. This mother is pretty banged up.” John pulled the throttles back a fraction as he sorted out the damaged 737.
Moments later, Audrey came back to the flight deck, slightly winded.
“I found it,” Audrey said, as she handed it to him.
Donovan flipped it open and hit the power button. He had no idea if he could even get a signal from where they were. It took a moment, but finally it located a station. Donovan looked up triumphantly. “Who should we call?”
“We need to try to contact Chicago Center,” John said. “I’m just guessing, but I bet we’re in their a
irspace by now.” John nodded toward the cell phone. “Are we even sure that thing will work up here?”
“I don’t know why not. It says we have a signal. As long as we’re in range of a station, it should be fine. Since we’re pretty low; I think it’ll be able to lock on to just one station. We’ll find out soon enough.” Donovan thought for a moment. “Any idea what the number is for Chicago Center?’
John shook his head. “Can we just call 911? Or information? Maybe they could give us the phone number for the tower at O’Hare. I think those are listed. Might be easier than trying to get the number for Chicago Center.”
“I have a better idea.” Donovan quickly went through the cell phone’s directory and found the number he was looking for. He pushed the send button and waited.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Mind if I have another cigarette?” Lauren withdrew her hand from Matt’s and dug in her purse for a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes as Matt produced the pack. A fresh column of smoke drifted up toward the ceiling as she tried to collect herself.
“I didn’t mean to fall apart,” Lauren said as she gathered her frayed emotions. The longer it took to find Donovan, the harder it was going to be to hold it together. “Thanks for being here.”
“No problem,” Matt replied, as he used his coat sleeve to wipe the tears from his face. “I’ve been thinking about my mom, too. She’s all I have left.”
Lauren, somewhat startled, wondered why he’d so openly reject his father. “What about your Dad?”
“I don’t really want to talk about him.” Matt scowled and angrily flicked at the ash on his cigarette. “There’s only one way to exist in the world of Henry Parrish, and that’s by the book. There will be no deviations from standard procedure! It’s why my mom left him.”
“Your parents are divorced?” Lauren had seen the momentary expression of anguish on Henry’s face when he’d heard his wife was on flight 880. It certainly wasn’t the look of someone who didn’t care.
“Separated.” Matt nodded sadly as he looked away.
Lauren decided for Matt’s sake to change the subject. “Did I hear your father say you’d worked here as an intern?”
Matt rolled his eyes. He pulled open his bulky coat to reveal his Wayfarer issued coveralls. “Part of my father’s grand plan to make me like him. He forces me to work on the ramp most summers and holidays, sometimes weekends if they get short staffed. I don’t mind hanging out with all the guys and stuff. They’re all pretty cool and I learned how to work every piece of equipment out there, but I hate the fact that I’m forced, you know, like slave labor. He even keeps part of the money I earn. Puts it in some sort of bullshit savings account thing I can’t touch. It isn’t fair.”
“I take it you were working today?”
Matt nodded. “When they started canceling flights I was cut. It’s why we were here so fast after Glen called. Dad had come to pick me up.”
“Do you go to school?” Lauren asked, keeping one eye on her cell phone, silently pleading for Calvin to call with good news.
Matt nodded. “Yeah. I’m a junior. I hate it though. When I graduate from high school, I’m out of here and going to California. I was born there, plus I have some friends who’ve moved to L.A. They say it’s awesome. Then I can, you know, hang out for a while until I figure out what it is I want to do.”
In the short time she’d spent with Matt and his father, Lauren was starting to see why there was so much friction. Matt struck her as sensitive and forthright, Henry seemed anything but. The two men were a distinct study in contrasts.
“Where do you live?” Matt asked. “What kind of a doctor are you?”
“I live just outside Washington, D.C., in a suburb called Centreville. She quickly shifted to talk of work. “I have a Ph.D. in Earth Science. I’m a weather analyst for the government. My fiancé—his name is Donovan—is a pilot for a small, private research group called Eco-Watch.”
Matt sat up in his seat. “Really? What kind of planes does he fly?”
“They have two Gulfstreams and a helicopter,” Lauren replied.
“Very cool. What model Gulfstreams? They’re amazing airplanes. There’s nothing more boring than riding around on an airliner; they’re nothing but a big bus. But flying Gulfstreams, that must be awesome. Do you know which model he flies?”
“They’re G-IV SPs. Do you know a lot about planes?” Lauren tried to keep the conversation focused on Matt. Right now she couldn’t bear talking about Donovan.
“Yeah, pretty much. I used to be really into it when I was just a kid.” Matt lowered his head as his voice trailed off slightly. “But I don’t follow it as much anymore.”
“Why not?” Lauren said, she wanted Matt to keep talking.
“When I was little I used to live and breathe airplanes. A long time ago, my Dad used to fly a Gulfstream. It was before I was born, but he flew for some billionaire guy out in California. I guess my mom worked there too; it was how they met. Any way, after that guy died, we moved to Chicago and my Dad went to work for the airline.”
Lauren’s breath caught in her throat. She now had an idea of who the woman on the plane was. Matt’s mother was the person from Donovan’s past. “Sounds interesting. Do you know which billionaire your parents worked for?”
“Everyone knows about him—his name was Robert Huntington. They have shows about him on television sometimes. I even did a report on him for school. He was like one of the richest guys in the world, sort of a playboy, but kind of messed up too, I guess. His parents died when he was little, and he inherited like a billion dollars. When he grew up he ran Huntington Oil. Toward the end, his girlfriend was kidnapped in Costa Rica and she was killed. She was a famous environmentalist, Meredith Barnes was her name, we study her in school too. Anyway, everyone blamed her death on Robert Huntington. My Dad was there, and he says it didn’t happen the way the media says. But everyone was convinced that he had Meredith killed. We’ll never know, because not too much later, he crashed his plane and died. I think it was an accident, but some people think it was maybe a suicide, or even a murder. It’s kind of sad—all that money and he got royally screwed. But that was a long time ago.”
Lauren nodded as if she agreed with Matt’s version of Robert Huntington, it seemed to be a topic everyone had an opinion on. But she knew what few people in the world did—that her fiancé, Donovan Nash, was Robert Huntington. She had only found out the truth several months ago. Donovan’s confession had come as a complete surprise. She remembered how painful it had been for Donovan to explain himself; even though the pivotal events had taken place nearly two decades earlier.
Lauren flashed back to the events as told to her by Donovan, the real version, to which only five other people in the world were privy. Donovan and Meredith Barnes had been in Costa Rica. They were not a typical storybook couple. Robert Huntington, the young, rich, playboy industrialist, and the breathtakingly beautiful activist, Meredith Barnes. Meredith had become the global poster-child as a leader in environmental issues. She’d also been a media darling, millions across the globe loved her and her position on the earth as not only our home, but a living, breathing entity as well. A place we desperately needed to take better care of.
Donovan had quietly admitted to Lauren that he’d asked Meredith to marry him and she’d said yes. They’d both agreed to keep their engagement a secret until after they returned from Costa Rica. They didn’t want their news to overshadow the environmental issues at hand. Together they’d organized an historic meeting in San Jose, a summit that held the promise of preserving millions of acres of forests in both Central and South America. Late the first evening, Donovan and Meredith had left the security of the conference and were headed to a villa he’d secretly rented. As their car wound through the narrow streets, a truck suddenly blocked their path; gunmen had leaped out and surrounded them. Their driver was shot, and as the doors were flung open, Donovan was slammed in the face with the butt of a rifle. Meredith was dragged from t
he back seat, and thrown into the other vehicle, which quickly vanished into the night. It was the last time Donovan saw her alive.
The next few weeks turned into a media circus focused on Meredith’s kidnapping. The conference dissolved completely as the ransom demands dominated the headlines. Donovan wanted to use his own resources and pay the ransom—anything to get Meredith back. But the government refused to give in to the kidnappers’ demands and blocked Donovan’s efforts at every turn. In the end, Meredith’s naked, lifeless body was found in a muddy field. She was only twenty-eight years old.
What followed was the very public crucifixion of billionaire Robert Huntington. Across the continent, people were outraged that he had allowed their matriarch to be killed. Rumors began circling that he’d had her killed, that he’d done it to protect his lucrative interests in global oil production. The media ran hard with the spectacular stories, and on a global level, Robert Huntington became a pariah. So quick and complete was his guilt in the public eye, the protesters so angry, that practically overnight he went from being a member of the cultural elite, to one of the most hated men in the world. Simply put, Meredith Barnes was a martyr and Robert Huntington had been the instrument of her death.
There had been protests, riots, death threats, and boycotts against Huntington Oil. Donovan had been shunned by both Meredith’s friends and family and hadn’t been able to attend Meredith’s funeral; in fact he’d never dared go to the small town in California that was her final resting place.
He’d tried to fight through the pain and intimidation, but finally he’d made the decision that along with Meredith Barnes, Robert Huntington needed to die. He, and all of his money, would cease to exist. Lauren had been shocked, as Donovan explained how it took him months to arrange all the details. On a dark, moonless night, he’d boarded one of his planes in Reno, Nevada. He was the sole occupant, and as he took off he left his previous life behind. He’d pointed the plane out toward the vast Pacific Ocean. Before the airplane left the mainland, he’d parachuted out and let the empty plane fly far out to sea before it crashed. All of the evidence of the accident sank beneath the waves to the bottom of the ocean.
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