“Are there any manuals around this bird that show where those cables are?”
“They run through the ceiling—” Dan began, then stopped himself suddenly. “Ah, as a matter of fact, they are in the ceiling. I’d forgotten that. They wouldn’t be a factor. But there still may be electrical lines in the floor. That’s a lot of metal to cut.”
“The floor isn’t that strong, Dan,” Dallas said. “I’ve felt it bounce up and down just walking up the aisle. Does the crew downstairs know where the baggage bin is in relation to the floor?”
He thought for a second. “Maybe. But you’re talking about major effort, peeling back sheet metal and chopping through fiberglass around the compartment.”
“Dan, any real reason why we couldn’t do it?”
He thought for less than a minute before shaking his head. “No. I guess not. Just make sure no one gets too energetic using that ax. Peel back the sheet metal after you cut it, and don’t try to cut through any beams, however small. If you make a big enough hole, remember that cut metal is going to be very, very sharp.”
“Let’s get moving. Robert? If you’ll grab that ax, we’ll go bobbing for bags.” Dallas turned to her left and patted Steve Delaney’s shoulder. “You’re doing great, Honey! Just keep her straight and level. You holding out okay?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah.”
“How about cell phones?” Dan asked. “I hadn’t asked you whether anyone came forward with a cell phone.”
Robert cleared his throat. “Britta asked on the PA, and dozens of passengers offered theirs, but she couldn’t get a signal on any of them.”
“Okay. Tell Britta to ask if anyone has one of those new worldwide satellite phones, since the onboard satellite phones are out.”
Robert nodded. “She tried. No one came forward.”
“Wonderful,” Dan said with a labored sigh. “Tell Britta to go ahead. Tell her I authorized this. She’s very Germanic. She’ll need specific assurance.”
Dallas had already left the cockpit when Dan turned around once more, hoping to catch Robert on his way out. “Robert, wait a second!”
Robert stopped and turned at the cockpit door. “Yeah, Dan?”
“I forgot to tell you about the blowout panels back there… big panels under the rug. You’ll see them when you pull back the carpet. They’re there to prevent the floor from collapsing in case one of the cargo doors boomed open in flight.”
“I’m not following you.”
“If the underside of the floor were suddenly depressurized and the top side still had seven pounds per square inch pressure, the main floor would instantly collapse without blowout panels. Point is, if you find and cut through one of those panels, it should provide a quick path to the baggage bin.”
One hundred and sixty feet to the rear, Dallas Nielson found Britta Franz in the rear galley and explained the plan.
“And he said this is okay?”
Dallas nodded as Robert, ax in hand, came down the aisle to join them. “Ask The Washington Post if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you, Ms. Nielson,” Britta said, glancing at MacCabe.
“You have any idea where to cut, Brits?” Dallas asked.
Britta grimaced and looked at the floor, then looked back at Dallas. “Yes. I’ve never thought about it, but I know exactly where all the bumping and knocking about comes from when the baggage people are in that rear bin.”
“Shouldn’t we tell the passengers what we’re doing?” Dallas asked. “You should’ve seen the looks on their faces when Robert walked through cabin with that ax.”
Britta turned and picked up a handset, punched in a two-digit code, and held it to her mouth.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your lead flight attendant. We are going to be cutting a hole in the floor of the aircraft to try to gain access to the baggage compartment. One of our passengers has a bag down there with a navigation unit the pilot needs badly. Please help by staying out of the way and staying calm.
She moved quickly up the aisle and knelt to find a seam in the carpet. “Here!” She pulled at the edge of the seam and began to peel it back from the yellow adhesive holding it to the floor, exposing the edge of a panel that yielded to the touch. “Here it is. A blowout panel.”
“Cut it here?” Dallas asked, down on all fours herself.
Britta said nothing and turned to MacCabe with her hand out for the ax.
“I can do it,” Robert replied, moving forward.
Britta looked up at MacCabe, then over at Dallas with a determined expression. “If anyone is going to start chopping up my cabin, it will be me.”
“Whatever you say, Honey,” Dallas said, and looked up at Robert. “Give her the ax, Babe.”
Britta lifted the crash ax and took aim, bringing the sharp edge down with a powerful stroke that immediately breached the surface of the floor. She raised it again, and began a rapid, rhythmic series of blows.
“One…”
Whap
“… thing I want to…”
Whap
“… get straight with you…”
Whap
“… is the fact that my name…”
Whap
“… is Britta!”
Whap
“Not ‘Brits.’”
Whap
“Not ‘Honey.’”
Whap
“But BRITTA!” She stopped and glared at Dallas. “Understand?”
Dallas raised her eyebrows. “You think I’m gonna argue with an angry woman carrying an ax?”
Britta was motionless for a moment, then nodded and took another swing.
“Okay, then.”
Whap
“We should get along just fine.”
Steve Delaney had said nothing since Dallas and Robert left the cockpit. His concentration on the task of keeping the 747 on the same altitude and heading was becoming progressively easier, leaving more of his conscious mind to face the question of what lay ahead.
“Are we going to make it?” he asked suddenly.
Dan Wade swiveled toward him and searched for an answer. “I, ah, Steve, there’s no reason we can’t make it, but…”
“But I’m gonna have to land it, right?” Steve said suddenly, his voice clearly conveying the tension he felt.
“No, we’ll do it together.”
“How? You’re blind! How’re you going to help?” Steve sounded increasingly panicky, raising caution flags in Dan Wade’s head. There were only so many realities the kid should have to face, Dan decided. His corrections were becoming more pronounced and erratic.
“Look, kid — Steve — we’re going to make it. Here’s how we’ll do it. You’ll tell me what you see and I’ll tell you what you need to do. It’s going to be simple. I’ll get the landing gear and the flaps extended. The object will be to fly the airplane onto the runway and use the rudder pedals to steer, just like you do in your dad’s simulator.”
“That’s just pretend. This…” Steve was breathing hard. “This is the real thing! If I crash a simulator, all I have to do is hit the Reset button.”
“Steve, listen to me. Calm down!”
“What if I screw it up and crash?”
“Not going to happen. You’re doing great. Your dad would be proud of you.”
“Yeah, right!” Steve snapped.
“He would,” Dan said. “You’ve been flying this airplane like a veteran pilot.”
“I don’t want to be a damn pilot. Just shut up about my father!”
“Hey, look, I may not be good with kids, but…”
Steve whirled on the copilot, his small hands shaking on the control yoke. “You’re just like him! Just like all damn pilots. Anyone my age is just worthless till you need something, and even then no one can ever please you.”