True, the stereotyped image had faded — tattered, in fact — and the reality over the last forty years had been startlingly less magnificent than his starry-eyed dreams. But there had been the occasional victory, the occasional scoop as an investigative reporter who never quit — a reputation he valued. And the breaking news rush was still there when he launched on a mission that was his to complete. Tonight was such a moment.
Scott swerved suddenly to avoid a jackknifing semi, barely getting the old Volvo under control and back into the groves of previous tires after the trucker pulled off to the side.
The face of a firefighting acquaintance at Denver’s airport crossed his mind.Whatever happened at DIA in the next few hours, the firefighters would know about it and be there. If Josh Simmons by some stroke of luck was on duty tonight, it would be a great help.
The radio calls had quieted markedly as the airborne traffic diminished, but the Approach Control frequency suddenly came alive again.
“Regal Twelve, say your intentions.”
“To get everyone home alive, Approach,” was the immediate reply, somewhere between a curative attempt at humor and evidence of a distracted airman.
Several seconds elapsed before the pilot continued. “Denver, Regal Twelve should be ready for the approach in about twenty minutes. We’ve got to do some controllability checks up here.”
“Roger, Regal. Please be advised Denver International is doing their best to keep the runway open for you and they are currently plowing, so they need a five minute warning when you’re ready for the approach to get the equipment out of the way.
“Roger that, Denver.”
Another transmission filled the void, this one used for ground control at the airport.
“Airport Twenty, Denver Ground.”
“Airport Twenty.”
“What’s the runway status?”
“Ground, we’ve got six plows deployed and we’re two thirds down Runway Seven at this time, but it’s coming down too fast. Frankly, we’re losing the battle. We need to get that bird on the ground asap.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Seven Months before — January 21st
Passenger Cabin — Regal 12
Normally, when Lucy Alvarez scored a window seat and the extra leg room of the emergency exit row, it felt like a small lotto win. One hour into the aborted flight of Regal 12, however, 22F had truly become the seat from hell.
It had taken Lucy less than a minute after the collision to regain focus and gaze out the window, directly into the windows of Mountaineer 6212. At first, everything was essentially black. But as Lucy’s eyes adjusted to the garish scene, every flash of the Regal 757’s red beacon illuminated anxious faces staring back at her, eyes pleading, lips mouthing words she could only imagine.
The captain’s explanation of why there was no way to reach them and bring them across that gap to the safety of the Boeing’s cabin made sense, but the logic was drowned out by the scream in her mind that those poor people had to be saved. No way could she just sit there and watch them die.
Both pilots, one after another, had come back and leaned in front of her to get a better view of the unfolding nightmare. Most of her fellow passengers had remained reasonably calm, but a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-fifties wearing a baseball cap and a checkered flannel shirt — the occupant of seat 21F just in front of her — had been doing a slow burn, muttering and becoming increasingly agitated. Suddenly he jumped to his feet and began pacing the aisle, arms flailing, gesturing wildly to the emergency exits; searching for allies who felt the same despair that was eating Lucy alive. But the man was frightening her, and she couldn’t trust him to be her voice. When he looked straight at her, she quickly diverted her eyes, partly out of embarrassment.
“Hey! Y’all! Are we gonna sit here like sheep and let those folks out there die? Come on, people, they’re less than twenty-five feet away from the window! There’s got to be some rope or cable or something we can use.”
“And do what?” a younger, owlish looking male had looked up at him and asked. “You heard the captain. It’s like a hurricane out there and even if we could weather the cold, there’s no way to attach a line or a cable even if we had one.”
“Hell, son, I’ve worked in Deadhorse in the winter,” the man replied. “Don’t be a pussy. There’s nothing on that wing you couldn’t handle in a parka,” he added, gesturing to the overhead. “They’ve got life rafts and all sorts of other equipment in this airplane and all we need is thirty feet of stout line and the determination to do something other than sit here. If we can get a line to them, we can bring them all across. Then it don’t matter if the damned thing falls off.”
One of the male flight attendants had approached quietly and now put a hand on the pacing man’s shoulder. Lucy could see the apprehension in the flight attendant’s eyes — the passenger was a half foot taller — and he turned on the crewmember now with a snarl.
“What do you want?”
The flight attendant’s voice was level and calm, his words precise.
“Sir, I have to ask you to sit back down and fasten your seatbelt. We all want to go get those people, but it is not possible.”
“Y’know, I just don’t believe that!” the man said, his face a study in contempt as he sized up the challenger.
“Well, sir, you can believe this with absolute certainty. We are legally under the complete command of the captain, and he has ordered all of us to sit down. Failure to comply…”
The passenger rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda! I know the spiel. You’ll have me arrested if I don’t sit down.”
“Yes, sir. Something like that.”
“Well, buddy boy, I think instead of threatening me for trying to solve the problem, you and the crew should be tearing this plane apart to find enough rope or cable to use.”
“Sir, we’re not going out there. Stringing a rope or cable would be impossible.”
“Oh, you’re buying that pilot crap? Fine, you stay in. Find that rope for me and I’ll bundle up in my parka and do it myself.”
Two other flight attendants had quietly gathered behind him.
“I’ll inform the captain that you’re volunteering in case he changes his mind. In the meantime, back in your seat. Please.”
He hesitated, trying to stare down the flight attendant who wasn’t giving a millimeter. Finally, the passenger nodded and slunk slowly down in his aisle seat.
“I can’t believe the cowardice of you people,” he snarled, jerking his head around to glare at the passengers around him before muttering angrily to himself.
Such a boor, Lucy thought, comparing her fiancé’s impeccable manners to what she’d just witnessed. A deep feeling of guilt suddenly rose around her like dark smoke.
Manners? What about her manners? What if she didn’t survive this? She hadn’t even had the courtesy to say goodbye to Greg, she’d been so ticked off at him. He wouldn’t have a clue where she was!
Lucy pulled her smart phone from her small purse and checked the signal indication, aware she’d forgotten to turn it to flight mode. It was showing two bars, probably enough, and she punched in his number and waited. There was no ringing, but the circuit went instantly to his voicemail, indicating his phone was either not on or not within range of a cell tower.