Dragged into Darkness

by Simon Wood

  FAITH

  The United flight bound for London climbed out of SFO. The 747 punctured the thick cloud base, giving Captain Scott Harrison and David Garcia, first officer, a clear view of the world above. Garcia took instruction from San Francisco’s air traffic control and changed radio frequency. The altimeter registered seventeen thousand feet and climbing.

  Harrison settled into the flight. Damn it, he thought, did I write out that check? He couldn’t remember if he had sent the mortgage payment. When he reached London, he would have to call Karen. An explosion rocked the aircraft, hurling Harrison back to the task at hand with a bang.

  “Christ!” Garcia shouted. “What the hell was that?”

  The view out of the windshield explained everything. Instead of blue skies, it was white clouds again. The Boeing was plummeting, full nose down.

  “Help me!” Harrison shouted over the deafening wind noise whipping the aircraft.

  Both pilots fought the yoke for control. But they had to do it in a delicate fashion. With an out of control aircraft, they trod a fine line. There could be no violent control inputs. If there were, the combination of weight, speed and stress could rip the wings off.

  But for all their effort, the load on the column had intensified a hundred fold. They could do nothing to restore control to the falling aircraft. Thousands of feet were being wiped off their altitude by the minute.

  With all four engines on a hundred percent, the acceleration was phenomenal. Harrison cut the power back as far as he dared. The effect was the same as slamming on the brakes. Harrison and Garcia were thrown against their belts. The 747 seemed to stop midair, although the air speed indicator said otherwise.

  But with the retarded speed came control. The load on the yoke lessened and control was theirs. The nose rose, approaching the most beautiful sight Harrison had ever seen, the horizon. Albeit five thousand feet lower than it had been, United flight UA1068 was straight and level. Harrison fed the power back in to maintain height.

  "My adrenaline's going," Garcia managed, panting. "It was really tough there for awhile."

  “Yeah, but we’ve got a hold of it now.”

  “What do you think happened? Stabilizer maybe?”

  “God knows, but I’m not planning to work it out up here.”

  Harrison noticed a frightened SFO air traffic controller pleading for contact.

  “SFO, this is United one-zero-six-eight.”

  “What’s going on up there, guys?”

  “Control problems. We had an explosion from the tail and lost elevator control.”

  “And now?”

  “Seems okay. I want to do some checks. But, I want to request an emergency landing.”

  “You’ve got it. Let me clear things on the ground. I’ll be back to you.”

  Harrison took a deep breath and exhaled. “David, let the passengers in on the games.”

  Garcia nodded. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is first officer Garcia. Apologies for the rough ride. We experienced flight control problems and will be returning to San Francisco International. We will advise you of the emergency landing procedure shortly. Thank you for your attention. Chief Cabin Officer to the cockpit, please.”

  A minute later, Petra Davis entered the cockpit. She wasn’t her perfectly groomed self. Her hair was out of place and her blouse needed straightening.

  “How are things?” Harrison asked.

  “Scary. What the hell happened?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Garcia admitted.

  “Anyone hurt?” Harrison asked.

  “Just one. Some idiot in business didn’t have his belt fastened. Didn’t think he needed it but now he knows better.”

  “Shit,” Garcia hissed, disgusted. “There’s always one.”

  “Well, he’s nursing a bloody nose. I don’t think it’s broken, though.”

  “How’s everyone else?”

  “Frightened.”

  “Well make sure everyone is strapped in, and that includes your staff. We’re going to run some test exercises to make sure everything’s okay before the emergency landing.”

  The cockpit door flew open.

  “Tammy?” Petra demanded.

  “We’ve got a problem, captain.”

  Just as Harrison thought things were getting back to normal. “What problem?” he asked, calmly.

  “A passenger.”

  “Which one?” Petra asked.

  “Thirty-three-B. The guy gives me the creeps. He wants to talk to the captain. He says he has important information.”

  By the looks on all their faces, they were thinking the same thing—hijacker. “Do you know what information?”

  Tammy shook her head. “He won’t say. For your ears only.”

  Air traffic control was back.

  “Go ahead, San Francisco.”

  “You have your clearance.” The controller proceeded to reel off the runway details.

  Harrison interrupted. “San Francisco, we have another problem.”

  “What?”

  “A passenger says he has information for me.”

  “Code seventy-five hundred?”

  “Maybe, or some plane nerd.” In the event of an act of terrorism or violence, pilots could alert air traffic without transmitting a message. They set their transponder to seventy-five hundred. “If it looks that way, I’ll change the squawk.”

  “Keep it over the ocean until you know.”

  “Wilco.” Harrison nodded to Garcia to follow the instruction.

  He knew why SFO wanted them over the ocean. If it was a terrorist with an explosive device on board, the last thing the airport wanted was a hundred ton bomb coming anywhere close. It wasn’t nice, but it was damned practical.

  “What do you want me to do?” Tammy asked.

  “Send him in,” Harrison replied, nonchalantly. “I like meeting passengers. They are the backbone of this airline.”

  Tammy returned with the passenger. At first, Harrison thought the tall man with the sunken cheeks was a priest. He was dressed entirely in black, black jacket over black pants and a black Henley shirt with a white collar. But his long, drab and thinning brown hair tied back into a ponytail didn’t gel. Even if his passenger was a trendy priest, Harrison doubted the Catholic Church allowed that sort of thing.

  Tammy made the introduction. “Mr. Tobe Smith.”

  Smith? Harrison caught Garcia’s glance. It didn’t bode well.

  “Captain Scott Harrison, I presume?” Smith said, offering a large hand.

  Was that the hint of an Irish accent? He knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but fuck it, the last thing he needed was an IRA bomber on board. If Smith was, he guessed they would be flying to London. San Francisco wasn’t a target.

  “David, you have control.” Harrison took Smith’s hand. The mysterious Mr. Smith’s grip was impressive for a man who looked desperate for a good meal. “Mr. Smith.”

  “Captain, can we dispense with the formalities? I prefer to keep things friendly. I’m Tobe. Can I call you Scott?”

  Harrison wasn’t a hostage negotiator but he knew enough to build trust by giving in to simple things that cost nothing. Surrendering formality was a simple gift. He nodded his agreement.

  “Thank you, Tammy. You can go back to your station. Strap yourself in.”

  “You do that, Tammy,” echoed Smith. “This thrill ride is far from over.”

  Tammy’s mouth twitched at the corners, unsure whether to smile or scream. Harrison didn’t blame her, Smith’s veiled threat made him shudder.

  “Cold, Scott?”

  “Just a touch. I could turn up the heating a degree or two.”

  Relieved not to be at the center of Smith’s attention, Tammy took her chance and slipped out the door.

  “Mr. Smith-”

  “Tobe,” Smith interrupted, raising a hand.

  “Tobe, you told Tammy you could shed some light on what happened earlier.”

  “Yes, I can, Scott.”

 
; Air traffic control interrupted, wanting an update.

  “Could you take care of that, David?” Smith instructed.

  Garcia glanced at Harrison for confirmation. Harrison nodded. Garcia returned the call, fobbing them off with some meaningless flight details.

  “So, Tobe, what’s our problem?”

  “Faith, Scott.”

  “Faith?”

  “Yes, faith. You lack the faith to keep this aircraft aloft. For a moment, you weren’t thinking about flying and the plane stopped flying.”

  “Are you insinuating I was incompetent?” A trace of bitterness barbed his words.

  Smith was already shaking his head. He smiled. “You’re not listening, Scott. I said your faith was lacking, not your abilities.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What keeps this aircraft airborne is your belief that this plane can fly. When that faith isn’t there, this plane doesn’t fly.”

  Harrison had read the situation all wrong. Smith wasn’t a terrorist—he was a fruitcake. Smith was one of God’s children touched by his fair hand—while he held a sledgehammer. Harrison relaxed, he could lose this jerk and get back to landing this plane before it fell out of the sky.

  “So, my lack of faith nearly crashed this plane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s okay then. We’re flying now with no problems. Everything’s cool.”

  “No,” came Smith’s emphatic reply. “I’m keeping this plane airborne, not you.”

  Garcia grimaced.

  Smith’s dementia was deep-rooted. Harrison cleared his throat. “Tobe, I think we all know you’re not flying this aircraft.”

  “Oh, but I am. I have faith.”

  Harrison shook his head.

  “Then let me show you. I’ll take my faith away.” Smith paused for a second. “Scott, it’s down to you.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Tobe, I think you should return to your seat.”

  A vibration tickled the 747, which became a shudder, then a shake making the plane rattle. The Boeing drifted to the right, the wing dipping and the nose dropping.

  “Ah, here we go again,” Garcia groaned.

  Harrison ignored Smith and returned to the flight controls. The plane was accelerating into a spiral dive. Harrison assisted his first officer with the controls. If they didn’t get it out of the dive quickly, the G-forces would increase and over three hundred people would get to feel what it was like to be a sock in a tumble dryer.

  “Strap yourself into that chair, Mr. Smith.” Harrison didn’t relish having to compete with the plane and a lunatic twittering in his ear, but passenger safety was his concern and the guy didn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of getting back to his seat without hurting himself and others.

  “No need, Scott. I have faith.”

  “I don’t care. Buckle yourself in.”

  “Oh, Scott, when will you understand?”

  “Screw ya, then.”

  It was the wrong thing to say but he would have to let Smith deal with himself. He couldn’t afford to get out of his seat and force the guy; Garcia needed his help too much.

  The only good thing was that a spiral dive was a relatively easy obstacle to overcome, if caught early enough. All that had to be done was to cut the power to slow the descent, have the wings level and pull up.

  Except, it wasn’t working. Harrison and Garcia’s inputs were having no effect. The speed of descent increased. The plane banked further and G-forces were taking hold. Forces squeezed his flesh against his cheeks and unseen weights hung from his limbs.

  “We’re going to invert,” Garcia shouted over the engine whine.

  “Problems, gentlemen?” Smith asked, like nothing was happening.

  “Fuck you, funny man,” Garcia spat.

  “Leave it,” Harrison instructed.

  “I just don’t want to listen to this asshole.”

  “Then don’t. You have a job to do. I suggest you do it.”

  “Yeah.” Garcia glanced over his shoulder at Smith. But his glance became a stare. “Mary, mother of God.”

  Harrison followed his first officer’s stare. He couldn’t believe it. Smith was just standing. But he shouldn’t have been able to. The Boeing was banked at thirty degrees and increasing. The aircraft was in excess of two-Gs, but Smith was unaffected.

  He defied physics. The forces ravaging the plane, passengers and crew had no effect on him. He stood perpendicular to the inclined deck, liked his feet were glued to the floor. His long hair should have been flying everywhere but remained in place. He didn’t even have to brace himself against the cockpit’s interior to keep himself from being bounced off the floor and ceiling like a pinball. Was this lunatic’s faith really controlling the aircraft?

  “I see I have your attention, gentlemen. Faith has amazing powers, doesn’t it?”

  “Are you causing this plane to crash?” Harrison asked, starting to believe.

  “No, Scott. I told you, you’re doing it to yourself. You and David have lost faith. That in turn has caused the passengers to lose faith. And now, you’re in a nosedive that only faith can save you from.”

  “How can I restore my faith?”

  “Captain, you’re not listening to this idiot?” Garcia demanded.

  “Believe that airplanes fly because they can.” A clipboard flew in front of Smith’s face. “The Wright brothers’ plane flew because they believed it could fly.”

  “A plane flies because of science.”

  “But what about a bumblebee?”

  “What about it?”

  “Scott, stop feeding this moron’s ego.”

  “Aerodynamically, a bumblebee can’t fly. Its weight, structure and wings make it impossible for it to fly, but it flies. Why? Because it knows it can. It has an incorruptible faith. The Wright brothers had to invent theory to prove their achievement, but it was their faith that got them into the air.”

  “Captain, I need your help here,” Garcia pleaded.

  The Boeing had pierced the cloud base and the sea loomed like a brick wall. Harrison checked his gauges. The altimeter was a blur as the height disappeared by the second and he estimated they were below five thousand feet. He guessed they had less than two minutes before impact.

  Talking to Smith, Harrison’s grip had loosened and his fingertips detected Garcia’s frantic attempts. He rejoined the fight and seized the yoke. The pilots tugged on disobedient controls and the plane continued to spiral.

  The sound of wrenching metal filled the cockpit. The 747’s structural integrity was failing. More alarms joined the symphony already in progress.

  “Tobe, what do I have to do?” Harrison begged.

  “Christ, are you serious?” Garcia blurted. “Scott, what are you thinking?”

  “Have faith,” Smith reiterated.

  “How can I get it?”

  “Let go.”

  “Let go?” Harrison repeated, unsure.

  “This guy’s crazy,” Garcia spat.

  “Yes, let go. If you truly believe that planes fly because they can, then let go. The rest will take care of itself. Faith is bigger than you.”

  “He’s making you lose it,” Garcia advised.

  “Let go, Scott. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Scott, you’re a pilot. You fly planes. Planes don’t fly themselves.”

  “We’re all going to die if you continue with this charade, Scott. What have your actions got you so far, hmm?”

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday,” Garcia announced. “This is flight U-A-one-zero-six-eight. We are going to ditch.”

  “Let go, David.”

  The request came from Harrison, not Smith.

  “What?”

  “Let go.”

  “You’re as crazy as that lunatic.” Garcia jerked his head in Smith’s direction.

  “It’s the only way.”

  “Listen to him, David. He’s talking sense,” Smith added.

  “Believe
in me, David. Have faith.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Harrison let go of the column.

  The effects were immediate. Several of the alarms went out. The G-forces lessened. Garcia laughed, control was returning to his fingers. But Harrison knew it wasn’t enough. Garcia’s inputs weren’t making enough of a difference.

  “Smith, it isn’t working.”

  “Scott, it takes the faith of both of you to make this plane fly. It’s obvious that David doesn’t believe.”

  “You’re goddamn right about that. I believe that lift occurs when air traveling over the top of the wing travels slower than the air underneath the wing. I have faith in aerodynamics. I don’t believe in your voodoo bullshit.”

  “Scott, there is nothing I can do to make him believe. And without his faith, there is nothing that can save the people on this flight.”

  “But what can I do to change things?”

  “Kill him.”

  “I knew you were a psycho, Smith,” Garcia said.

  “His lack of faith will kill everybody but if he is dead then only your faith is needed. What is David’s life compared to everyone else’s?”

  “I can’t do it. What if he was unconscious?”

  “Jesus, I can’t believe you’re considering this, while I’m fucking sitting here trying to save this bird. You’re finished, pal.”

  “Faith is a constant. It has nothing to do with whether you are conscious or not. Time has run out, to save everyone you must kill David. Scott, you have faith. It’s time to demonstrate it.”

  “I’m sorry, David.” Harrison unbuckled his harness. He expected to have to brace against himself the riggers of the plunging aircraft, but he didn’t. As soon as he stood, there was no effect on his body. He was like Smith. His faith meant he could defy physics.

  “If I didn’t have to fly this damn plane, Scott, I’d kill ya myself.”

  Standing behind Garcia, Harrison slipped a supporting arm across his first officer’s chest. With his other arm, he curled it around Garcia’s neck and gripped the underside of his jaw.

  Garcia took a hand off the yoke and tried to wrench Harrison’s arm away. But with only one hand on the column, control of the aircraft became worse. He released his grasp on Harrison and took control of the yoke once again with both hands.