“I’ve been looking at your flight plan,” Gimelli said, “and I wonder if you would possibly consider some changes in it?”
“I see no reason to,” Bush said coldly.
Gimelli looked up at him through his bushy dark brows. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have phrased it so bluntly. Do you know what I am doing here?”
“No.” Said in a tone of voice that practically spelled out the unspoken next words — nor do I care.
“I’m area coordinator for the QE2 search, working with overseas flights…. ”
“They’ve found the ship, so you’re out of a job. If you don’t need me any more I’ll just get moving.”
“Captain Bush, are you naturally an ornery son of a bitch or just playing at it?” Gimelli’s voice cracked out sharply and Bush jumped to his feet, his face red with anger.
“Now just what the hell do you mean!”
“I mean exactly what I said. Don’t you know that the ship was found — but that the crew and passengers are still missing?”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Bush dropped back into his chair. “I’ve been out of touch.” He certainly had been — at a motel in Encinatas in Baja, California, with a stewardess, an old friend. He had heard a short radio announcement in Spanish and had not thought of the matter since. He never paid much attention to the news in any case.
“Then let me fill you in. For the past four days one of the largest air and sea searches ever mounted has been in progress. For very good reason, since the world’s largest liner vanished without a trace. The QE2 has been found, but she is empty of all life. A couple of thousand people, gone, and signs of shooting and violence aboard the ship. So the search is going on for all the crew and passengers who were aboard when she left Acapulco. Here, look at this chart, this is the area being searched. We are particularly interested in all ships in this area or just outside of it. We are asking for reports from all planes and ships that might be of help. When I saw your flight plan I thought that you could really be of great help to us.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Very kind of you to offer. I must first tell you that I have cleared this matter with your Company, who approve the suggested changes, even though it means an expenditure of a few thousand more pounds of jet fuel. The whole world is concerned, as you can see, Captain.”
Bush nodded and ate his humble pie. He deserved it. But those three days in the motel had been worth it.
“You are taking a charter flight to Bogota, Columbia, then on to Peru. Is that right?”
“Yes. It’s the start of a new service. Only about a fifty percent configuration, that’s a half-load of passengers, but it should get better.”
“That was one of the considerations we had in mind when we considered this change in flight plans. Would you look here please, at the chart. We would like you to swing further west than you originally planned, to around one hundred and fifteen degrees west latitude.”
Bush ran his finger over the chart. “That’s pretty far off course and way the hell out into the Pacific.”
“It is. But you will be flying a great circle course, which helps, and, of course, you will catch the westerly jet stream. These changes should add a maximum of an hour to your flying time. With the extra fuel you will still have your normal reserves.”
“And you say management approves?”
“They are enthusiastic.”
“That’s the way it’s going to be, then. Can you tell me why this is so important?”
“Absolutely. We have no ships in this area, or any carrier planes that can reach it. If you will mark the position of any large ships you might see here, on the fringe of our search area, it will be of considerable help to us.”
“Is that all you want?”
“Yes. Other than asking you to keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. I can’t tell you what that might be — but this whole situation is so extraordinary that, well, who knows what the answer is to the disappearance.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
They took off two hours later. Bush himself was at the controls and, heavily loaded with fuel as they were, they used a good deal of the runway, lifting the nose and pulling up the gear as they headed out over the blue Pacific, leaving the gray smog of Los Angeles behind them. As they gained altitude, he began a slow turn to port that would take them down along the southern California coast. The air was clear here, San Diego showing up below with the farms and suburbs south of it marking the border of the United States. After that the mountains and deserts of Baja, with a quick glimpse of the bay at Ensenada on the horizon before thin clouds cut off the view. Ah, motel of fond dreams. He smiled at the memories, then cleansed his mind of everything except flying.
“This is going to take some navigating,” Trubey said. As Second Pilot he was responsible for the navigation at this time. He was working out a true compass heading on the chart and listening to the sound of the San Diego beacon vanishing behind them. Abandoning this reference, he reached out and switched frequencies to the one in La Paz. “We won’t be able to take bearings on any stations ahead for a long time. At least the inertial navigator will tell us where we are.”
“Well, good for you, my boy, we’ll make a pilot of you yet. Don’t forget that during the war, B-17’s and 24’s flew the Atlantic to Britain without radio beacons, without navigational aids of any kind — other than the same charts and sextants ships use.”
“Spare me the lecture, Pops. I read the history books, too. It’s just that I have a feeling of security knowing where I’ve been and just where I’m going to. Beckoned by a radio beacon in the night. When I leave those friendly reference marks behind I get angry and remember Air New Zealand in the Antarctic…. “
“Bite your tongue when you say that! We’ll not have that kind of trouble here. This is going to be a day flight, we’re staying at thirty-one thousand feet, and once we have made the search sweep you can twist the dials and get the beacon in Bogota and we’re home free.”
“Great, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Bush switched on the public address speakers, humming happily to himself. This was a bit like the old days, on your own, without all the navigational aids the young flyers were used to now.
“Good morning. This is your Captain speaking. We have now reached our cruising altitude of thirty-one thousand feet. The outside air temperature is fifty degrees below zero, but the weather in Bogota is better than that. Clear and sunny and the temperature is now twenty degrees, seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Our arrival time there will be slightly later than you were told because this aircraft, like many others, is cooperating in the search for the passengers of the QE2. Therefore, we will be going slightly west of our planned route to report on any ships in that area. I will tell you when we are there in case you want to look out the windows yourself. Who knows — one of you may be the person who finds the missing passengers and crew of the Queen. Have a pleasant flight and thank you for flying Western.”
“A master of psychology.” Trubey said.
“Naturally. If we are getting in late you might as well let them know. And they’ll be busy staring out at the ocean.”
The cabin attendants were just clearing away after luncheon when the loudspeakers crackled to life once more.
“This is Captain Bush again. We are now passing over the invisible boundary of the area within which we have been asked to make observations. We are logging any ships that we may sight and this information will be relayed to the authorities when we land. Thank you.”