I eased off the Cessna’s throttle, which put us in a slight descent. “He figured out that with no labor costs, Moran could get rich.”
“Yeah, and he planned to break the story on the college TV station. His last hurrah, before the station was sold to Bickerton.”
“So Robbie killed him before the expose could air,” I said, following Rita’s thread.
“I think Moran sent Robbie to kill him.” Rita nodded. “I think it was all planned. Even Robbie’s religious fervor was an act. Then Moran eliminated Robbie, getting rid of that loose end and framing you at the same time.”
“I’ll agree that Moran killed him, or had him killed,” I said. “But Robbie wasn’t acting. No, he was seriously unbalanced. No one could be that good of an actor.”
“Think about it. The breakout, when Robbie got away, went too smoothly, had to be preplanned.”
“We may never know, Rita. But, I’m just glad it’s over.”
“Well, it’s not quite over. You still have to land this plane.”
We flew beyond the Calico Range and soared down into the valley, approaching the borax works. I made a low pass over the complex and glanced at the ground. The shootout looked to be done. The police had taken over the facility. They had the guards lined up with their hands on their heads. Numerous teens stood in small groups talking with officials, and on the road coming from Rattlesnake Lake Base I saw a line of police vehicles with flashing lights speeding toward the facility. A couple of Sheriff’s Department prisoner transport buses led the parade, and trailing far behind was what appeared to be Hammer’s car. Sol’s black limo stood next to the small clapboard office.
I made a sweep over the runway, which from the plane looked about as big as a postage stamp. Rita glanced at the strip, then at me. “You can do it, right, Jimmy? I’m not worried.” She tried to smile, but what appeared was more of a grimace.
“No problem,” I said. “But just in case…”
“In case? What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just tighten your seatbelt.”
I grabbed the radio mike. I was familiar with transceiver-type radios from my days as a cop. Susie had explained the protocol of emergency aviation transmissions, the use of the 121.5 VHF frequency. I pressed the “to talk” switch. “Hey, is anybody out there? I need help!” I released the switch.
The speakers came to life. “Aircraft calling on 121.5, this is Los Angeles Center. Say your position and identification.”
“I’m over the old borax works, somewhere west or maybe north. Aw… south of Barstow.”
“Unknown aircraft transmitting on the emergency frequency, are you a pilot?”
“No, and that’s my problem,” I said, turning away from Rita and speaking in a low voice. “I don’t know how to land this thing, but I’ve got to put down on the runway at the borax works.”
“Are you declaring an emergency?”
“Damn right I am.”
“Roger that. Now hold tight and answer my questions. First, how many souls are on board?”
“Two right now. One just departed.”
“What?”
“Two, two people on board. But I have to land this plane. It’s a Cessna 172.”
“Don’t worry. I have a private pilot’s license. I’ll talk you down.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yeah, piece of cake,” the guy said. “Those 172s practically land themselves.”
I glanced at Rita, who gave me a weak smile and tried to pretend that all was fine, but the look in her eyes told me she had a few concerns. “Okay, let’s go for it,” I said to the controller.
“That’s the spirit. Now, first we’re going to dispense with the formalities. Forget about radio protocol. Just speak in a normal manner. Do you roger that? If so, answer in the affirmative.”
“Ten-four,” I said.
“We don’t say ten-four. Cops say ten-four.”
“Roger, that’s affirmative.”
“Look, sir, just talk normally so I can understand you,” the controller said. “Now, do you see the runway?”
“Yeah, it’s down there. I’m circling over it.”
Rita tapped my shoulder. “Jimmy, that’s not the runway, it’s a road.”
“Shut up, Rita!”
The loudspeaker interrupted. “Say again.”
“Not you, I was talking to Rita.”
“Listen, fella, just talk to me, okay?”
“Roger. I mean, sure.”
I hadn’t been concentrating, and the plane wandered off. But the controller said he had me on radar and gave me a vector, as he called it, and soon I was circling over the facility again.
“Pay attention to what I’m going to tell you. It might get a little tricky,” the controller said.
“Listen to the guy, Jimmy. We’ll hit a mountain.”
“Dammit, Rita, I told you to shut up and I mean it.” She hit my shoulder with her fist. I pretended it didn’t hurt and pressed the mike button again. “I’m ready.”
As instructed, I maneuvered the airplane until it was on the runway approach, fifteen hundred feet in the air and a couple of miles away from the end of the landing strip. I trimmed the elevator tab and the plane began a shallow decent. I settled in and flew straight, aiming right for the touch-down zone. It would’ve been pretty cool, sailing on a wing over the ground at ninety knots, as graceful as a gazelle and feather light-if I wasn’t scared out of my wits. Captain O’Brien at the controls, bringing her in on one engine.
But immediately reality hit.
“Jimmy! We’re gonna crash!”
“Pull up!” the controller shouted. “You’re below my radar. Are you still with me?”
My heart stopped. We were too low, skimming over a building that somehow managed to move itself right to where the runway should’ve been. I dropped the mike, tugged back on the control and goosed the throttle. The plane jumped. We soared over the roof and continued to climb.
At three hundred feet above the ground, just when I thought I had everything under wraps, the plane veered off to the right with the wing low. Careful, I told myself. If I don’t fix it in about five seconds, we’ll hit sideways and flip.
“Hey! Why are we on our side?” Rita covered her eyes.
I stepped on the left rudder and turned the wheel at the same time. Oops, overdid it. I yanked the wheel back… easy, baby. Now the plane was sinking, dropping fast and out of control again. More power! Isn’t that what Susie used to say? The plane ballooned and became squishy.
Then it nosed down. I was now two hundred feet in the air and moving fast, dropping, flying crooked with that damn wing low. We flew perpendicular to the landing strip, the ground tilting every which way. Correct it, get it straight; okay, okay… steady. Now hold it, hang on, we’re going to make it. One wheel hit the ground, banged hard-the plane bounced and was in the air again. I cut the power and we were suddenly falling. Rita remained silent, her hands planted firmly on the dashboard. She stared at the ground coming up fast.
“Come in, aircraft transmitting on 121.5! Are you with me?”
“Jimmy, my God, do something!”
Wait! Don’t cut power, add power! Susie’s nagging voice filled my head. I jammed the throttle to the wall. It felt like the knob was going to push right through my palm and come out the other side of my hand. The engine roared.
“Answer me, Cessna!”
The strident rush of the wind, the crackling radio, the engine screaming, and Rita’s fear caused my head to spin, the world a blur. Vertigo! Snap out of it and fly the goddamn plane!
“Aircraft on 121.5! Are you still with me?”
“Rita!” I shouted. “Reach down and find the mike, tell the guy I’m too busy to talk.”
Rita grabbed the cord and with quick hand-over-hand movements she pulled the mike off the floor. “Jimmy, you’d better talk to the guy. It’s probably a Federal reg or something.”
She held the mike out to me, but both of my sweaty hands were busy turning the wheel, trying to keep the plane from doing a flip. “Just tell the guy I can’t talk now.”
The plane responded. Finally we were stable and I heard Rita say, “Sir, the idiot… I mean the pilot at the controls is tied up for a moment. Could you call back?”