Dr. Cooper couldn’t help smiling at the sound of his son’s voice. “We’re chasing you in another 182. We can see you up ahead and we’re catching up with you right now.”
Brock pointed to the east. “There’s Chuck Westmore.”
Dr. Cooper could see the faithful little Piper Cub coming their way but falling far behind the Skylane once again. “Eight Eight Niner, hello. This is Skylane Three Five Niner Zulu Mike.”
“Hello, and a thousand welcomes!” Chuck replied. “They told me you were coming. I can see you at one o’clock.”
“And we have you in sight. This is Jake Cooper, Jay’s Dad. I’ve heard about you from my brother-inlaw. I’d sure like to meet you and shake your hand when this is all over.”
Chuck was more than just relieved to see the other airplane arrive. He was overjoyed. “And I’ll want to shake yours. That’s a wonderful, brave young man you have there.”
“Well, with your help he’s still alive and we’re going to try to get him down.”
“He’s all yours. I’m running low on fuel and I have to get out of here.”
“We’ve got him. Thanks, and be praying for us.”
“Absolutely. Good day.”
As Chuck turned for home he caught one last glimpse of The Yank far ahead, its wings shining in the afternoon sun, with the other Skylane turning after it, almost becoming its shadow.
“Dear God,” he prayed, “bring a happy ending to this day.”
Brock brought Niner Zulu Mike to a position about two hundred feet to the left of The Yank and brought back his speed to keep the two airplanes flying in a rough formation.
Dr. Cooper peered through the binoculars and could see Rex’s body slumped against the left window, his chin down on his chest. “Jay,” he radioed, “has Rex moved at all?”
“I don’t think so,” Jay’s voice sounded weak and his words were mumbled.
“How about breathing and pulse?”
Jay’s head was swimming. A terrible nausea and numbness were continuing to creep into his body and he couldn’t shake them off. “I . . . I’ll try to check.” Weakly, shakily, he reached over and explored for his uncle’s wrist. He pressed his fingers against the veins to feel for a pulse, but no sensation would come through. “I can’t feel anything . . . my fingers are all tingly. . . .”
“Jay, how are you?” Dr. Cooper asked.
“I’m sick,” Jay answered in a mumbling voice.
“I’m real sick. I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I’m all dizzy, and my hands are numb.”
Brock shook his head. “Airsickness. He’s got it bad.” He radioed, “Jay, this is Brock Axley, your uncle’s airplane mechanic. Try to sit back and hold still. Hold your head up straight and don’t move around a lot. Breathe evenly, not too much, not too little. Jay, you doing that?”
“Okay,” Jay weakly replied.
“Can you get the window open? It’ll help you feel better and the cool air might wake up Rex.”
“I’ll try,” Jay said.
Jay knew how to open the window . . . at least, at one time he did. Right now his mind wasn’t clicking too well. He reached up with a right hand that felt very heavy and found the window latch. He worked it loose, and the window popped open. At once a blast of cool air rushed through the cabin. It felt good.
A telephone in the control tower rang and Johnny Adair picked it up. “Oh, hello. Yes, okay, we’re expecting you.” He called to Ben Parker, “Mrs. Kramer and the boy’s sister are downstairs.”
Parker replied, “Johnny, go down there and personally show them to the employees’ lounge. Anything they want—food, coffee, a minister, whatever—make sure they get it. Tune in the radio scanner so they can hear what’s going on. Stick around to answer their questions.” He hesitated just a little out of regret, but then added, “If they want to come up here give them our apologies. But don’t allow them up here.”
Adair headed for the stairs. “Will do.”
“Johnny!” Parker called after him, and Adair halted. “That scanner down there. Set it to the Auburn frequency, 122.8. They can hear the two planes talking to each other, but I don’t want them hearing Axley and Cooper talking with us.”
Adair nodded grimly. “Gotcha.”
After Adair left, Parker explained to the others, “We all know it’s entirely possible that the boy and his uncle are going to die today. The family doesn’t need to hear the downside.”
FOUR
Johnny Adair took the elevator down to the street level and opened the big glass door to let Joyce and Lila come through. He took them up to the employees’ lounge on the fourth floor, a comfortable room with couches, chairs, a few tables, a sink, a coffee machine, and a tray of leftover donuts from that morning.
“Um, we’ll order out for anything else you want to eat. I’m here to take care of all that.”
He showed them a small radio sitting on a round table in the center of the room. “This is a radio scanner. I’ll set it to the Auburn frequency, and you’ll be able to hear the two airplanes talking to each other.”
“Thank you,” said Joyce, taking a chair next to the table. Immediately she reached into her purse and took out her own portable scanner. “And what frequency is the tower using?”
Adair hesitated and looked nervous. “Uh . . . I don’t, uh . . .”
“I was listening to the emergency frequency on my way over.” Joyce clicked on the scanner, and they immediately heard Dr. Cooper’s voice: “Boeing Tower, we’re on the right side of Eight Yankee Tango, and I can see the passenger.”
As Adair stood there speechless, Lila pulled up another chair and joined her aunt in listening to the two scanners. During the next hours they would strain to hear every word.
Brock had flown his plane up, over, and then down on the other side of The Yank so they could get a better look at Jay through the passenger window.
Dr. Cooper looked through his binoculars. The sight turned his stomach. He could see his son slouched in the passenger seat, his head resting against the seat back, his mouth hanging open as if he were gasping for air, and his forehead, cheek, and neck smeared with a stream of blood.
“Dear Lord . . . ,” he said softly.
He lowered the binoculars, sat back in his seat, and stared straight ahead, stunned, trying to recover from a sudden wave of fear and despair.
Brock could see the boy’s blood-stained face even without the binoculars. He kept the airplane steady while he touched Dr. Cooper’s arm. “Easy, Jake. It isn’t over yet.”
Dr. Cooper gathered himself and nodded. He pressed the talk button on his control yoke and said again, “We can see the passenger.”
Joyce and Lila leaned close to hear Dr. Cooper report, “Jay has some kind of head injury. His face is streaked with blood.” Lila made a conscious effort to be strong even as she unconsciously covered her mouth with her hands. She could see her Aunt Joyce’s hands trembling, clasped before her on the table. They could hear the stress in Dr. Cooper’s voice as he continued, “He appears very weak and he’s complaining of nausea and numbness in his hands. We told him to open the window for some air and he was able to do that.”
Joyce grabbed Lila’s hand as one word formed on her lips in a whisper: “Jesus.”
Ben Parker paced, his hands on his hips, his brow furrowed with a difficult decision. Finally he radioed, “Zulu Mike, do what you can to guide the aircraft out over Puget Sound . . .” He loathed the words even as he said them, “and keep it there.” He released his talk button so they wouldn’t hear him speak his reason: “We don’t want it crashing into any people or houses.”
Brock eased Zulu Mike away from Rex’s airplane a safe distance and told Dr. Cooper, “It’s all yours, Jake.”
Dr. Cooper switched to the other radio and pressed the talk button. “Jay, you still with us?”
Jay felt he was dreaming, about to pass out any moment. A hammer pounded on his head with each pulse of his heartbeat, and for all he knew, his han
ds had fallen off and were lying on the floor somewhere. Weird visions were playing through his head, swirling and pulsing in the darkened theater of his blindness.
“Jay?” his father’s voice sternly called again.
“Jay, come in.”
Somehow he found the talk button on the yoke in front of him. He pressed it, and muttered, “Hello.”
“Jay, we’re heading out over Puget Sound right now. We’re still climbing just a bit, almost to four thousand feet so we’ll have lots of nice, safe sky under us. You hear me?”
Something about hearing his father’s voice brought Jay a new strength. “Yeah, Dad. Just keep talking.”
“Now son, we’re all hoping and praying that Rex will come around, but if he doesn’t, you’ll have to fly the airplane.”
Jay figured his father must not know. “Dad, I can’t see!”
“I know, son. But we’re working out a plan to get you down. I’m going to pray for us, okay? You don’t have to say anything, just listen.”
Jay closed his eyes to pray. The dull, fuzzy light before his eyes went black—except for that, closing his eyes looked no different than having them open.
His father started to pray. “Dear Lord, we are in Your hands today. We pray for Your strength and Your courage. . . .”
In the employees’ lounge, Lila and Joyce clasped hands and prayed along, drawing strength from their faith and from each other.
In the control tower, Ben Parker and his crew heard Dr. Cooper’s prayer coming over the loudspeaker: “. . . we pray for Rex, that You will help him recover and wake up to pilot the airplane. But if not, we pray that You will strengthen Jay and open his eyes so he can do what needs to be done.”
Barbara Maxwell kept her eyes glued on the radar screen, but she was praying along. Josie Fleming stared at the weather briefing on her computer screen, but she too was praying. Bob Konishi was not a religious man, but he certainly agreed with the words he heard.
Dr. Cooper concluded, “. . . We ask all this in Your precious name, Amen.”
In the control tower, Ben Parker was staring grimly out the window. His crew of air-traffic controllers could not tell if he was praying. But at Dr. Cooper’s amen, Parker echoed firmly, “Amen,” then addressed them all.
“This is a government facility and you are all federal employees. For the record, no one is required to pray, but if anyone so desires, they won’t get any static from me. Just pray with your eyes open so you can do your job.” He looked skyward to indicate his thoughts were with the young lad, bleeding and blind. “The federal government can’t help that boy now. Only God can.”
Even though still in great pain, Jay felt a peace come over him, and he thanked God for it. It was a familiar feeling he’d known before. He and his family had been through plenty of tough adventures, but they never went through them alone. He knew they wouldn’t be alone this time either.
His father’s voice came through his headset, “God bless and keep you, son.”
Jay smiled a weak smile. “Thanks, Dad. Don’t worry. We’ll make it.”
“So let’s check you out on the controls. Ready?”
A touch of faith helped ease Jay’s fear; the sound of his father’s voice brought him comfort; and having something constructive to do brought him hope.
“Let’s do it.”
“Let’s see where the throttle controls are set. Can you find them?”
Jay’s mind cleared just enough to reach with his left hand and find the four knobs in a row. “Uh . . . carb heat, throttle, prop, and mixture.”
His father was chuckling with delight as he responded, “All right, real good. Now let’s get all the knobs except the throttle pushed all the way in.”
Jay felt carefully for each knob, the pain throbbing in his head as he made the effort. “Carb heat . . . all the way in. Throttle. . . .”
“Just leave that alone for now.”
“Okay. Uhhh . . . prop all the way in.”
“Good.”
“Mixture all the way in.”
“All right. Now stand by.”
Jay eased back in his seat again just to rest, hoping and praying his head would stop hurting and his stomach would finally settle down.
Brock rechecked the throttle arrangement in his own airplane. “Okay. We’re maintaining one hundred thirty knots and able to stay alongside him. His throttle must be close to a cruise setting.”
“Which gives him less than an hour and a half of fuel,” Cooper mused.
“Throttling back will buy him another half hour or so.”
Dr. Cooper radioed Jay, “Jay, we’re going to slow you down. Can you find the trim wheel?”
Joyce studied Lila’s face. The young girl seemed frozen with fear, her eyes staring intensely at nothing. “Lila? Lila, what are they doing?”
Lila snapped out of her stupor and looked at Joyce. “They’re . . . I think they’re trying to save some fuel.”
Joyce already knew that, but she felt she should keep Lila talking, explaining. At least it would make her a part of all that was happening. “How? I need you to explain it to me.”
Lila had to think. It calmed her. “I think they’re trying to save fuel. An airplane burns more fuel going fast than going slow, just like a car. So I bet they’re going to have him pull the throttle back to make the fuel last longer.”
“And what’s the trim wheel? What’s that for?”
Lila began to tense up again. Her eyes became glassy and her hands were shaking.
Joyce pressed her question. “Come on, I need to know.”
Lila worked to produce an answer. “If Jay pulls the throttle back without trimming, the airplane won’t slow down, it’ll just descend. If he pulls the throttle back and then uses the trim wheel to pitch the nose up, the plane will slow down but stay up.”
Joyce gave Lila a teasing little poke. “I thought you didn’t care for flying.”
Lila shrugged. “I figured if I was going to be riding with my Dad and Jay in our airplane, I’d better know what to do if something terrible happened . . .” Her voice trailed off and pain filled her face. “Like right now.”
Joyce touched her shoulder. “Hey, Lila, come on, now . . .”
Lila swallowed a wave of emotion and said, “I should have gone with them. I could have been there. I could have helped.”
Joyce gripped her shoulder. “You’re helping me. We’re helping each other. That counts for a lot.”
Lila reached up and gripped Joyce’s hand on her shoulder. Together they continued to listen.
There were other people in the Seattle area with radio scanners: the television and radio stations, the newspapers, anyone whose job it was to know when something newsworthy was happening. As soon as a radio call went out for emergency vehicles at Boeing Field, the media people heard it. The telephones at the tower began to ring incessantly. Media vehicles began to arrive, cluttering up the parking area in front of the control tower. First came the small white vans and station wagons with big logos painted on their sides— News 7, Channel 4, Eyewitness 11—bringing in a multitude of reporters and camerapeople. Right behind them came the big news trucks with satellite dishes atop their roofs. All of this was attracting the attention from passing motorists, who stopped to follow the story. And they were all taking up a lot of space.
“The media are storming the place,” Johnny Adair reported as he came up the stairs into the control room.
“Get the airport manager on that one,” said Ben Parker. “We’re busy.”
“I just talked to him,” said Adair. “He wants somebody from the tower to tell the press what’s going on.”
Parker rolled his eyes. “Okay, Johnny, that’s you.”
Adair wasn’t ready for that. “But . . . what do I —
“You’re the go-between. Answer their questions, give them interviews, appear on camera, do whatever you have to. Just keep them out of our hair.”
Adair replied “Will do,” and headed down the stai
rs.
Parker looked out at the sky. “Any moment the choppers are going to be calling.”
Bob Konishi waved. “I’ve got Channel Seven’s news chopper on the radio.”
“Yep, here they come.”
“And now I’m getting a call from Channel Eleven. Same thing. They want permission to televise the two airplanes.”
Parker smiled resignedly and shook his head. “Give them a squawk code so we can tell which radar blip they are. They have permission to approach within one mile, they are to see and avoid all traffic, and make sure they know that if they get any closer than that I’m going to bust them from here to tomorrow.”
Konishi smiled. “I’ll tell them.”
All over the Pacific Northwest the network soap operas and game shows were bumped off the air by the drama taking place in the skies over Puget Sound. Television images from cameras aboard the news helicopters showed the two Skylanes flying in formation as reporters and news anchors narrated over the picture: “. . . a beautiful setting for such a tense drama . . . with limited fuel and slim chances for a successful landing, the young man’s father in the white and green Skylane is now trying to teach his son in the white and red Skylane how to fly the airplane. . . .”
A reporter on the television asked Adair, “What are the chances that this young man with limited flying experience will be able to safely land the airplane?”
Adair hesitated and fumbled, staring at his notes as if he might find the answer there. Finally he answered, “I’d rather not comment on that. If you’ll excuse me now, I have to get back to the tower. We’ll keep you posted.”
In the tower employees’ lounge, Lila and Joyce were watching the news coverage, including live pictures of the two airplanes, on the lounge television. Adair had allowed a limited number of reporters into the room, and they were quite eager to hear Lila’s comment. She turned from the television and looked directly at them as she answered, “I’ve seen my brother do a lot of wild things. With God’s help, he’ll make it.”
As Jay sat in that noisy airplane without eyesight, every little motion of the airplane sent him a different message: you’re turning, you’re sinking, you’re climbing, you’re slowing down, speeding up, flipping over . . .
Mayday at Two Thousand Five Hundred Page 4
