Code Black (27 page)

“No. I’ll keep trying though.” Lauren climbed up into the Boeing as fast as she could.

Henry reached out and swung the door closed and latched it firmly. He squeezed past Lauren and slid easily into the left seat. His hands flew expertly around the flight deck and within seconds the high-pitched whine of the APU filled their ears. With electricity from the generator, instruments came to life. Henry quietly guided Michael to assist and they settled into an even, but hurried cadence of activity.

Lauren pulled down the jump seat and untangled the seat harness. She strapped herself in and then leaned forward to hear what was being said.

“Okay.” Henry’s eyes darted around the cockpit. “Once we get both engines started, I’ll give the signal to open the front doors. I’m hoping there’s a snowplow waiting outside to lead the way. If not, I’m not sure we’ll make it to the runway.”

“He’ll be there,” Michael said confidently. “I’m a big fan of Emmett. What about the tower? What are we going to tell them?”

“Nothing. We don’t want to hear anything they have to say until we’re airborne.”

“Works for me,” Michael said. “Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission?”

“Something like that.” Henry put a finger on the start button for the right engine. “Ready?”

“Do it.” Michael began calling out engine rotations and temperatures.

Lauren found herself holding her breath as the two pilots methodically started both engines and quickly ran through a series of checks. Michael read as Henry completed each task. Moments later, Henry gave a thumbs-up to the men outside and the steel doors in front of them parted. Snow began to billow inside the hanger the wider the doors opened. Through the murk Lauren began to make out a vague shape, then two. Slowly the dark objects became visible. Lauren’s heart soared at the sight of three snowplows, each lined up in position to lead them out to the runway. The yellow flashing lights on top of each cab were turned off, their huge steel blades were down, and black diesel exhaust poured out of their stacks.

“Would you look at that!” Michael leaned forward to gauge when their wingtips would be clear of the doors.

Henry nudged the throttles and the Boeing inched ahead. Instantly the plows began to pull forward. The 737 rocked gently as they passed over the door tracks and settled into the snow.

“Turn the anti-icing on,” Henry reminded Michael.

Michael reached up and selected the switches Henry had shown him earlier. His hands then went down to the center console and rested on the flap selector.

“I can see the runway,” Henry said as he added power to keep pace with the plows. “In about 500 feet we’ll have to make a sharp right turn followed by another left turn. Then we’ll be there.”

“Aircraft on taxiway Yankee. This is O’Hare Tower. Stop and hold your position. The airport is closed.”

The sudden intrusion from the overhead speaker startled Lauren. She didn’t recognize the voice. She first looked at Henry, then Michael, to see if their having been spotted by the surface radar made any difference. Henry added more power and the 737 picked up speed.

“Unidentified aircraft on taxiway Yankee. This is O’Hare Tower. You are in violation of TSA directives. Stop your aircraft and hold your position!”

“We might need to hurry a bit.” Michael pointed. “I see someone coming up fast.”

“Shit,” Henry said, as he, too, saw a vehicle roaring down the parallel taxiway they were headed toward.

“This is going to be close.” Henry touched the brakes as they neared the ninety-degree bend in the concrete. “I’ve got to slow down to make the turn.”

“I think it’ll work.” Michael struggled to keep the vehicle in sight. “Keep going and I think we can cut him off.”

“Unidentified aircraft! This is O’Hare Tower. Hold your position. I repeat. Hold your position and stop your engines!”

“This must be killing them,” Lauren said, regarding the frantic calls from the tower. “They know what we’re trying to do, they’re on our side, but their hands are tied.”

“Holy shit!” Michael shouted as a blaze of flashing lights swept under their right wing. He braced himself when Henry smashed on the brakes to avoid hitting the truck.

Lauren stifled a scream as the security vehicle came skidding to a halt between them and the snowplows—blocking their path. The Boeing slipped and jerked, the anti-skid brakes fighting for purchase on the snowy taxiway. Lauren couldn’t believe they’d driven the truck directly under the Boeing’s wing to stop airplane. They nosed down heavily, grinding to a halt with no more than ten feet of space between the nose of the 737 and the security vehicle.

“Wayfarer Boeing! This is O’Hare security. You are ordered to shut down engines or we will open fire. I repeat. We will open fire.”

Henry’s shoulders slumped. He put his hands on two levers under the throttles. Lauren had watched Donovan shut down the Gulfstreams and she knew it began with the same action. She lowered her head. It was too much. They’d come so close.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Everything’s ready.” Donovan snapped the phone shut. “The tower says all of the rescue boats are in position. I guess it’s time to do this.”

“Once we’re in the water—” John had just finished securing the cockpit. There was now nothing left that might fly around and injure them when they hit. “I want you to get out. I don’t know how mobile I’m going to be.”

“We’ll make it out together.” Donovan gave John a reassuring nod, then looked out the window to gauge their distance from the starting point. The hole in the storm lay just beneath their nose. Donovan banked the airplane to the left and stared down through the haze at the barely visible waves. The strong winds created long foam streaks in the dark green water. The angry lake seemed to taunt him, daring him to succeed. On the western edge he caught sight of the rock wall that served as a breakwater for the harbor. He knew the margin for error was small. He’d have to slow the Boeing as much as he dared and spiral inside the small opening in the tempest below. He would have to level out and ditch while still in the relatively clear air. If they went too far, the visibility would probably drop to near zero. He’d have no choice but to set it down anyway—far away from the rescue boats. They then ran the risk of the Coast Guard not being able to find the sinking airplane in the blinding storm.

“Donovan?” John said. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Donovan refocused on the job at hand. “I’m going to swing around and begin the descent. Once we start, I want you to give me constant altitude call-outs. It’ll give me a rough idea of where we are in relation to the water. We’re going to have to do this right the first time.”

John used his good hand to pull his harness as tight as it would go. “I’ve seen you fly; you’re good. You can do this.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Donovan took one last moment to steady the airplane. He thought of his daughter, Abigail, both sad and angry that he might never see her again. He thought of Meredith, Michael, and Eco-Watch. But his final thought before he rolled the 737 into a steep bank was of Lauren. He wished they’d had one last chance to talk to one another. Donovan pulled both throttles back and slowed the crippled plane. He locked his eyes on the turbulent waves below and started down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Henry, wait!” Michael shouted. He reached out and used one hand to grab the throttles, with the other he grasped Henry’s wrist, stopping him from shutting down the engines.

Startled, Lauren strained to see what Michael was looking at. In an instant, the security truck was swept away by what appeared to be an avalanche propelled by a huge snowplow. The security truck’s flashing red lights cast an eerie glow from beneath its tomb of snow as it careened sideways off into the grass.

“Go! Go! Go!” Michael yelled, as their path was once again clear. “Standing by on the flaps.”

“Wayfarer Boeing! This is O’Hare Tower. You are not cleared for takeoff! You are to hold your position!”

Henry added power and they started to move. As the Boeing rounded the final turn, the runway lights suddenly increased to full intensity to help guide them through the raging blizzard.

“Somebody up there likes us.” Henry settled in his seat as he lined up on the brightly illuminated runway. “Give me takeoff flaps and hang on. This could get ugly.”

“Flaps set,” Michael called, as the snowplows split off from each other, clearing a path for them to begin their takeoff roll.

Henry keyed the microphone. “O’Hare Tower. This is Boeing 31 Whiskey Alpha. We’re declaring an emergency.”

Lauren wasn’t sure why Henry had called the tower, or why he’d used the number painted on the tail of the airplane instead of a Wayfarer call sign. But moments later, he stood the throttles up and the powerful engines began to surge beneath them. Lauren was pressed backward as Henry released the brakes and the Boeing lurched forward and began to gather speed. From where she sat, she could only see two runway lights at a time and the lateral movement of the blizzard gave her the impression that the plane was slipping sideways. The snow-covered surface turned into a blur and pounded the airplane; the Boeing accelerating, then slowing as they plowed through eighteen-inch drifts.

“Eighty knots. We’re not accelerating very fast,” Michael shouted.

“Give me ten knot call-outs!” Henry battled against the wind. Each time the Boeing began to accelerate, they hit deep piles of snow that killed their speed. They needed at least 150 knots before the wings could generate enough lift to pull them off the runway.

“Ninety knots!” Michael called out, his voice steady.

Lauren gripped her seat and watched helplessly. A curtain of blowing snow momentarily blocked their vision.

“One hundred knots,” Michael called.

Every muscle in Lauren’s body was wire-tight as she could once again see the faint centerline lights. The 737 passed over a section of the runway with less snow and the Boeing surged forward.

“One hundred ten,” Michael yelled.

Lauren had no idea how much pavement remained. She was terrified they would run out of runway. If they did, they would careen into the multiple rows of metal stanchions at the far end.

“One hundred twenty,” Michael called out, his voice more hopeful. “One thirty! One forty! Rotate!”

Lauren sensed the sudden acceleration. In what seemed like slow motion, Henry pulled back on the controls. The nose of the 737 lifted off and pointed into the obscured sky, the main gear slamming loudly into drift after drift.

“Come on baby—fly,” Henry muttered as he struggled to get them airborne.

At 150 knots, the Boeing hit another section of ridges on the plowed runway. The impact shot up through the landing gear and rocked the airplane. Lauren winced. It sounded as if the undercarriage was being ripped away. Outside, the wings flexed and whipped at the structural assault.

Without warning, the horrific pounding abruptly ceased. They were flying. Free of the snow and producing maximum lift, the sturdy wings of the Boeing gripped the thick atmosphere and pulled the 737 upward.

In a flash, Lauren saw the glowing approach lights. She closed her eyes, anticipating the impact.

“Keep climbing!” Michael shouted.

“Gear up.” Henry fought the growing turbulence as the 737 clawed its way into the storm.

Michael’s attention was glued to the instruments. “Gear coming up.”

“We might get the shaker!” Henry inched the nose up as high as he dared. “It’s climbing. We’re accelerating. 200 feet, 500!” Michael leaned back and shot a quick look at Henry.

“God, that was close.” Henry carefully lowered the nose. “Flaps up.”

“Gear up and locked,” Michael reported. “Flaps are moving.”

Henry left the throttles at full power. Out of 800 feet he banked the airplane toward the east. He pushed the 737 to its limit. They quickly accelerated to 300 knots. The speed limit in this airspace was only 200 knots, but he didn’t care.

The storm battered them violently around the sky. Lauren could picture the 737’s wings and tail bucking under the strain. She prayed the airplane could take the punishment. The cockpit was silent except for the roar of the wind as it whipped past. Waves of snow lashed against the windows.

“Call the tower,” Henry said as they climbed. “See if they’ll help us now. Use our tail number; we can’t use a Wayfarer flight number today.”

“O’Hare. Boeing 31 Whiskey Alpha is airborne. We’re out of three thousand climbing,” Michael radioed.

“Roger 31 Whiskey Alpha,” Kate replied. “Understand you have declared an emergency. Radar contact. Turn to a 090 degree heading and climb to and maintain 8,000 feet. We’re standing by to assist.”

A shrill sound erupted in the cockpit, then ceased. Lauren froze as she searched the instrument panel for warning lights. A bell or buzzer was always the prelude to major trouble in the cockpit of a sophisticated jet.

“What’s that?” Michael also snapped his head at the noise.

“It’s the phone!” Lauren realized as she reached for Matt’s cell phone in her pocket.

She pushed the answer button and swept it to her ear. “Hello.” She paused for a second. “This is Lauren McKenna. Who’s this?”

“Lauren? This is Audrey Parrish. I was looking for Matt.”

Instantly Lauren put it together. “We’re on our way! We’re coming to get you! Tell Donovan not to ditch!” Her voice was a mixture of urgency and anguish. There seemed to be a thousand things that she needed to say.

“What do you mean? Where are you? They told us—.” Audrey sputtered.

“We’re in another plane!” Lauren could plainly hear the fear in her voice. “Tell Donovan to wait for us!”

“Lauren—we’ve already started. I don’t know if there’s time!”

“Get to the cockpit now!” Lauren screamed. “Go as fast as you can! You have to stop them!” Lauren tried to ignore the raw fear that threatened to unhinge her as both Henry and Michael turned, searching for some kind of confirmation that they weren’t too late.

“I’m on my way,” Audrey called out. “Oh my God! We’re in a steep turn! Tell Matt and Henry I love them.”