The Last Hostage

by Nance, John J. ;

  “What?” There was sudden suspicion in his eyes.

  “Have you ever flown commercially before?”

  Several passengers in nearby seats suppressed smiles, one actually chuckling out loud at her question.

  He leaned back and snorted to emphasize a practiced look of disgust as he checked a large, gold wristwatch. A Rolex, she noted.

  “That’s an inane question, woman! I own a tour company. I fly commercially all the time.”

  Annette nodded. “Well, anyone who’s in the travel business and who uses this airline system on a regular basis should be aware of a few basic procedures, such as all the rules you seem to be angry with me for enforcing.”

  The man came forward in his seat, his eyebrows raised, his squarish face turning slightly purple. “How dare you lecture me?” he said in a loud, outraged tone.

  Annette smiled at him. “And how dare you fly on a discounted ticket and beat up on me for not giving you first class?”

  “That does it. When I get to a phone in Phoenix, sweetheart, you’re toast!”

  “Why wait?” Annette said as sweetly as she could manage. “There’s a phone in your armrest. In the meantime, if you undo that seatbelt before the light’s out, the first officer will come back with a set of plastic handcuffs and we’ll have the FBI meet you in Phoenix. Understand?”

  Annette ignored the man’s obscene retort and walked back to the first class galley, pulling the curtain behind her before turning off the smile and clenching her fists in the privacy of the small cubicle. There was no point in bothering Ken Wolfe with the latest installment of the man’s temper tantrums. In little more than an hour the boor would be off the airplane anyway, and then she could spend her ground time writing a report to cover herself when the inevitable “fire-the-bitch-or-else” letter arrived in AirBridge headquarters.

  “Did you feel that?”

  Ken Wolfe’s face was a mask of concern as he looked at his copilot.

  “What?”

  “That vibration? It’s faint, but repetitious.”

  David cocked his head and closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to discern what the captain was sensing amid all the normal vibrations of a jetliner in flight. His eyes came open just as quickly.

  “I … don’t feel anything unusual, but …”

  “You may not be attuned to that particular range of vibration,” Ken offered.

  “Maybe not. Was it a ratcheting?”

  Ken nodded. “Yes, but very faint. It happens every few seconds. There! Feel that?”

  David looked even more concerned than before. “I don’t … well, maybe.”

  “In the background,” Ken prompted, “a kind of distant grinding or growling, coming and going.”

  “Yes! I do feel it,” David replied.

  Wolfe nodded as he leaned over the center console to study the engine instruments, then looked up.

  “Okay, I need you to go back quietly and take a look at the engines through the cabin windows. Look at the front and the tailpipe area, and see if you see anything unusual.”

  David nodded and left quickly, closing the cockpit door behind him, as Ken studied the instruments, paying particular attention to the oil pressure, then suddenly pulled out the emergency checklist. He opened it to the tab marked “Precautionary Engine Shutdown” and scanned the items, then reached up and pulled back the throttle for number two engine.

  Thrust lever, close, he intoned to himself.

  He reached down behind the center console and wrapped his index finger around the start lever for the same engine.

  Start lever cutoff.

  With a singular motion, he pulled the lever out of the detent and lowered it to the cutoff position, stopping the engine.

  Within thirty seconds the copilot was back. “What happened?”

  Ken looked up at him with a worried expression. “Almost the second you left, the temperature started climbing out of limits. No excess vibration, but the oil pressure was dropping as well. I had to shut it down.”

  David slid back into the right seat and put on his headset as fast as possible. He had never shut down an engine before in any airborne aircraft. Despite all the training efforts to make a shutdown routine, he realized adrenaline was pouring into his bloodstream.

  “So, you want me to declare an emergency?”

  Ken Wolfe smiled slightly. “First, I want you to fly. It’s your leg. I’ll keep working the radios and declare the emergency in a minute.”

  “We’re going back to the Springs, right?”

  Ken was shaking his head. “We’re already closer to Durango, Colorado, so that’s our nearest suitable airport.”

  David looked over at Ken in mild disbelief, trying to interpret the look of grim determination and the slight smile on the captain’s face.

  “Ah, Captain, do we have maintenance at Durango?”

  “Nope. There’s a maintenance shop there, but it’s not ours.” Ken looked over at David, catching his eyes. “You’re not suggesting we pass up the nearest suitable airport and go back to base just to save money, are you?”

  David shook his head instantly. “No, no. I … I didn’t mean that.”

  “The FAA says with an engine gone, you head for the ‘nearest suitable.’”

  “I know. I know.”

  “The company, on the other hand …”

  David had his hand out in a stop gesture. “I really wasn’t suggesting that. I was just thinking out loud. Durango’s fine. Would you program the computer for me, direct Durango, please, and get us a clearance there?”

  “And declare an emergency?”

  “Yes, sir. Declare the emergency, let the passengers know, then alert the company.”

  Ken nodded as he punched the transmit button.

  In the rear galley, flight attendant Kevin Larimer had been tracking the copilot’s movements in the cabin. He’d seen him lean over several passengers to look at the right wing, and he’d felt the momentary fish-tailing just before the copilot turned and reentered the cockpit.

  He glanced at his fellow flight attendant, Bev Wishart, and raised his eyebrows as the 737 yawed again, dislodging the heavy beverage cart they’d been loading. It began rolling slowly across the galley floor toward the right rear service door, where Bev caught it with a muttered curse. She set the foot brake before looking up at Kevin and frowning.

  “Turbulence or technique?” she asked.

  Kevin smiled at her and arched a thumb toward the front end of the plane. “They’re probably up there rocking it back and forth on purpose, just like that Gary Larson cartoon.”

  Bev tossed her hair back and laughed as Kevin watched her, happy for the momentary license to do so. A smart, buxom blonde, she was married to a lucky American Airlines pilot and therefore untouchable, though Kevin had quietly longed for her during their multiyear friendship. Bev’s huge eyes, which permanently radiated a look of surprise, were her best feature. He realized with a small start that they were now focused on him.

  “Do we have a problem, Kev? You’re looking concerned.”

  “Ah, I’ll check.”

  He turned to reach for the interphone.

  The P.A. system came alive at the same moment with Ken Wolfe’s voice.

  “Folks, this is the flight deck. You may have noticed a small sideways motion in the aircraft a minute ago.”

  The voice was deep and steady and reassuring.

  “We decided to temporarily shut down our right engine because of some indications in the cockpit that may or may not be accurate. Whenever we’re unsure, we err on the side of caution, and that’s what I’m doing. Now, there’s nothing to be alarmed about, but we’re going to have to make what we call a precautionary landing at Durango, Colorado, and have the problem looked at. We’ll keep you informed, but in the meantime, I’d like everyone to stay on the aircraft and in your seats while we’re on the ground. Also please understand that this aircraft can safely fly and land, and even take off, on one engine, but you
wouldn’t want us to fly with this problem without checking it out.”

  The end of the P.A. announcement was punctuated by the sound of a half dozen flight attendant call chimes reverberating through the cabin.

  AirBridge Airlines Dispatch Center, Colorado Springs International Airport. 9:57 A.M.

  The dispatcher for AirBridge Flight 90 ended his call to the airport manager in Durango and sat back trying to define exactly what was bothering him. In an emergency, captains could decide to divert anywhere they thought appropriate. But Durango was an odd call.

  Flight 90 couldn’t have passed the halfway point between the Springs and Durango at the moment the engine was shut down, so why not return the passengers to Colorado Springs where they could be rebooked quickly? Durango was going to be a costly decision.

  Verne Garcia stood up and unplugged his headset, his eyes on Judy Smith, the current director of flight control, who was apparently deep in thought at her desk a few feet away across the crowded dispatch control room. He moved quietly to her side, wondering if she’d had time to read the requisite e-mail message on her computer in the midst of watching over sixty other flights.

  “Judy, you saw my note on Ninety?”

  She shook her head and immediately looked down at her computer screen.

  “Durango?” She looked up at him. “Why the hell Durango? You suggested they come back here, I hope?”

  Verne nodded. “Yup. And he said Durango was the nearest suitable field.”

  “BS!”

  “I know, I know, but I’m only the dispatcher, and Captain Wolfe has already started his descent.”

  The DFC had been reaching for her headset to call the crew, but Verne Garcia’s words stopped her.

  “Ken Wolfe?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She sat back with a puzzled expression on her face. “That’s not like Ken. I know him. His decisions are usually very conservative, he’s very … careful to find out what the company wants.” She gestured to the computer screen. “This says it’s a precautionary engine shutdown. What happened?”

  “Oil pressure dropping, temperature rising. Bad engine getting worse.”

  “Has maintenance been watching that engine lately?”

  “Not as far as I know, but you’re asking the wrong guy.”

  Judy grimaced as she checked the time. “And, of course, we don’t have maintenance at Durango, so no one can sign it off even if it’s okay. In a word, we’re screwed.”

  “That’s a phrase.”

  She smiled. “No, it’s a reality.”

  “I’ve already talked to maintenance. They’re getting a couple of mechanics ready to fly to Durango.”

  “Damn!” Judy Smith launched her pencil at the far corner of her desk before looking back at Garcia. “You alerted passenger services?”

  “Of course, Judy. I’m not new to this.”

  She held out the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry. This just has me boggled. I was in such a good mood, and now we’ve got to send someone over to rescue a hundred or so furious passengers at outrageous cost, and none of them will love us for it. It would have been so easy if he’d just come home, but I know Ken must have had his reasons.”

  “Probably,” Verne replied absently, startled at the odd look which suddenly clouded Judy’s face.

  THREE

  Aboard AirBridge Flight 90, Durango-La Plata County Airport, Durango, Colorado. 10:14 A.M.

  David Gates finished the last item of the shutdown check and looked at the captain, who was studying the maintenance log.

  “You going inside to call dispatch?” David offered.

  Ken’s eyes remained on the log. “Not yet. But I do have a quick mission for you.”

  “Okay.”

  Ken raised his head and looked the copilot in the eye. “There’s a small maintenance shop at the south end of the field run by a jet mechanic I know and trust. Gus Wilson is his name. Get someone to run you down there, find Gus, and tell him I need him to look at our engine before we declare this flight a lost cause.”

  “Ah, you mean he could legally sign it off, even though he’s not one of our mechanics?”

  The captain was nodding. “He could. If our gauges are lying.”

  “But, you said the gauges were showing—”

  “David, just go get him, okay? We can discuss the finer points when we get him here.”

  The copilot hesitated, then began unstrapping the seatbelt. “The south end, you said?”

  “Yeah. Gus Wilson. Big guy. Tell him to hurry. I’m probably wrong, but before the company flies another aircraft in here to pick these folks up, I want to try.”

  David got to his feet carefully as he gestured toward the captain’s side window. “We’re lucky we’ve got the only jet in our fleet with built-in stairs. You don’t normally find portable stairs big enough for a Boeing on a private ramp.”

  “You’re right. We’re lucky,” Ken replied without enthusiasm.

  David opened the cockpit door and slipped past Annette Baxter, who was on her way in. She turned and watched the copilot momentarily as he paused in the front entryway to put on his hat, then disappeared down the stairs, a pained expression covering his face.

  Strange, she thought. He was probably just reacting to the tension of the moment. After all, having a planeload of passengers angry and ready to strangle you could be a pretty good tension builder.

  She turned and entered the cockpit.

  “So, exalted leader of the pack, what’s the plan?” she asked. “I can report that the natives are staying in their seats just as you commanded.”

  “Feed and water them, Annette.” His voice was firm and steady, devoid of emotion. “Keep them as happy as possible while our copilot scares up maintenance. There’s a good chance this is all a false alarm and we can continue on.”

  Annette cocked her head. “Really? After an engine shutdown?”

  “Only if it was a false indication.”

  She smiled at him. “If you do decide to go on, I assume you’ll explain it to our nervous passengers.”

  Ken Wolfe turned slightly in his seat to look at her. “How nervous are they?”

  “Sounds like an Ed McMahon line.”

  He looked lost. Annette began gesturing in the general direction of Hollywood. “You know, the Carson show? A few years back? Johnny would say, like, ‘It’s cold,’ and Ed would say: ‘How cold is it?’”

  For a few seconds, Ken regarded her in stony silence, then shook his head. “Of course. I’m sorry, Annette, I’m a little distracted.”

  “Understood,” she replied.

  He turned to look out the side window, his voice bouncing off the glass as he reached around the center pedestal for the P.A. handset. “I think I’ll talk to them now.”

  Annette nodded and backed out as Ken slowly raised the microphone to his mouth and closed his eyes, carefully considering his words before punching the button.

  “Folks, this is your captain again. While we’re waiting for maintenance to evaluate our problem, I wonder whether we’ve got any other pilots aboard who might want to take a quick glance at the cockpit. Even if you’re not interested in visiting, please indulge your captain’s curiosity. I’m told that no flight ever departs these days without at least one pilot in the back. If that’s you, please ring your call button, and one of our flight attendants will escort you up front.”

  In the forward galley, Annette looked up at the P.A. speaker in surprise, aware that a single call chime had rung in the cabin.

  That’s not like Ken not to warn me, she thought.

  She looked down the aisle, feeling a little irritated and off balance. Kevin was already approaching a passenger who was rising from seat 18D to take advantage of the invitation to the cockpit. Kevin reset the overhead call burton and motioned the young man toward the cockpit as Rudy Bostich caught Annette’s eye.

  “Yes?”

  “I hate to bother you, but is there anything I can do to help? You know, file
charges against the malfunctioning engine, get a court order to clear the runway?”

  Annette laughed and shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “I’ll admit the question springs from self-interest,” Bostich continued. “I have a speech to deliver in Phoenix in two hours, and I’m getting a bit nervous about getting there.”

  “An official function, Mr. Attorney General?”

  “Thanks, but the title’s very premature. No, just a legal seminar. The world won’t end if I don’t make it.”

  “Well, we’re waiting for a maintenance man, and we can’t legally leave until he gets here. I just don’t know how long it’ll take.”

  Rudy Bostich smiled. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother at all.”

  AirBridge Airlines Dispatch Center, Colorado Springs International Airport. 10:25 A.M.

  Judy Smith, the director of flight control, slipped in behind Verne Garcia’s chair and put her hand on his shoulder, feeling him jump slightly at her touch.

  “Verne, we’re going to launch the replacement flight in about ten minutes. Are you talking with Wolfe yet?”

  Garcia looked around and shook his head. “He was supposed to call me on a land line as soon as he got on the ramp in Durango. I just spoke with the manager of the facilities there, and he says the copilot left the airplane about ten minutes ago, but I haven’t heard from him either.”

  Judy straightened up and pursed her lips in thought. “Okay. Well, when he does decide to talk to us, tell him the cavalry is coming, and we’re sending two maintenance guys with the flight.”

  She began to turn away, but Garcia caught her arm.

  “Ah, Judy?”

  “Yeah?”

  He glanced around in search of overt eavesdroppers, but all the other dispatchers were engaged in their own telephonic battles. His eyes shifted back to her.

  “I noticed a few minutes ago you kinda reacted a little when I told you Ken Wolfe was the captain. Is there a history here I don’t know about?”

  She regarded him in silence for a few long seconds. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged again. “Well, when I gave him his paperwork earlier, at the counter, Wolfe looked a bit strange to me. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing, but it was like he was somewhere else, you know? He had a kind of distant, disengaged look. But, I’ve only been around here since last August, and I don’t know everyone’s story.”