“First,” Dan said, “let’s see if you can fly.”
Kat thanked the Approach Control supervisor again and headed for the consulate car, the image of the radar tapes still playing in her mind. She was amazed they had been so open about something that would inevitably end up the subject of a major accident investigation, but the supervisor had hesitated only a few seconds before agreeing to show her the recordings.
The Bombardier Global Express business jet’s transponder had blinked off without warning eight miles ahead of Meridian 5, but there had been shadowy skin paint returns. Kat knew transponders radioed back an electronic answer to radar scopes every few seconds, whenever they picked up an air traffic control radar beam interrogating them. But without an operating transponder, the only thing a controller could see on his scope was the echo of a raw radar signal bouncing off the metal exterior of an aircraft. The skin paint target had appeared just three miles to the side of the 747.
Kat had carefully plotted the speed and altitude of Global Express N22Z when it disappeared, and the speed of the skin paint return, and found they matched perfectly. The Global Express’s crew had turned off their transponder and turned back to cross in front of Meridian 5. Not once, but twice. And the second time, at the very moment the Meridian pilot’s eyes were hit, there were a few more skin paint radar hits, which the Hong Kong Approach facility chief interpreted as debris from a midair collision. The supervisor supplied the tail number of the business jet, explaining that it was operating as an air ambulance and had come out of the business jet terminal.
Kat slid into the backseat of the consulate car and gave directions to the driver to go to the business jet facility, then unfolded the satellite phone to call Jake.
CHAPTER 15
Dallas Nielson had been unusually quiet for several minutes, her eyes following every move of young Steve Delaney’s hands as he manipulated the flight controls and slowly calmed the 747’s up-and-down motions.
Finally she leaned forward to speak in his right ear. “You’re awesome, Steverino! You’re staying within a hundred feet of your altitude now and staying just about on heading. I’m impressed. Are you watching the attitude indicator as your primary reference?”
“Yeah.”
“I read a book about instrument flying, and that’s what it said to do,” Dallas added. “You’re a natural.”
Steve glanced around to his right and took his first deep breath in more than five minutes. “Yeah, thanks,” he said.
Dallas turned to the copilot. “Dan, he’s doing great. A virtual carbon-based autopilot.”
There was no response. Dan Wade was hunched over the control yoke, his bandaged head in his hands.
“Dan? Dan, you hear me?”
She reached out and gently touched his shoulder, causing him to jump.
“Wha…?”
“Dan, you’ve got to stay with us. Is that painkiller working?”
He sat motionless for a few seconds, then nodded. “It’s making me sluggish.”
“But are you hurting as much? Do you need another shot from the doctor?”
“No,” Dan said, as if surprised at the realization. He began to straighten up, taking mental inventory. “No… it still hurts, but it’s a helluva lot better.”
“Thank God for that!”
Dan nodded again, then sat up suddenly as if shocked, his hands going instantly to the control yoke, his voice almost panicked. “Jeez… where are we?”
“It’s cool, Dan!” Dallas told him. “Steve’s been flying us, and he’s got it under control. He’s doing a great job.”
“We’re… stable?”
“Believe it or not!” Dallas replied.
“What’s our altitude?”
“Eight thousand feet,” Steve Delaney answered.
“Airspeed?”
“Two hundred ten knots.”
“And heading?”
“Steering two-two-zero degrees,” Steve said, “but I don’t know where you want me to head.”
“Dan,” Dallas said, “we still have to decide where to go and what to do. Shouldn’t we go back to Hong Kong? I was hoping you’d have some suggestions.”
“Yeah. Too much happening too fast. All I was thinking about was staying in the air. I… thought we were dead back there.”
“So did we,” Dallas answered quietly. “But the Big Guy had other plans.”
“The Big…?” Dan began.
“God,” Dallas said.
Dan swallowed. “Ah, first… I don’t think we can chance another encounter with those storms, and that means we don’t dare… ah… go back, you know, to Hong Kong. I remember the weather chart. It was pretty clear on the west side of that line. We’ll be okay in this direction, but not if we turn around.”
“But what’s out in this direction, Dan?” Robert asked.
Dan took a deep, ragged breath. “Ah, Vietnam… Thailand. Look, there’s also the problem of finding Hong Kong and staying clear of the hills, even if we could get in. We can’t use any ILS now without a receiver, and it’d be too dangerous to try to have you talk me down at night. I figure we’ve got enough fuel for almost seven more hours of this nightmare… but that’s not enough to get us…” He paused and took another deep, shuddering breath before continuing, “… not going to get us to Australia, or far enough south, except maybe Sumatra, and frankly, I’d like more modern facilities around if… if we need medical help. Technically, we could make the Philippines, but thanks to the damage to the airframe we can’t pressurize, which means we can’t get above ten thousand feet, and there’s a huge line of thunderstorms between Hong Kong and Manila. If we go north, we get into mainland China. They wouldn’t shoot us down, but I don’t know any of the airports there.”
“So that leaves us nowhere to go but west?” Dallas prompted.
Dan nodded. “Yeah. West to Vietnam, and Thailand on the other side. I know Thailand. Bangkok has a long runway, and so does the big air base south of there called U-Tapao. It’s long and flat, and the weather was supposed to be clear.”
“But how do we find it?” Dallas asked.
“Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot to program the navigation computer,” Dan said. He looked left. “Steve, you said you can handle the flight computer?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty simple.”
“That’s arrogant as hell, kid. It takes most pilots weeks of intensive training to master the thing.”
“Doesn’t say much for pilots, does it?” Steve Delaney shot back.
Dallas saw the spark find tinder. Dan inhaled sharply and sat up, his shoulders squaring for a fight. “And just whom do you think you’re talking to, young man?”
“Enough,” Dallas said. “Steve, show a little respect for your elders, okay? You can trade insults after we land. Now is not a good time to start a war.”
She could see the boy struggling with himself. “Sorry,” he said at last.
“Okay, Steve,” Dan said, “look at the Flight Management Computer screen on your side and tell me what it’s showing.”
“Nothing,” Steve replied.
“You might want to turn up the intensity control.”
“I already did, and the screen’s still dark,” Steve replied. “It’s not working.”
“Check the screen on my side.”
“That one’s out, too.”
There was stunned silence from the right seat before Dan pointed to the overhead panel. “There’s, ah, a control head up there for the inertial navigation systems. Do you see any lighted digits on the display face?”