Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2)

by Thomas Hollyday

  “Jessica, you just lost,” said Regal.

  Mike watched the pieces of helicopter and the burning bodies of Jessica and her pilot spiral down the thousand feet of black night into the land below.

  “Nice shooting,” came the voice of Robin.

  Mike climbed back to his feet. “Next stop, New York,” he shouted forward into the seaplane.

  Just as he spoke, the plane suddenly lurched to starboard.

  “We’re losing power,” called Robin.

  “What’s the matter?” Mike answered in a yell as he followed Regal from the aft compartment, grabbing frame members to hold himself steady.

  Regal had reached the gages. “We have a problem with the steam generator on the right turbine,” he said, looking worried. “We may have shook something loose. Maybe we took a round from small arms. I don’t know. The instruments say that the turbine’s not getting as much pressure and the boiler is not producing it. Fuel line, maybe.”

  The plane began to level. “I’ve got her for a while,” said Robin.

  “That’s all the steam for that turbine I can spare,” called Regal. He kept adjusting the controls on his board. “All the steam I can spare. We’ll have to fix that fuel line, Mike.”

  “How?” asked Mike.

  Regal looked at him in the dim light. “Lawson practically handcrafted this old plane. I expect he had this kind of trouble before. He put a doorway into the wing so he could climb up and service his boilers. You'll have to go, Mike.”

  “Do we have any other way?” asked Mike.

  “Nope.”

  “OK,” said Mike, “What do you want me to do?”

  Regal handed him a flashlight and a few tools.

  “If it’s what I think, you’ll need these to tighten the fuel line connection. If not, tell me what you see up there and we’ll try to figure it out.” Regal reached over on his engineer table and picked up a pair of goggles. “You’ll need these too.”

  “You think I’ll have a lot of hot steam coming at me?”

  “I don’t know what you are going to find. Maybe steam, maybe oil.”

  “Mike, don’t go. We’ll land her,” said Robin. Her voice had changed, become softer, concerned.

  “That’s right,” said Jesse. “It’s not worth any more people getting hurt.”

  “So you think I’m going to be roasted. Baked Mike for dinner?” he said and smiled. He motioned to Regal. “Let’s go.”

  Regal opened a small metal door in the ceiling of his engineer section. Mike climbed on Regal’s chair and hoisted himself into the wing.

  “Those are my lucky tools you’re carrying, Mike.”

  “Knowing these old planes as well as I do, I think I’d rather have a hammer,” said Mike. He pulled up his legs and soon was fully into the wing. He lay on his belly on a flat strip of metal with caster wheels under it that extended on a path of metal rails out into the wing. He pushed the light ahead of him in the cramped space. A few inches of clearance was above his head. To either side was enough room to bring his arms up and work with a tool. In front of him the flashlight showed a flat highway with a rope along the right side to pull himself along on the dolly device. He tried the rope. It was frayed but still attached ahead in the darkness. He pulled and the metal under his belly carried him forward. Around him, the light hit the heavy frames of the wing causing shadows to fly off against the underside of the wing skin. Above him he heard the movement of the great propellers and the whine of the turbines. He felt the vibrations of the great power of the engines.

  As he moved along he examined the oil and water tubing along the frames of the wing, looking for any signs of leakage. He smelled the fine odor of mineral oil but could find no leaks in the piping.

  Then, after he was far out along the metal path in the wing, he saw it. Rather, the break in the tubing hit him in the face with a mist of hot oil. His goggles fogged and he stopped to wipe them off. He could not clean them. He was for all practical purposes blinded with the oil on his lenses. He was too far into the wing to call back to Regal of his discovery. His only hope was to find the leak and fix it and then get himself out again. He had to do this without seeing what was ahead of him. He felt for the source of the leak. His fingers noted that the pressure was heavier from his right. His right hand followed a thin jet of hot oil that pushed against his hand like the jab of an ice pick. Finally he could feel the source of the jet. A valve had been built into the tubing at this spot for tube maintenance, and the valve nut was loose, probably from the pressure. He moved his hand forward against the burning pain and felt for the nut and threads. With his fingers, he began to turn the nut. It moved. The spray did not stop. He decided he had turned the nut the wrong way.

  Mineral oil is supposed to be safe, he thought. That meant it would not explode. It would still burn however. Did that mean he would burn to death at a low temperature or a high temperature? He wondered what the pain would be like if the oil burned him in a flash fire here inside this wing with no place to escape. He felt the heat of the row of steam generators ahead of him in the darkness, some of them still creating steam furiously. The flames inside those caldrons could vaporize him like he was a body in a crematory.

  His fingers turned the nut the other way. The spray began to subside. Then from far behind him, in what seemed like another world, he heard Regal yelling, “It’s working Mike. Readings are going up. You did it, Mike.”

  He reached into his pants and found the pliers that Regal had given him. With them he turned the valve nut as tight as he could get it. The spray had stopped. He cleaned his goggles and could see once again. He aimed the flashlight at the valve and its nut and saw that the stream of oil was gone. Then the light caught something else, words written in a scrawl in black paint on the light metal frame above him.

  “Magnolia Whispers is the property of the people of the world.”

  Mike smiled. His fingers were numb. He grabbed the dolly rope with his palm and pulled himself backward as hard as he could. The metal frame that supported his exhausted body moved. He coasted toward his starting point, the center of the plane, and into the fuselage again.

  His head was still pointed into the wing. He could not see his progress. Around him, though, light from where Regal was standing began to penetrate. He knew he had traveled almost back to the trap door. Finally, he felt Regal grab his shoe.

  “Pull me out, Regal. I’m glad to get out of here,” he yelled, his body stiff.

  “Good work, Mike,” said Regal.

  “I hate to break this up, but you guys better keep a sharp look outside,” said Jesse. “If I don’t get this radio working, we’re going to be on the ground pretty fast. The Navy or the Air Force, whoever covers this section of airspace, aren’t going to let an unidentified plane come into New York.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  11 PM, July 4

  In flight over the New Jersey coast

  Mike slid into the copilot seat, glad to rest for a moment.

  “You saved our lives,” she said.

  “Anybody would have done it.”

  She smiled looking ahead at the darkness. “It’s not a bad plane to fly,” she said. “Faster than I thought an old plane like this would be and very, very quiet. That is the feature that I like the most. It’s easy on the pilot and I guess it would be on the passengers too.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” said Mike. “Regal says a man could hear his prayers in here.”

  Mike looked at Robin,”I bet you never got that kind of compliment on your flying.”

  “Good for saying prayers? Nossir, I did not. But I like it just that much more,” she said. The plane had straightened out and was gaining altitude.

  “We’ll be there about midnight,” she said.

  “Just in time for the Fourth of July. You hear that, Jesse?”

  “If we make it, it will be the first time I’ll enjoy the Fourth of July.”

  Then he added, “All right, here we go. I’m cranking ou
t the trailing antenna.”

  “Will it work?”

  “It’s our only chance. I can broadcast on forty meter and try to pick up a ham operator sending from along the New Jersey coast.”

  The airplane was filled with the dit dah sound of code on the old speaker. Jesse answered with clicking noises from his own key.

  “We can hear them,” said Jesse. “That’s progress.”

  “What are they saying, Jesse?” asked Robin.

  “The chatter is all about the Magnolia Whispers. Wait a minute. OK, I’ve got it. We’re on television. The news programs are broadcasting maps that show our flight progress up the coast.”

  Mike heard Jesse tapping out a Morse code message.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “It was a general station to station identifying us and asking how they receive.”

  The answer came back and Jesse translated. Jesse took several minutes to translate and then reply to these messages. He had to hear the code, mentally turn the dots and dashes into words, speak them out loud to Mike and the others, then code an appropriate answer.

  “This one’s an operator near Wilmington,” Jesse said. “He sends that we’re coming in good. He wants to know if we are all right.”

  Jesse replied, talking out loud as he sent, “This is Magnolia Whispers. We are enroute to New York City. Please advise all coastal airports that we need clear passage.”

  Jesse waited for the reply and then reported to Mike. “He’s replying that he will send along the message to the Atlantic City airport.”

  More code came in. “This is another operator,” said Jesse. “He’s asking if we are aware that most of the public thinks we are heroes.”

  “Tell him we like that,” said Mike.

  “We are pleased to hear that the Magnolia Whispers flight is considered heroic in the best sense of American tradition,” Jesse sent.

  Jesse translated the reply. “He says that the television reports have told the whole story. Vallery got his press friends to put the diary on the air. A lot of people are calling in, most of them demanding that the plane be given to the United Nations, while some don’t want America to give it away, insisting the plane is a national treasure.”

  More code interrupted Jesse. He translated, “We are cleared for New York. A Navy fighter is coming alongside to give us an escort. News helicopters are already outside flying along with us and taking video of our flight. Can you see them, Robin?”

  She replied, as she glanced out her side cockpit window. “I can make out lights from aircraft shadowing us on this side of the seaplane.”

  “I’ve got some on my side too,” reported Mike. “Jesse, ask them what happened back at the village after we left.”

  Jesse coded, “This is Magnolia Whispers. Can you tell us what was found by police at the Tabernacle village in Maryland after we escaped from there?”

  He translated the replies which came in from several different hams. “As much as I can decipher,” Jesse said, “the village has been occupied by the Maryland State Police. Early reports are that three men dressed in military uniforms are in custody and are undergoing questioning. The wrecks of two Aviatrice Corporation helicopters, one of them apparently armed with a top secret test model of a new rocket launcher, have been found. A man and woman found near one helicopter wreck have been burned beyond recognition, but information on the aircraft indicates that the woman was Jessica Veal, vice president of Aviatrice. The press has received no word from Aviatrice about what she was doing at the village in an armed helicopter. News has come from New York that the young woman Mike Howard was accused of murdering has reappeared in the company of an Aviatrice official and has told police that she was fleeing from threats on her life by other Aviatrice management. Witnesses have come forward linking the murders of the man and woman in Philadelphia to a man named Bullard whose body was also found in the creek near the Tabernacle village.”

  Another code came in, this time without static. “This is the United States Navy. We are planning to escort you to New York City. Is your aircraft still armed?”

  Jesse responded, “No. All munitions have been expended.”

  The Navy replied and Jesse translated, “Robin, they want us to keep to the same course and to let them know when we are ready to land. The escort fighter will keep in touch with us as we fly.”

  Another call came in, too fast for Jesse. He signaled the ham to resend at a slower speed, and, when he did, Jesse translated, “Vallery is on New York television with the Attorney General of the United States. They are discussing the diary and the need for a full investigation of Aviatrice. Several Congressmen have said in news conferences this evening that the plane should not be given to the United Nations until all technology in it has been reviewed. As a result, the Navy intends to look over the plane before the United Nations can come aboard and take possession.”

  Jesse sent, “This is Magnolia Whispers. We recognize that the United States Navy will review the ship, but it is our intention that the United Nations representative in New York will take possession of the aircraft as soon as possible.”

  A delay of five minutes went by before more code came in. Jesse listened for a while and then said, “The Minister of Agriculture from the United Nations has stated that he personally will be present to take possession of the seaplane.”

  “Why the agriculture guy? Wonder what Vallery cooked up?” said Robin.

  “When are we going to tell them that we’re really going to Lake Success?” said Jesse.

  “We don’t want them to try to stop us,” explained Mike. “Vallery’s a smart old guy. He wants it put down in that lake so it can’t be moved, remember? First though, we better fly over the lake and see just how big it is,” said Mike. “I’m beginning to worry about this landing. Hey, look here.”

  An F15 Tomcat fighter had appeared alongside, its pilot motioning thumbs up. The fighter continued to shadow, a few hundred feet away. A new message came through. Vallery was sending this communication with the help of a ham who had set up on a skyscraper in downtown New York.

  “Come in, Vallery,” answered Jesse, decoding and reporting to Mike and the others as fast as he could.

  “You folks have a visitor?” asked Vallery.

  “Only the Navy,” replied Jesse.

  “Too bad you haven’t got television,” Vallery sent.

  “Mr. Ambassador, you’ve done a good job,” Jesse replied.

  “A few people in Washington still have some sense. Your whole story is on television. All the networks are covering it.”

  “What are they saying?” asked Jesse.

  “Old Ed Lawson would like this,” said Vallery. “He’s being referred to as a hero. All of you are. People are in the street in San Francisco, Chicago, Atlanta, and New York. It's a Fourth of July like never before, more like New Year’s Eve.”

  Jesse continued translating, “Thousands of people, men and women, and kids, are marching in the streets, most of them holding up branches of magnolia leaves. I hear that garden centers are going crazy trying to get the leaves. People are holding up traffic everywhere. All along the coast of New Jersey, people are out in their backyards with telescopes and binoculars trying to see the Magnolia Whispers.”

  “Tell him we estimate arrival in New York at midnight,” said Mike.

  “The fireworks displays are being dedicated to the seaplane and the coastal towns are turning on their lights to guide you guys in,” translated Jesse.

  Mike thought about Lawson flying this same mission but back in 1946. The night would have been the same, but the attitude of the people below would have been different. The cities would have been smaller in those days, but even then he would have seen the flashes of light from fireworks displays.

  Mike felt a community with Lawson. He was leaving behind all he knew and going to something that he had no experience with, this trip to the United Nations. He and the Captain had another thing in common. They expected to be with th
e person they loved at the end of the flight. Lawson planned to meet with his wife in New York. He looked at Robin beside him in the pilot's chair, and he knew they would be together somehow.

  Jesse coded to Vallery, “Tell us about the United Nations, Mr. Ambassador.”

  The message came back, “I called the United Nations like you asked me. An administrator answered, and I told her who I was. She had never heard of me. Nevertheless, I went on talking anyway.”

  “ ‘Ma'am, I have a gift for the United Nations,’ I said to her.”

  “ ‘What kind of gift?’ she asked me.”

  “ ‘An airplane,’ I said.”

  “ ‘You want to speak to Department of Peacekeeping, the Logistics Division.’”

  “When I was switched there, I got a recording. I called the woman back and asked for whoever was on duty in the Logistics Division. Finally, I got hold of this man who did not speak English very well, but he and I managed to communicate. He thought I was giving them a truck, but he finally understood. He said they were happy to get the aircraft. He wanted to find out where I had got it, whether it was mine, all that. I said I was sure the plane was mine, and that I wanted to deliver it today. Then I could hear him asking questions of other officials in the office. Finally he asked me how much the airplane was worth. I said ten million dollars.”

  “The following silence was so long, I thought I had been disconnected. He finally came back on the line and I asked, ‘I hope that's not too high a value for you to accept.’”

  “He replied, ‘No, no, it is very fine of you to help us.’”

  “Then he said, ‘Do you have the papers?’”

  “ ‘Sure,’ I said, not wanting to disappoint the fellow.”