CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Seven Months before — January 21st
Cabin of Regal 12
Roger was his name.
For some reason, Lucy Alvarez made a mental note of it as the agitated passenger worked himself back up to what was probably going to be another outburst.
She felt sorry for the young woman in the middle seat next to him. Roger had insisted on introducing himself, as if reverting to some form of civilized restraint would erase the first impression of his meltdown.
Once again he gestured across the middle and window seats ahead to point to the fuselage, and once again — despite trying not too — Lucy followed his gaze, pressing her face against the plastic inner layer of the window and straining in spite of herself to make out the faces looking back. There were no cabin lights in the smaller airplane, but some passengers were using their cell phones, and someone in the window directly across from her turned his phone to his face. Lucy’s heart froze.
Of course, it couldn’t be her Greg, but the face looked just like him. She fought down the immediate sense of total panic and tried to think, not taking her eyes off the man, who was nodding for some reason and gesturing something she couldn’t make out.
Lucy pulled out her phone with trembling hands and frantically checked the messages. Nothing from Greg. She checked the little indicator next to her text messages, but none indicated delivered. Once again she tried calling, fumbling with the virtual keyboard to enter his speed-dial number and once again heard the system go straight to voicemail.
Twenty-five feet away, the man across the wing was still looking at her, but had lowered his phone. Only the outline of his features was visible. That absolutely could not be her fiancé, she reassured herself, but the reassurance was hollow and she fumbled with one of the airport apps to find which flights had left for Durango. Surely the only one he could have caught would have been cancelled.
There it was. His flight had to have been Mountaineer 2612, Denver to Durango.
She entered the flight number in the flight tracking app and read, and then re-read, the result. Mountaineer 2612 had departed on time. She shifted to a different display as Greg had taught her to do to monitor a flight’s progress with its altitude and flight track over the ground, and with the bottom dropping out of her world, she realized Mountaineer 2612’s flight track had ended just west of Denver less than ten minutes after departure.
There was no arrival in Durango, or anywhere else.
With her hands shaking violently and her heart pounding, Lucy toggled on the flashlight function of the iPhone and shone it on her own face as she faced the window, wondering if he was looking. Greg would have no way of expecting her to be on this flight… at best she would be nothing more than a distraught female face in the window. Her world was now riding on that wing, and the need to get to him, and not just helplessly sit still, welled like a rising tsunami, floating hope and desperation all at once.
The man named Roger had stood quietly and retrieved a bag from the overhead bin. Lucy had only half noticed, but now she realized he had donned a parka and gloves, and as a host of startled passengers watched, he held up what appeared to be a coil of some sort of wire, smiled, and then physically pulled the adjacent two passengers from their seats. Next to the overwing exit now, and with two alarmed flight attendants running forward to reach him, the man pulled the red cover off the latching mechanism and yanked the lever down.
Both flight attendants were yelling, but they were too many rows away.
“STOP HIM! TACKLE THAT MAN!”
Roger had a look of triumph on his face but in a microsecond it changed to puzzlement as he pulled on the plug-type hatch and was unable to dislodge it. Three male passengers were on their feet now and lunging for him, one sailing over a seatback to grab the big man by his waist at the very moment the sound of air pressure being released in a frightening “thunk” was met with him losing his balance and falling back, the hatch in hand, and the deafening roar of the slipstream from the now open hatch drowned out the startled cries all around.
The male flight attendant who had confronted Roger earlier soared over the same seat back and grabbed the hatch, struggling over the now-empty middle seat to shove it back in the hole, and with another solid “thunk” borne of slight internal air pressure, the hatch went back in place. He raised the locking level before turning to see the man named Roger restrained by two passengers and a flight attendant as another rushed back from the front of the plane with plastic handcuffs.
The entire episode had taken little more than a minute, but Lucy realized that for a split second, she had been ready to launch herself out of that hole to get to Greg.
An off-duty sheriff’s deputy was recruited to watch Roger, who had now been strapped to an empty aisle seat. The other crewmembers were cautiously returning to their respective ends of the aircraft as the PA clicked on, the captain’s voice louder and more urgent than before.
Folks, real quick, this is your captain. I am the legal authority right now over everyone, and I’m telling you I need complete cooperation and understanding. We cannot, repeat, cannot open a hatch and go get those people. Anyone else who even talks about trying will be arrested and prosecuted. Clear? For those who helped tackle that idiot now in 20D, thank you! The only reason he was able to pull that hatch open by the way is because we’re not pressurized. Don’t touch the doors or the hatches! And 20D? You, sir, are under arrest and will be federally charged when we get back on the ground.
Once again Lucy pressed her face to the glass, watching the outline of her love framed by the darkened window of the Beech some twenty-five feet away; feeling the most profound level of despair she’d ever experienced.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Seven Months before — January 21st
Regal 12
“Approach, Regal Twelve. I assume runway zero seven is still the only one open?”
“Affirmative, Twelve, and the airport is advising that landing sooner than later would be a good idea. They’re trying to keep ahead of the snowfall with the plows, but this storm is unprecedented.”
“Understood, Approach. Right now, we need vectors for a north-south track with twenty-mile legs for the next ten or fifteen minutes. We’re going to try configuring and slowing.”
The controller relayed a heading, and with the cell phone connection to the captain of the wrecked 1900 on speakerphone, Marty took control from the copilot.
“Ryan, check the leading edge on your side for ice. I checked the left a minute ago and we’re clear, but I am assuming the anti-ice is inop on the right leading edge.”
The copilot swiveled his head around, face against the side window as he strained to see the right wing.
“This stuff is too dry to stick, Captain, and I have no idea whether the anti-ice ducting is blown or what.”
“At least the engine anti-ice is on.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Marty turned to the right seat, suppressing his roiled and conflicted feelings which were mixing a dark anger for the copilot’s contribution to this disaster, with contrition for his own failure, leavened by appreciation for the younger man’s aeronautical competence under pressure. If they survived, they would sort it all out on the ground. Hell, the NTSB and the airline and everyone up to God would sort it out with dire consequences to be liberally distributed to the offending flight crew, but for right now, the first officer was the best ally in sight. And the younger man was clearly feeling as frightened and hunted and alone as Marty.