He turned and left as Britta entered with a small bottle of water, which she placed in Dan’s hand. “How are you doing, Danny?”
“Okay, I guess. I just wish you had pilot experience, like Karen Black.”
“Who?” Britta shot back, a puzzled expression crossing her face.
“It was… a movie, Britta. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh! God! You mean that awful film. Airport Seventy-something.” Britta let a few seconds of silence pass before speaking again, her eyes ranging over the cockpit, her voice a shade softer. “Dan, I need to know our status, and precisely what you want me to do.”
The copilot moved his head to the left as if to look at her, then stopped. “We’re probably about ten minutes away from starting the approach, Britta. I want everyone strapped in. Put them in a brace position. Brief them all on the emergency exits. And there’s something else that’s really important.”
“Yes?”
“You, Britta, are going to have to make the determination of when and how to evacuate. If… things don’t go well, and you don’t hear from me, make sure we’ve stopped, then get them out of there. Okay?”
“You’re going to do fine, Dan. We’ll make it.”
The copilot took a deep, ragged breath. “I’ll do my best, but we’ve got to get on the ground while I’m still functioning.”
Britta began massaging his shoulder as she looked forward through the windscreen, trying to discern anything familiar. There were very few ground lights visible in the darkness. Just the hint of a town somewhere to one side and the glint of distant lightning on the ocean’s surface to the left; the staccato flashes illuminated huge clouds on both sides in a visual melange worthy of van Gogh.
Britta looked back down at Dan and leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “I mean it, Danny. You’ll do fine.” She straightened up. “Who do you want here in the cockpit?” she asked. “Mr. MacCabe is here. Should he stay?”
“I can’t believe you remembered my name,” Robert said.
“Britta,” Dan replied, “you need to be in the cabin. Stay upstairs, but sit in the cabin. Mr. Sampson sits where he is, in the left seat. Mr. MacCabe, if you don’t mind, sit where you are in the jump seat. Britta, if you should find another pilot hiding somewhere, get him up here.”
“You bet, Dan,” Britta replied.
“And please keep Rick Barnes out of my cockpit. He’s not much of an inspiration.” Dan paused and rubbed his head again, breathing rapidly, before continuing. “What I really need is Leslie Nielsen standing in the back, reminding me every few seconds that everyone’s depending on me.” He tried to smile, turning his head carefully to face forward again.
Good! Britta thought. If his sense of humor is still alive, we’ll make it.
“I just want you to know we are all depending on you, Danny!” she said, echoing Nielsen’s repeated line from Airplane!, the movie that had become an icon to airline crews.
The overhead speakers tuned to Hong Kong Approach came alive again. “Meridian Five, how many miles out from the airport would you like to start the ILS approach to Chek Lap Kok?”
Dan held up his right hand for silence.
“Hong Kong, I need a lot of room to make sure we’re… lined up. Can you… see me on radar… far enough out to give me a… fifty-mile turn on the localizer?”
“Our weather radar is painting a line of severe thunderstorms forty miles to the west, Sir, moving east at ten knots. We’d like to keep you clear of those.”
“Okay, Hong Kong. A thirty-mile turn to the inbound course, then, I guess.”
“We can do that, Meridian,” the controller replied. “Call me when you’re ready, Sir. Meanwhile, turn left now to a heading of one-eight-zero degrees.
Britta Franz descended the stairs to the main cabin deck and motioned Bill Jenkins, Claire Brown, Alice Naccarato, Nancy Costanza, and four other flight attendants to the middle galley for a quick briefing. She tried to sound as upbeat as possible.
“Okay, this is what we train for. The public thinks we’re glorified cocktail waitresses and waiters here just to serve drinks, but this is when we shine as professionals. I’m in command in the absence of Dan giving any orders. You know the protocol. If I say evacuate on the PA, do it. Under no circumstances do you pop those doors and slides until we are stopped, and do not make an independent decision unless you’re certain that I physically can’t order the evacuation. Understood?”
They all nodded.
“We’re going to make it, team. Dan’s hurt, but he’s a pro, and he’ll get us down safely.”
Britta returned rapidly to the upper deck to secure the galley, unaware that someone was following her up the stairs and calling her, the unfamiliar voice not registering.
“’Scuse me! I said, excuse me!”
Britta turned to find herself face to face with the owner of the voice.
“I was trying to catch you below,” the woman said. “You the head mama?”
“I beg your pardon?” Britta replied, her eyebrows rising slightly at the woman’s phraseology.
“Head mama, Darlin’, as in chief flight attendant and whip-cracker.”
“I am the head flight attendant, if that’s what you mean.” Britta instantly regretted her tone. She had puffed herself up in reaction to the woman and knew she sounded haughty.
“That’s exactly what I mean, Honey.” The woman smiled brightly, glancing around at Graham and Susan Tash. “Look, you’d probably forgive my linguistic vernacular if you knew I was black, which I was until just after takeoff, when I got the color scared out of me with people asking for replacement pilots and all.”
Britta closed her eyes and shook her head as if to restart the entire encounter. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?”
The woman stuck out her hand with a smile, and Britta shook it somewhat tenuously. “I’m Dallas Nielson, from seat Two-A downstairs. I’m one of your first-class passengers, okay? I’m really not some peon who crawled up out of the baggage compartment. Don’t let these dreadlocks fool you.” She tossed her head.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”
Dallas Nielson held a palm up in a stop gesture. “It’s okay, Honey, I’m just so damn nervous I’m chattering at Warp Seven. That’s a Star Trek term.”
“Yes, I know Star Trek, but—” Britta began.
The huge smile again as Dallas Nielson continued. “Good. Good! See, we’ve got something in common, other than being trapped in a giant pilotless airliner.”
Nancy Costanza had come up the stairs and moved in behind Dallas to motion for Britta’s attention. Britta looked at her with no intention to snap, but did so anyway. “What, Nancy?”
The young flight attendant stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “Britta, I’m sorry, but I need your help. There’s a tour director down there…”
Britta shook her head in self-disgust. “No, I’m sorry. There was no reason to bark at you, Nancy. Give me a couple of minutes, please.”
Britta turned back to Dallas Nielson, still trying to discern the thrust of the conversation. “Ms. Nielson, are you by any chance a licensed pilot?”
“Me? Good grief, no! I’m dangerous enough driving.”
“Then I’m really not sure why we’re having this discussion, or what I can do for you, and I don’t have much time. I’ve got to get the cabin prepared for landing.”
“Britta, was it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Britta, I’ve just got one question, but it’s a doozy. How in hell is a blind pilot going to land this monster? I’ve been sitting down there trying to stay quiet like a good girl, but I’ve gotta know.”