The only other light in the cabin was sunlight coming in from the cargo opening and from the cockpit windshield up ahead. I noticed that there was no door leading to the cockpit; just an open passageway through the interior bulkhead. The required anti-hijacking door was not there-and why should it be? If we got hijacked, we could all jump out of the plane.
On the floor I saw cargo rings, which I guess were used to secure pallets but that now secured nylon straps for us to hang on to.
The cabin was only about ten feet wide, which was considered a wide-body aircraft in nineteen-fifty-something. The first four skydivers had already boarded and were sitting abreast on the floor facing us, packed together across the full width of the airliner's cabin.
There were row numbers taped to the walls and we easily found Row 2, which was logically just aft of Row 1.
Kate asked me, "Port or starboard?"
"I'll have a port." I added, "You take the window seat."
She sat near the wall on the left side, and I sat beside her, with my hand on the cargo strap, and said, "Fasten your seat belt."
"Are you done with the stupid remarks?"
"Seat in the full upright position for takeoff."
The two people who had boarded after us-a guy and a girl-sat in their places on the right side of Row 2, and the rows farther aft in the cabin started filling up.
I looked around the cabin. The cargo opening, as I'd noticed when we entered, was very wide, but now I also noticed that there was no door-just that large opening. I brought this to Kate's attention, and she explained that they had to remove the big cargo door for this jump because it couldn't be operated in flight-it was a clamshell that opened outward-and the smaller hinged entry door next to it was only one person wide. She further explained, "The group jumpers need all the space they can get to exit en masse."
I thought about that and said, "It's going to be cold and noisy in here without a door."
"Very noisy." She added cheerily, "I won't be able to hear you."
"Sit closer." I asked, "Hey, what's the name of that Italian guy?"
"What Italian guy?"
"The one whose name we're supposed to yell when we jump."
"John, what-?"
"You know… Ah! Geronimo!"
A few heads turned toward us, and Kate slid closer to the wall and stared at where the window used to be.
The jumpers continued to board. My thirty-five-pound parachute rig was making my back ache in this position, and my butt, which is all muscle and no fat, was starting to feel the hard floor. This totally sucks.
It's like skiing-you know? A long trip to the middle of nowhere, lots of expensive equipment, surrounded by fanatical half-wits who think they're having a great time waiting around forever; then a few minutes of adrenaline rush-or pure terror-and then it's over. Sort of like sex.
My first wife, Robin, who was also a lawyer (I like screwing lawyers for a change), was a skier, but it was a starter marriage of short duration, so I never got beyond the beginner slopes before she skied happily out of my life. Now I'm a friggin' skydiver. I mean, I've spent most of my professional life in dangerous situations-is this any way to relax?
"John?"
"Yes, darling?"
"One jump, then we're going home."
"Sweetheart, I want to log three jumps from a DC-7B today."
"I am spraining my ankle when I land, and you and a paramedic will help me into the car."
I was feeling a wee bit guilty now, so I said, "No, no. I really enjoy this. I'll behave. Let's make this fun."
"You embarrassed me in front of Craig."
"Who's Craig?" Oh, the guy who wants to fuck you. "I'll apologize to Craig when we all go out for drinks tonight." I'll corner him in the men's room. That's my specialty. "Okay? Hey, I'm looking forward to the apres-jump party. Great group of skydivers."
She looked at me closely for signs of insincerity.
I saw Craig coming toward us, walking between the skydivers. He was some sort of officer in the club, and thus he had official responsibilities that included checking to see that everyone was happy, seated properly, and hadn't forgotten their parachute.
I wanted to make amends to Craig-and to Kate-for my uncalled-for remark, so I shouted out to him, "Hey, Craig! Let's get this bird airborne. We're gonna have a helluva jump today, bro!"
Craig gave me a weak smile and continued on into the cockpit.
I looked at Kate, who had her eyes closed. I made a mental note in my logbook: Have Craig followed.Possible terrorist.
The guy with the clipboard came into the cabin to check names and groupings. I mean, what happened to personal responsibility? If you don't know where the hell you belong or who you're supposed to be with, maybe you shouldn't be doing this.
Anyway, the clipboard guy got to the front rows and double-checked our names and positioning.
Craig came out of the cockpit and asked clipboard guy, "How's it look, Joe?"
Joe replied, "We have two dropouts and one last-minute sign-on for a total of sixty-three jumpers."
"Okay," said Craig, "we'll probably lose a few for the second jump."
What?
Craig continued, "The pilot is ready when we are."
Joe, I noticed, wasn't wearing a jumpsuit or a parachute, so I deduced that he was staying on the ground with the manifest, just in case something not good happened. I pictured him crossing off sixty-three names as the aircraft plummeted to the ground. Bad luck for that last-minute sign-on. Meanwhile, one of the no-shows shows up out of breath and says, "I got stuck in traffic. Am I too late?" Fate.
Joe was off the plane now, and Craig started for his place among the group jumpers, but then turned to me and said, "I assume you will be making all three jumps today, John."
I replied enthusiastically, "Hey, Craig, I'm here to jump!" I informed him, "I'm buying you a beer tonight."
Craig glanced at Kate, then turned and found his place on the floor near the cargo opening. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and I noticed he had a big bald spot on the back of his head.
In fact, most people weren't wearing their helmets at this point, though a few people had put them on. One guy had boarded with his helmet on, and instead of goggles, which most skydivers wear, he had a tinted helmet shield that was pulled down. As a cop, things like motorcycle helmets with tinted face shields or ski masks automatically grab my attention. But I wasn't in full cop mode and I made little note of it.
There was an undercurrent of babble in the cabin, punctuated by occasional laughter. I noticed that Craig was chatting up a very pretty lady sitting next to him. The pig probably made up the jump order so he could hold her hand on the way down.
I had been a bachelor most of my adult life, and I really didn't miss it-well… sometimes maybe just a little-but I certainly didn't envy Craig, who I'm sure was lonely, and who probably couldn't get laid in a cathouse with a fistful of fifties. Kate has really made my life… more… very… incredibly… totally…
"John."
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I love you."
"And I love you." I squeezed her hand.
Kate had never been married, so she had no way of knowing if I was a normal husband. This has been good for our marriage.
I heard one of the engines firing up, then another, then the last two. I pictured Cindy in the cockpit saying to Ralph, "So, like, all those propeller things are spinning round and round."
And Ralph replies, "Very good, sweetie. Now we have to taxi to the runway. Take your feet off the brakes, sweetheart."
And sure enough, we began moving. The noise of the engines was deafening, and the aircraft seemed to be squeaking and squealing as it turned toward the taxiway.
I was close enough to the cockpit to hear Cindy asking, "Ralph, can I take off from here?"
"No, darling, wait until we get to the runway."
Maybe I was imagining that.
We taxied for a minute or two, then turned and stopped at the end
of the runway. Cindy ran up the engines (remembering to keep her feet on the brakes), and the old plane vibrated and strained forward like a sprinter, ready to make the dash down the long stretch of blacktop.
Was that a miss in one of the engines? Did I hear a backfire? Cliff, turn up your hearing aid.
I could hear some radio traffic coming from the cockpit, and Cindy replied, "Hi, Tower. Can I, like, use the whole runway?"
Okay, just kidding.
The aircraft began to roll, gathering momentum, and I could feel it lighten as it approached takeoff speed.
Before I knew it, the aircraft nosed up and we were airborne.
Cindy shouted, "Ralph! I did it! I did it! What do I do now?"
The aircraft nosed up and we held on to the strap. Then Kate put her arm around my shoulder, drew me close, and said in my ear, "I like sharing things with you."
Right. Next time we'll share one of my cigars.
The DC-7B banked to the right, gaining altitude as it began a wide corkscrew turn. The drop zone, which was a big, hopefully bear-free meadow, was not far from the west side of the airport, so most of this thirty-minute flight would be vertical until we reached 14,000 feet.
I noticed that the loadmaster was sitting near the open cargo door with some kind of intercom phone in his hand, which I assumed he used to communicate with the cockpit, so he could let them know when everyone had jumped.
I wondered if Cindy knew this was a skydive. I mean, I could imagine her coming into the cabin and being startled to see that everyone was gone, then running back into the cockpit shouting, "Ralph! Cliff! Everyone fell out of the plane!"
Kate put her lips to my ear and said, "It's nice to see you smiling." Then she gave me a wet willy.
I squeezed her hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Now that I was up here, I was actually looking forward to the free fall and the nice easy parachute float to the ground. It really is spectacular, and statistically less dangerous than doing what I did for a living.
CHAPTER NINE
The cabin was very cold now, and everyone had put on their helmets and gloves.
I turned toward Kate and blew a cloud of breath toward her. She blew a cloud back and smiled.
The aircraft droned on, continuing its slow spiral climb.
"John?"
"Yes, darling?"
She put her mouth to my ear and said, "Review the maneuvering sequence we discussed. Ask me any questions you might have."
"What color is your parachute?"
"When you stabilize, you need to watch me."
"I love watching you."
"You weren't watching me last time."
"Have we done this before?"
"We don't want to collide in free fall."
"Bad."
"We'll do some relative work, as discussed, then I will initiate the separation."
Same as my last wife did. Divorced in six months.
"We'll both deploy our chutes at twenty-five hundred feet. Keep an eye on your altimeter." She reminded me, "And you need to keep at least a hundred feet between us. We don't want our chutes getting tangled."
I patted the emergency hook knife on my harness and said, "I can cut you loose."
She continued, patiently going over a few other small details having to do mostly with safety and not dying.
Kate, I understood, was very brave to jump with a novice. New guys caused accidents. Accidents caused certain death. I assured her, "I got it. I got it."
We both retreated into silence as the aircraft continued climbing.
I glanced at the digital altimeter on my left wrist. Ten thousand feet.
How the hell did I get here? Well, I went to skydiving school, which was my first mistake.
That was last November, after Kate and I had successfully resolved the curious case of Bain Madox-the previously mentioned evil genius-who wanted to start a nuclear war, but who was otherwise a pleasant man.
Our bosses at the ATTF had suggested we take a few weeks' leave time as a token of their appreciation for us saving the planet from nuclear annihilation. Also, this was a very sensitive case, so the bosses wanted us out of town and away from the press. Kate suggested Florida, and I started packing my Speedo. Then the thing about skydiving came up, and without getting into that interesting discussion, I soon found myself in a Holiday Inn across the street from a skydiving school in Deland, Florida.
Deland, like everything that has to do with this sport, is in the middle of nowhere, far from the beach and palm trees that I imagined.
Kate took a ten-day refresher course, and I discovered that she actually holds a United States Parachute Association "C" license, which qualifies her to be a jumpmaster. I wish I'd known this before I slept with her.
As for me, I took a two-week basic course that started, thankfully, in the classroom but progressed rapidly to 14,000 feet and something called the accelerated free fall, which is two big guys named Gordon and Al jumping out alongside me, and the three of us falling through the open sky together with them holding on to my grippers. I got sixty seconds of instruction before they pushed off, waved, and left me falling through space.
I've made maybe a dozen weekend jumps since that wonderful two weeks in Florida, and I've earned my USPA "A" license, which allows me to make solo skydives and begin some basic relative work with a jumpmaster, who today would be the lucky lady next to me.
The prop engines changed pitch, and I looked at my altimeter. Fourteen thousand feet.
I commented, "We're at cruising altitude. They'll begin the beverage service soon."
"We're actually leaving the aircraft soon."
In fact, the loadmaster shouted for those in the first group to get up and get ready.
There was a flurry of activity in the cabin as about twenty skydivers nearest the exit door stood up and adjusted their equipment, then began their rehearsed shuffle toward the open cargo door.
The aircraft seemed to slow, then with a loud verbal command from their group leader, the first group began to quickly exit the aircraft and disappear silently into the deathly void of space. Or, one could say, they jumped merrily into the clear blue sky. Whatever.
As the aircraft circled back to the drop zone, the second large batch of skydivers jumped to their feet, and the process was repeated until the entire rear two-thirds of the aircraft was empty, except for the loadmaster.
It was kind of weird. I mean, a few minutes ago the plane was full, and now I was looking at empty floor space. Where'd everybody go?
Kate informed me, "There is a cameraman on the ground, and one in each group." She said, "I can't wait to see those jumps on tape."
Neither could the personal injury lawyers.
We remained seated as the aircraft again began to circle back over the drop zone.
A few minutes later, the loadmaster gave us a two-minute warning, and the last group, who were all solo and small-group jumpers, got to their feet, including me and my jumpmaster.
The loadmaster looked at us and held up one finger, and I was glad it wasn't his middle finger.
There were about ten people in front of us lined up to make their two- or three-person jumps, and behind us were four people who were making solo jumps. We all put on our goggles or lowered our face shields and did a final equipment check.
By now, the two big groups of jumpers were on the ground, gathering their chutes, doing high fives and hugs, and climbing into the buses that would take them back to the airport for jump number two. I had a rare moment of empathy as I stood poised to follow my fellow club pals into the void, and I sincerely hoped that they'd set whatever hook-up record they were trying for, and that they had all landed safely. Even Craig. You hear that, God?
The loadmaster shouted, "Ready!" Then he shouted, "Go!"
The skydivers in front of me began to exit in their prearranged groups of two and three with a brief interlude between them.
The couple who'd sat abreast of us on the right side of Row
2 were ahead of Kate and me and were next to jump. I moved closer to the cargo opening, and I could feel the whirling wind and see the green-and-brown field three miles below. What if I got vertigo and fell out of the plane?
The couple ahead of us joined hands and took a step in unison, then literally dove together out of the aircraft-like lovers, I thought, jumping to their… well, jumping into a swimming pool.
I stepped up to the opening, and I could see a few people in free fall, which is a very strange sight. I also saw a few brightly colored chutes deploy, and suddenly I wanted to jump-to fly through the sky at the speed of a diving eagle and then to float gently down to earth.
I was ready to take the plunge, but I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned my head to see Kate smiling at me, and I smiled back.
I noticed now that the solo jumper directly behind Kate was crowding her more than he really should. He needed to let her clear the airplane before he jumped. Maybe he was nervous.
The loadmaster said something, and I realized I was holding up the show.
I turned back to the cargo door and without thinking too much about what I was about to do-and without yelling "Geronimo"-I dove face-first, leaving the solid floor of the aircraft behind me. And there I was, falling through the sky.
But my mind was back in the aircraft, and I had two split-second thoughts: one, Kate had yelled something just as my feet left the airplane; two, the guy behind her was the same guy I'd noticed earlier in the black jumpsuit and the full-tinted face shield. He had sat in front of us, so he should have jumped ahead of us. Why was he behind us?
CHAPTER TEN
Even with the helmet covering my ears, the roar from the wind stream sounded like a freight train going through my head.
I forced my body into a medium arch, then extended my arms and legs, and the airstream began to stabilize my fall. I was dropping now at about 110 miles per hour, which was terminal velocity for the position of my body.
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