by Jack Dey
He was married to a strong woman named Juliana. She had only agreed to him leaving his well paid job as a company accountant, if he could guarantee her a higher income and prestige among her conservative, middle class friends.
Freeman congratulated himself on three obedient children who never gave them a moment's grief, while attributing their children's strict upbringing to Juliana. She didn’t accept any bad behaviour and ran a tight ship. Apart from a cursory greeting at the dinner table, he wasn’t required to involve himself in the children's lives and after the meal, settled himself in front of the TV and contentedly fell asleep. Juliana, once the children were in bed, switched on her computer and spent time chatting to her friends online, as Des slept in his chair in the company of the TV.
Freeman’s pleasant daydream continued and he smiled as he saw Gracie's face in his mind's eye. She was his pretty sixteen year old with a submissive nature, a high academic achiever. David was his favourite, a handsome eleven year old who achieved in sports; while Michael had been a complete surprise, and was in every way a direct replica of Juliana and rubbed his mother up the wrong way, butting heads, drawing battle lines and fighting hard for control, even at five years old.
Freeman had positioned himself to be a self confessed spiritual giant, knowing his children were under control in accordance with scripture and he had done well in Gateway College, allowing him an open door to any position he wanted among the churches. A huge cheer from the auditorium dragged him from his daydream and he tripped over himself getting to his feet with all the other students, applauding the figure walking on stage as he made his way to the podium.
Dunster motioned for the crowd to sit, after which the auditorium settled back into expectant silence. Then the showman shifted into high gear and shouted out across the sea of faces, leaning heavily on the podium for emphasis.
"IS GOD A BIRD?!"
He paused for effect, throwing his head back at the same time and continued on.
"HOW THEN… DO WE SHELTER UNDER HIS WINGS?!"
The podium began to rock back and forward, keeping in time with plumes of spittle drifting over the crowd, as Dunster became more animated. The veins in his neck stood out, like great tributaries of some swollen river. His face became crimson as he yelled louder and louder, demonstrating to the student body his flamboyant preaching style.
Freeman chortled to himself, as the students in the front row were being showered by Dunster's exuberance and one girl was seen holding her Kleenex to her nose and mouth.
A certain target for academic suicide.
After forty minutes into his tirade, Dunster concluded by holding a Bible up in the air.
"YOU HAVE TO BE WISE, PEOPLE. THIS BOOK IS ALL ALLEGORY AND SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN AS LITERAL, AS THE PAGAN FUNDAMENTALISTS DO. GOD DOES NOT MEAN WHAT HE SAYS."
As Dunster fell quiet, hanging his head in animated showmanship, a wave of shocked applause rippled through the auditorium, as each stunned student realised the performance was over and a suitable response was required. The applause gathered momentum, like a misfiring automobile, until it developed into an unstoppable panegyric lasting several minutes. As Dunster walked off the stage, a staff member stood up, careful not to disturb the great man’s moment and quietly dismissed the students.
*~*~*~*
It was close to midnight and the house was still and quiet. A nervous finger pushed the start up button on the laptop lying by their bed. The screen burst into life and sent coloured shadows bouncing off the bedroom walls, while the start up chimes, set for daytime intensity, echoed malevolently throughout the silent bedroom and caused the figure to anxiously quieten the disturbance with an animated stab at the mute button. Holding their breath while listening intently for signs of movement from other parts of the house and hoping that their actions hadn’t been discovered. Satisfied there would be no unwelcome interruptions, the figure continued, their heart beating like a drum as the program login appeared. Once they were safely inside the program, they began searching.
Please let him be here!
A caption popped up on the screen.
Hello, Lonely Angel. I missed you.
Her heart pounded in her chest, as she typed out her reply.
I missed you too.
Have you given my proposition any more thought? he replied.
My Mum would kill me.
So, you don't want to meet me?
Yes, I do… badly. It's just not that easy. It's like Fort Knox around here.
There was a long pause and she panicked, thinking he had gone.
Are you still there?
Yes, I am here. You are sixteen, right?
Yes.
Well, you are old enough to have a little excitement and if I pick you up around this time tomorrow night, we could have some fun together and I’d have you back home in a couple of hours. No one would be the wiser.
I don't know…
Don't disappoint me. Do I have to find someone else?
She panicked.
No, please. I'll do it... midnight tomorrow night.
It will be fun. You are going to be my girlfriend and no more Lonely Angel.
Girlfriend! she thought to herself, her heart bursting with anticipation.
Until tomorrow night, sweet princess… and he was gone.
Lonely Angel logged out, hardly able to contain herself at the thought of meeting her mystery prince. She sighed and logged into a file guarded by a password. An image of a young, dark haired man appeared in front of her, catching her breath with the promise of his words and tracing the lines of his features with a shaking finger over the screen, as if she was caressing his face. For the first time in her life, she was in love and nothing was going to stop their meeting.
She rolled onto her stomach and switched off the laptop, and then tingling with excitement, she whispered up to the ceiling, "I can't wait."
*~*~*~*
Chapter 8
Greg was feeling anxious and boxed in waiting at home, while the time until the plane arrived seemed to drag. He peered at their impressive free standing grandfather clock, while the clock’s mechanism ticked in the quiet, slowly driving him mad. In moment of frustrated impatience, he decided to leave home a couple of hours early. Peak hour traffic hadn't started yet, but as every Sydneysider knows, a motorist with a hiccup can cause major delays on the M7.
He was eager to see his wife and daughter again after three long weeks without them, and he expected June and Peter would be there also. He’d planned to go with Yvette and Chloe this trip, but some last minute business matters forced him to send them off without him. It tore his heart when Chloe had burst into tears and protested loudly when he’d had to change his plans. Now, he was aching to be with them again.
Greg's sports BMW hummed along the M7. The anticipation and comfortable ride of his computerised vehicle, put him in a relaxed frame of mind and he found himself singing along with the CD playing. He checked his watch as he cut across town from the M7 to the M5. If there were no delays on the M5, he would be almost an hour early. Yvette's plane was due in at 6 pm.
The parking fees at the Sydney International Airport usually bugged him, but today he didn't care. He skilfully spun the steering wheel around and lined up an empty space between two four wheel drives, powered the vehicle into the bay and brought the sleek, yellow BMW to a solid stop. He closed the door to his vehicle and pointed the key over his shoulder and walked toward the arrivals hall, while the machine responded with a metallic b-l-e-e-k, confirming all was secure.
As usual, the arrivals hall was a mass of humanity. Expectant eyes searched the tired passengers, looking for a familiar face and breaking into jubilant gestures as a loved one was recognised. Greg surveyed the long corridor of the expansive arrivals hall, made his way past the Vodaphone counter and stopped outside the arrivals meeting lounge. The highly polished white floors resembled an entry into a palace, not an airport. The lounge was separated from the recently disemba
rked passengers by a glass fence which led to customs.
He scanned the electronic flight monitor board above his head and finally found what he was looking for... QF1156. He followed the line across to the flight status and read… delayed. He sighed and a frustrated huff escaped his lips.
Greg was a successful executive and waiting wasn’t his strong point. He was renowned as a business pit-bull and Yvette was the softness and balance in a sometimes turbulent life, when his tenacious personality boiled over and left his business opponents bruised and bloody. His ability to maintain a level attitude towards people in general, was closely linked to Yvette and he needed her near him. Chloe was a gift and his sanity, always loving and always ready with a cuddle when he was around. The presence of his family made him feel complete in a world of competition and harshness, and now he was feeling tattered and fraying at the edges, eager for their return.
Greg was just about to take a seat in the arrivals meeting lounge and settle in for a long wait, when he spotted June and Peter walking towards him. June's face broke into a big smile when she caught his eye. Greg returned the smile and soon he was wrapped up in a hug from his effervescent mother-in-law and a claw-like handshake from his father-in-law.
"The flight’s been delayed," Greg offered, the annoyance resonating in his voice.
Looking up at the status board above their heads, Peter broke in, "It's a wonder they got out of Chicago at all; a large snow storm has all but closed the city down."
His parents-in-law took a seat beside him and all three people drifted into an uneasy silence, staring around at the rambling activity. Greg was always uncomfortable around his in-laws on his own, relying on Yvette to carry the conversation in her easy, confident way. Now, he had to carry the conversation alone and the discussion soon dropped off into an awkward stiffness.
As the hours slipped by, they watched the arrivals lounge swell and empty as each new flight arrived, while Greg became more and more disturbed, trying to shut out the rising fear plaguing his thoughts. He glanced up at the illuminated delayed sign for the thousandth time and decided something was wrong. He checked his watch: a quarter to nine.
They were nearly three hours late.
In a moment of aggravated despair, Greg decided he had waited long enough and launched himself from the airport styled lounge, startling June in the process and declared he was going to find the Qantas desk. He had only taken a few steps towards his endeavour, when an announcement stopped him in his tracks.
"Your attention, please. Would all people seeking information on Qantas Flight, QF1156, please make their way to the Qantas Lounge on the first floor, in the departure area."
Listening intently to the broadcast instructions, Greg glanced back at his in-laws, completely frozen in horror. The silent concern in his eyes communicated his fear, causing June to react with a horrified gasp and riveting her into her seat. Anxious for information, Greg and Peter helped June to her feet and coaxed her in the direction of the departure lounge. Her face was white with fear and shock was doing its best to disable her, but stoically she pushed on, aided by the men, while grappling for some kind of understanding.
The arrivals area quickly drained of people, as a wave of anxious faces made their way in silence to the security area and then on to the Qantas Lounge. The lounge had been closed to all other people, while police checked that each person had some connection to QF1156. The area quickly filled with worried people and an official looking figure motioned for the people to sit, then began his speech once the sea of faces had settled into a nervous silence.
“There has been a problem with Qantas Flight, QF1156," the official voice boomed.
A knowing murmur ran through the lounge, while the speaker motioned for silence and then braced himself for the next statement.
"We have lost contact with the aircraft and have not heard from it for the last five hours."
A crescendo of wails and screams echoed through the area, while officials tried to minimise the hysteria and motioned for the crowd to calm down, before continuing. Once shocked silence had been restored, the speaker tried his best to convey a reassuring message.
"Although we have not heard from the flight, it may simply mean that they are experiencing some kind of difficulty with the aircraft systems and are still making their way to Sydney. A search and rescue aircraft has been despatched from Hawaii and should be over the area they were last heard from, in a few hours. If you would like to wait here in the lounge until we can make contact with the aircraft in an hour or two, please do so. There are trained people mingling among you if you would like some help. At the moment, that is all I know."
A barrage of questions flew at the official from all angles in a cacophony of unintelligible babble. Greg's face was ashen, having never felt so helpless in his life. The high powered executive, in control of his own destiny and always getting what he wanted and when he wanted it, was now reduced to a meal of gut wrenching anger; a jaw locked in rage and fists clenched tight in helplessness. He was out of control and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Some force greater than himself had all the cards and had taken the only people that mattered, away from him in a cowardly blow. It was now evident how small, insignificant and powerless he was to control and manipulate this circumstance and bring Yvette and Chloe back home.
Maybe the universe didn’t rotate around him after all, as he had so often assumed.
Greg slumped silently into a nearby chair, desperately wanting to be alone with his grief and at the same time, peering around the crowded lounge, observing people locked into horrific emotional struggles as they tried to process what the situation meant. June's distraught eyes came into his searching scan. The pain was etched so deeply in her vacant, staring eyes that he had to turn away. They both loved the same people and somehow, those people were gone.
Before long, June broke into an uncontrolled, bottomless soul-moan, bubbling up torrents of grief from a place so guarded and private, it was if those around were trespassing on a sacred scene.
In a moment of surrender, Greg’s soul joined in with June’s, undermining his tightly constructed and controlled world in an avalanche of despair. His head dropped onto his chest in defeat and the world around him fell silent, while his emotions erupted and the safe ground of familiarity imploded, crushing him.
Peter tried to calm the brewing storm with his gentle words of hope and reassurance, but it was if they had descended into a place where words didn’t exist.
*~*~*~*
The United States' Navy's Boeing P8A Poseidon taxied out onto the runway of Hickam Air Force Base, Oahu, Hawaii. The P8 was the latest and most sophisticated anti-submarine detection aircraft currently employed by the navy. It doubled as a maritime search and rescue aircraft in times of peacetime disasters, like missing commercial passenger aircraft at sea.
Chief Warrant Officer Edmond Reeves pulled on full thrust, released the brakes and the aircraft gathered speed and lifted effortlessly into the air. The lights to the entrance of Pearl Harbour disappeared to the right of the aircraft, as the P8 banked and headed out over the Pacific. It would take an hour to enter the search area and travel a further three hours toward the Australian coast. They would rendezvous with the Australian Maritime Safety Authority's Dornier 228, an infrared search aircraft coming out from Cairns to meet them. The combined search capacity of the two aircraft, with the sophisticated radar and sonar onboard the P8, would find anything that had dropped into the sea along the flight path of the missing Airbus A330-203. The challenge to the P8 was the water depth in the area Qantas Flight, QF1156, was last heard from.
In most parts it was well over 2 miles deep.
Reeves skilfully plotted his flight path over the coordinates given to him. The aircraft made several criss-cross patterns just above the waterline and as the plane completed the first search grid, he spoke to his crew through helmet intercom.
"Anything...?"
Radar answere
d first. "Nothing, Skipper."
"Sonar...?"
Sonar repeated Radar’s reply. "Nothing, Skipper."
They executed another pass, but it was pointless doing a visual, looking for wreckage. The ocean was inky black outside his window and Reeves knew that if sonar didn't find anything, there wasn't anything to be found.
Radar interrupted Reeves' thoughts. "Skipper, there is an aircraft coming towards us about 600 miles due west."
Reeves checked his watch.
That would be the AMSA search plane out of Cairns, he thought.
*~*~*~*
Colin Manning scrutinized the screen onboard the Dornier aircraft as it skimmed two hundred feet above the waterline. The infrared vision had only picked up a couple of small vessels on their three hour flight to rendezvous with the USN P8. It was painfully obvious that the P8 would have more chance of spotting something, but the infrared had its uses, too. If someone was floating in the ocean, particularly when it was pitch black, the infrared vision would pick up any temperature differences and hone in on it. Manning had heard the report from the P8, radioing in to the Hawaii Control Tower, two hours previous.
"Sightings of anything significant over the search area... negative."
Manning hadn't seen anything, either.
The two aircraft circled one another on their rendezvous, confirming by radio that all was clear.
Flight QF1156 had simply vanished.
*~*~*~*
Samu perched awkwardly on a plastic chair, outside the office of the Operations Manager for air traffic control. His knee jiggled up and down nervously, while the plastic chair was stretched to its physical limit by his large frame. He was awaiting another interview with the Operations Manager and was anxious how the information he had relayed, concerning the disappearance of Flight QF1156, had been received.
The door opened and an attractive woman in her thirties summoned him into the office and told him to go straight in. He focussed directly at the name on the closed door, Bryan Downer, and under that, Operations Manager. Even though the secretary had told him to go straight in, Samu knocked on the door anyway and waited for a 'COME!' reply and then entered, hesitating at the presence of a military man standing beside Downer. Judging from the uniform, this man was of high rank.
