Code Black

by Donlay, Philip S.

  Donovan frowned, he wondered if she’d simply blacked out or if she’d suffered a concussion. “What you tried to do after the impact was very brave.”

  “I’m all that’s left of the cabin crew? Maria and Susan are gone? What about John and Jeff, are they still flying the plane?”

  “John is fine but Jeff didn’t make it.” Donovan answered her question truthfully. If it were him, he’d want to know about the people he worked with.

  Christy pursed her lips bravely at the news. “I can’t believe the passengers attacked me.” She winced as she tried to move, then put her head back and surrendered as the pain overwhelmed her. Quietly, she closed her eyes and began to sob.

  Donovan’s heart went out to her, she was not only injured, but trying to grasp the fact that her coworkers were dead. He hadn’t lost anyone aboard the plane that was close to him, but Donovan knew all too well about losing friends and loved ones to tragedy. It was a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

  “I’m going back to the cockpit.” Donovan saw Audrey nod in understanding. A part of him wanted to stay and help the survivors. But his job right now was on the flight deck with John.

  As Donovan made his way through the wrecked cabin, he jammed his hands in his coat pockets and lowered his head against the cold. He bent down to avoid the worst of the air pouring in from the outside, his teeth began to chatter and his shoulders shuddered as he drove against the wind. Another thought occurred to him. Usually there was no way to see the rudder of an airliner from the inside. But if he could look out through the rip in the roof, he might be able to check the condition of the vertical stabilizer. Positioned against what remained of the forward bulkhead, Donovan looked aft. It was so unnatural to be seeing through the top of the plane. From his angle he could only examine part of the tail, though it didn’t look right. He quickly decided that a mirror might allow him a better view.

  Donovan thought for a second. The closest mirror was in the forward lavatory. He pulled open the door. On the floor of the small compartment lay the body of a passenger. Donovan, surprised, stepped back at the sight of the corpse. The man had been nearly decapitated. It wasn’t hard to picture how violently he had met his end. The bulkhead had caved in from above and the sharp aluminum had cut him down. Donovan briefly considered that this man probably saved Audrey’s life. If he hadn’t have occupied the forward lavatory, she wouldn’t have been forced to go aft. This could easily have been her body he was looking at. Donovan turned away and surveyed what was left of the small enclosure. The impact had destroyed virtually everything. He spotted a soda-can size piece of the mirror that he thought might work.

  He closed the door reverently, then positioned himself and mentally prepared himself for what he wanted to do. He moved directly into the worst of the wind and held up the mirror. The sleeves of his coat snapped tight in the rush of wind, the fabric fluttered wildly, making it difficult to hold the mirror steady. It took him several seconds of adjustments to find the correct angle. He blinked as he tried to orient himself to the reverse image, his tears instantly froze onto his skin and he found it difficult to draw a full breath. Despite the dangerous cold, he processed the reflection, at first not believing what he’d found, but he quickly realized the mirror wasn’t playing tricks. The damage to the vertical stabilizer was no illusion. Part of the fin had been sheared off.

  Donovan ducked out of the slipstream and immediately cupped his hands to his mouth and exhaled warm air onto his frozen fingers. He finally caught his breath, flexed his hands several times and then gently peeled away the ice from the corners of his eyes. He fought off the lingering effects of the cold and collected himself. Once he felt as if his joints worked, he moved under the sharp metal and headed forward. The good news was that he hadn’t seen any fuel leaks. The bad news was that the damage to the Boeing was so severe, that this airplane could rip itself apart with little or no advance warning.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lauren followed Henry as they ran up the last few steps to the tower cab. She’d managed to catch her breath in the elevator as they rose seventeen floors above the terminal.

  Lauren checked her watch. They had a few minutes to spare before Donovan was scheduled to call them back. They burst into the cab and all eyes turned toward them as they moved into the small compartment. Lauren took in the scene around her. Instead of a panoramic view of the surrounding area, the world outside the windows was an opaque, gray nothingness as snow beat mercilessly against the thick glass. She’d expected the place to be teeming with activity; instead, it was eerily quiet. The few people who manned their stations looked up expectantly at her and Henry. There was no conversation.

  “I’m Henry Parrish, this is Dr. Lauren McKenna. Has 880 called yet?”

  “No. Not yet. I’m Wayne Koski, tower supervisor.”

  Lauren shook Wayne’s hand. He was a short man with a slight build. He sported a sparse beard and wire-frame glasses that made his brown eyes appear too large for his narrow face. Lauren quickly took in the scene around her. She’d never been in a control tower before and some of what she saw was a mystery, but she easily recognized the radar screens and radio equipment. Other instruments and screens were stationed in clusters at what she guessed were different duty positions. Lauren understood that there was probably a highly organized system at work here, but at the moment it made no sense to her at all. With an emergency in progress she fully expected more commotion, but the only sound was that of the wind and snow howling against the broad expanse of glass that surrounded them on all sides.

  “We do think we have them on radar.” Wayne moved over to where a woman wearing a small headset was intently watching the never-ending sweep of her scope.

  “This is Kate.” Wayne gestured to a pear-shaped woman with curly brown hair. Kate glanced up and nodded at the visitors. She wore a serious expression that seemed incongruous with her cherubic features—a face more cute than beautiful. “She’s been tracking a primary target since we got your call. It’s the only plane out there. Everyone else has finally departed the holding patterns and diverted to their alternates. We’re usually in the middle of our Friday, late-afternoon push about now, but due to the storm everything has ground to a halt. We haven’t talked to an airplane in the last twenty minutes. The visibility is so low right now no one can land or take off.”

  “How do you know it’s flight 880?” Lauren leaned over and tried to find the tiny blip on the green backlit screen.

  “I don’t, for sure,” Kate explained. “But it doesn’t have a working transponder; otherwise I’d be getting a data block from the airplane. I’d be able to read its speed and altitude. This is just a raw return, the radar energy bouncing off the metal of the plane. If it’s not them, then someone else is out trying to fly in this mess, and I highly doubt that.”

  Lauren finally saw the target Kate was watching. It seemed so small and insignificant. Henry’s cell phone sounded and he moved away to take the call. Lauren tried to orient herself but couldn’t. “Which way is North? In fact, how can you guide the airplanes if you can’t see out the windows?”

  “It’s pretty easy, actually. North is this way,” Koski said, pointing. “We have the new digital radar system for airplanes on the ground. It’s over there. That’s Andy, he’s in charge of all the snow removal efforts. He’s in contact with the dozens of vehicles on the field right now. Once the airplanes start to move again, we track each one using the same radar. We just see them electronically instead of looking out the window.”

  Lauren could just barely hear Andy as he spoke quietly into his headset. He paced back and forth softly as he stared at the surface radar. He turned at the sound of his name and nodded. Lauren saw tired, red eyes framed by a thin face. His longish hair was the same color as his goatee. She immediately got the impression he’d been at work for hours. Despite her rising anxiety, Lauren took a small measure of comfort that the blip of his airplane was still visible, and also from the quiet professionalism displ
ayed by the people in the tower. “Excuse me,” Lauren said, as her cell phone rang. She backed farther away when she realized the call was from Calvin.

  “Lauren, we found them,” Calvin’s soothing voice said. “They’re still flying.”

  “I know. I’m in the tower cab at O’Hare. Donovan called a few minutes ago. It’s what we thought; their airplane was hit by the KC-135 we saw on television. About all we know right now is that they don’t have any electrical power on the airplane.”

  “Thank God he’s alive,” Calvin replied. “I’m not surprised to hear they’re without power. We have some high-resolution photos of the plane and the damage is significant. Do you know what they’re doing to get him down?”

  “Donovan is supposed to call us back any second,” Lauren said excitedly. “All the wheels seem to be in motion at this end.”

  “You said you’re in the tower cab at O’Hare?” Calvin said. “We’re going to send you the photos we have.” Calvin paused as he gave someone the order to transmit the images. “We’re sending them now, addressed to you. You’ll have to use your encryption password to access the pictures. But it might help in judging what you have to work with.”

  Lauren knew Calvin could instantly pull up the e-mail link of any government installation in the world.

  “I also spoke with someone at the National Transportation Safety Board,” Calvin continued. “He’s highly placed, and he gave me an off-the-record update on exactly what they think happened. There was some maintenance being done at the air traffic control facility in Indianapolis. A worker fell on the main power feeds leading into the building and was electrocuted. When they shut off the main power, none of the back-ups came on and the building went dark. No one could talk to any of the airplanes they were working at the time. When the power was finally restored, they were two airplanes short.”

  “I’ll pass that along,” Lauren replied, angry that such things could happen in this day and age of high technology.

  “Good. I’ve also been talking to Michael. The roads are virtually impassable right now due to all the snow. We’re still trying to find a way to get him to O’Hare. We reached the Army and are trying to get a Hummer or something to get him there. I’ll keep you posted as we know more.”

  “Thank you.” Lauren wished Michael were here already. She could use his soothing presence to help her deal with what amounted to a gathering of strangers.

  “Is there anything else I can do?” Calvin said in a softer voice.

  “I don’t think so right now. You’ve been wonderful. Thank you, for everything.” Lauren saw Henry get off the phone and turn to say something to her. “I have to go now. We’ll talk later.”

  “Who were you talking to?” Henry said.

  “The DIA,” Lauren replied, then she addressed Wayne. “I have an e-mail we need to retrieve.”

  “An e-mail?” Henry asked.

  “It should have been sent here addressed to me.” Lauren followed Wayne as he stepped up to a terminal. With Henry standing behind her, Lauren waited impatiently as Wayne located the message. She ignored their quizzical looks as she typed in her code and quickly downloaded the first of two images. Moments later the first picture materialized on the screen.

  “Oh my God!” Henry slid in closer to get a better look.

  Lauren focused on the high-resolution satellite image. The somewhat grainy image of an airliner filled the frame. It took her a little longer than Henry to grasp what was wrong with the airplane. Starting just above the cockpit a giant gash was visible in the aluminum skin. Lauren put her hand over her mouth as she saw how the fuselage had been ripped open and peeled back.

  “Is there another one?” Henry asked.

  “Yes.” With shaking hands, Lauren clicked the mouse to open the next file. It appeared on the screen and was a much tighter shot. Though it lost some detail due to the enlargement, Lauren could make out individual shards of metal that bracketed the wide opening. It seemed unreal that she was looking at an airplane that Donovan was aboard.

  “Unbelievable.” Henry stepped away from the monitor.

  “What part?” Lauren asked. She wanted some concrete assessment from Henry about what they’d just seen. “That we were able to get these shots, or the damage to the plane?”

  “Both.” He looked up at the clock, then leaned over and searched for the solitary blip on the radar screen.

  “Who were you on the phone with?” Lauren asked Henry. “Do we know anything else?”

  “I was talking with Tucker.” Henry looked up from the radar screen. “He made some calls. The military option is out. The only base we think 880 could reach is up near Duluth. The PAR system is down for maintenance and the required personnel are off duty. Though he did tell me he spoke with the local phone company. An engineer there explained that as long as 880’s no more than 20 miles from an antenna the cellular link should work. But he warned that the direction the airplane was traveling and the altitude could have a bearing as to how long the connection holds. Something about the switching logic.”

  “That makes sense.” Lauren nodded as she processed the physics involved.

  “Also,” Henry said, then paused as he thought. “Tucker, and one of our 737 instructors have unearthed a few theories about how to restore power to 880’s instruments. Once we talk to John we’ll have a better idea of how to proceed.”

  The shrill sound of the phone caused Lauren to jump.

  “O’Hare Tower,” Koski spoke excitedly as he swept the instrument to his ear. He listened for a second then gave everyone a thumbs-up to indicate it was indeed flight 880. “I’m putting you on speaker.” Koski punched a button. “880, you still there?”

  “We’re here.” Donovan’s voice poured through the speaker. “Though I’m not sure where here is. Do you by chance have us on radar?”

  “Turn thirty degrees to the right,” Kate said from the radar position, then she waited as she stared intently at the scope.

  An avalanche of emotion threatened to choke Lauren as she heard Donovan’s voice. She desperately wanted to talk with him privately—but couldn’t.

  “Wayfarer 880, radar contact,” Kate said calmly. “Your position is forty-five miles southeast of O’Hare. Turn to a 330 degree heading and say your altitude.”

  “We’re level at 10,000 feet,” Donovan reported. “Is Henry Parrish there?”

  “I’m here,” Henry said, stepping nearer the phone. “Can I talk to John?”

  “Stand by.” Donovan’s voice could be heard in the background as he and John exchanged duties.

  “Hey, Henry,” John said finally. “What do you have in mind for us?”

  “The early consensus is to try again to restore the power to your primary instruments. But we’re going to have to be careful to eliminate the possibility of fire. Everyone down here is brainstorming on the best way to make that happen. Is there anything else you can tell me about the damage to the cockpit? We’ve seen some pictures of the outside of your plane.”

  “How did you do that?” John said.

  “Seems we have some pull with the military, we looked at some impressive satellite photos,” Henry replied. “What does the inside look like?”

  “As you no doubt saw, the point of impact was from above, directly behind the pilot seats. The wing of the other plane made a complete wreck out of not only the overhead section, but the junction boxes as well. Both sides are equally messed up.”

  “So all you have right now are the standby altimeter, airspeed, and the wet compass?” Henry said.

  “You got it. Nothing else. Is there any place else we can fly this thing and land? Hell, I’d take a stretch of interstate highway at this point.”

  “We’re still working on that.” Henry rubbed his face in frustration. “We’re trying to make sure we don’t miss a single detail. I should have that weather information for you shortly.”

  “I understand.” John’s dejected voice registered with everyone in the cab.

 
; “John, hang in there buddy. We know where you are and what we have to work with. Did you get a chance to check for fuel leaks?”

  “Yeah, Donovan went back and took a look. He didn’t see anything venting.”

  “That’s great news, it buys us some time. I want you to give me twenty minutes to sort out some things. If this works the way I envision it, you’ll be on the ground inside the hour.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” John replied.

  “Before you go, 880,” Kate said, “I need you to turn to a 310 heading. There’s a lot of wind up there and I want to keep you in my airspace.”

  “We copy,” John said. “And Henry, twenty minutes.”

  Lauren had so wanted to say something to Donovan but she’d lost her chance when John had taken over on the phone. Now that they were gone, she felt the familiar tug at her heart—wondering if she’d heard Donovan’s voice for perhaps the last time. Her eyes shot to the engagement ring on her left hand as she wrestled with her emotions. Her thoughts took her to Florida and the wedding that was scheduled for the following weekend. In a moment of fragility she pictured herself standing alone at the altar—Donovan ominously missing from the image. She fended off the morose image and turned toward Henry. “Now what?”

  “I have an idea.” Henry reached for his phone.

  “Me too,” Lauren said. “I’m your best chance at finding that stretch of interstate they spoke of.”

  “Do it.” Henry nodded and dialed his phone.

  “Give me some idea of how far they could go,” Lauren said, as she thought of the parameters she was going to need to set up the search.

  “Two hundred miles, three hundred if we really stretched it,” Henry said.

  “Is there a land line I can use?” Lauren turned toward Koski. “My cell phone battery is getting a little low.”

  Lauren once again dialed the direct line to the DIA command center. Calvin answered before the second ring.