Michael gave the soldier running past him a long look before continuing up, following Lieutenant Buxton to the cockpit.
“Captain, we’ve got someone for you.”
Hendrickson noticed the panicked look on the man’s face. It was visible even in the flashlight-lit cockpit. “Sit there,” he directed. Michael took the right seat, and the Delta trooper left them.
“The name’s Michael.” He looked around, not even bothering to belt himself in. The captain wasn’t either, he noticed. “What can I do?”
“I’m Bart. What have you flown?”
“Helicopter. UH-60s and Kiowas mostly.”
Hendrickson knew it wasn’t ideal, but the guy was someone with experience. “Okay, this is what we’ve got: The number three engine, over there, is out; no flaps, so we’re pretty nonresponsive when landing and taking off; no brakes; our trim is lousy because of the stuff they loaded on our hold; and, as you can see, no power on the flight deck. She does respond, though.”
The civilian in Michael tried to fall back on his long-ago military training, but all he could do was stare at the blackness of the cockpit. “No instruments or radio?”
“None. Are you ready?”
Michael’s head snapped to the left. “Ready for what?”
“Your first flying lesson in a 747.” The captain leaned just slightly over the center console. “I’m retiring after this flight, so I plan to make it down. It’s going to take two of us, so I need you to help me make it to retirement. Now, take the stick. We’re going to give you a feel for the Maiden.”
His hands wrapped around the column handles. “The who?”
Hendrickson’s full smile was apparent, and would have been without any illumination.
“Anderson!”
Both Joe and Sergeant Quimpo were startled by the yell. Graber dropped through the hole a second later.
“What?” Joe sensed the urgency. He lowered the drill, removing the bit as the captain approached.
“I think these things might be triggered by a signal from that vest the head guy was wearing,” Sean said. He was crouched over, panting, his hands resting on one knee.
Joe didn’t see the need to question the captain’s word. “If that’s true, and my theory is true, then there are two ways to set these off; timer and signal.”
Sean nodded. “That would make sense. The guy was going for the thing, and there was an extra switch on the safety. It has to be it.”
There wasn’t time to be too delicate. “Sergeant, get those wire rods from the tray supports.” To Graber: “Your man here thinks quick.”
“How so?”
“I drilled holes completely through each of these chutes.” Joe pointed to the three-sixteenths hole. “We need to stop any of the fuel plugs from dropping into the core. Sergeant Quimpo thought the wire supports on the fold-down trays upstairs would work to fit through. Quick thinking.”
There was a change in Anderson’s attitude, Sean noticed. Subtle, but still there. “So does this affect anything?”
“It could. If the plugs just drop in, the wires should hold. But if there’s a charge of sorts to release them, then the force could push them right through the wires.”
“Which would screw us all,” Sean observed.
“Precisely. As it is now, with these little holes here, there’s an increase in radiation down here.” Joe saw the captain’s head straighten up. “Don’t worry. It’s not enough to do any harm.”
Quimpo came back down with two handfuls of the chromed wires. “I got twenty.” He handed them to Joe.
“Tie off one end in a big knot so it can’t slip through the hole, then insert them all the way through.” Joe motioned to the devices. Sean was observing. “Take your time. I’ll do some, and you do the others.”
The sergeant nodded. They went about the task. Five minutes later they had the wires through both sides of each chute. Then came the tricky part: tying off the loose ends. There wasn’t much room at the free ends, and the stiff wire didn’t lend itself to effective knotting. But there was little else to do. Joe and the sergeant went to each together, checking each as best they could.
“Cap, you wanna take a look?” Quimpo asked.
Graber shook off the question. “Nah. I’ll keep my gonads away from that shit.”
Cooper had his landing lights on, and was a quarter mile ahead and to the left of the 747. The pilot seemed to be following his lead, which was the first hurdle. With no instruments the big jet would be entirely dependent on him for guidance.
“Springer Seven-Eight, this is Romeo. Where should I lead this guy?”
The controller aboard the AWACS signaled him to stand by. Major Cooper flashed out a question to the 747, asking about their ability to keep him in visual contact. An immediate reply told him that the line of sight was good.
“Seven-Eight, let’s give me a vector,” Cooper implored to no one.
“What’s that?” Michael asked as the tremor shook through his hand and wrist.
Hendrickson felt it, too. “Heavy air. We can’t get above this weather, so we’re going to have some turbulence.”
A jolt shook the Maiden, almost on cue, as the captain’s last word was uttered.
Antonelli was standing from a kneeling position as the reverberation of unstable air shook the aircraft. He was naturally off-balance from the stance, and the movement ensured a fall, wanting to push him forward. But that would have landed him right on the major. To avoid that he tossed his arms back, realizing too late that he was falling right on top of the vest.
The strange buzz came next, but no explosion. He was relieved, but only for a second. “Oh my God…”
The sound was that of metal sliding against greasy metal, then of wire twanging as the fuel plugs dropped toward the four cores. One sound, though, was different, coming a split second after the others. Joe knew what had happened. The plugs were all loose, and one of the sixteen had made it past its wire restraint and was in the core…in the reactor right next to him.
“You, out!” Joe ordered Sean. To Quimpo: “Check the wires on those three, and then get out, too! Hurry.”
Neither man argued. The Delta captain was through the hole into the cabin within three seconds, while Sergeant Quimpo circled each of the other three reactors, checking the tautness of the restraints.
“Everything’s fine. They’re stretched, but holding.” Then he, too, was gone. Both Quimpo and Graber waited near the hole, looking down into the hold and listening to silence.
Joe slid the neutron analyzer onto the suspect reactor. As it passed the hole in the nearest chute, the readout went into the danger zone. A quick calculation confirmed what Joe had feared: He was getting almost a direct shot of two hundred rems from the near chute, and Lord knew how much background radiation from the others.
He checked the four chutes. One wire hung limp on the inner hole, and was not visible on the outer side. One slug, three quarters of a critical mass, was in the core; another would send it into a critical state. Joe wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Stay out of here!” Joe yelled, just as a reminder. He checked the other three chutes on the reactor. Two were holding good, but the third…
No! Joe took a pair of needle-nose pliers from his belt pack and grabbed the outer wire end as it was about to slip in, releasing the second plug. “Ahhh!” The weight of the plug was more than he’d expected, and it strained on his hand muscles as they squeezed the pliers closed on the wire. He was now holding one end, as the knot had come completely undone.
He was also receiving a consistent, deadly dose of radiation through the seemingly small hole. The pliers were non locking, requiring him to stand in place to hold the wire. “Captain!”