Crandall nodded. There was something reassuring about John Berry’s voice, his manner. Most pilots had that ability to make even bad news sound routine. Yet she felt there was something else troubling him. “If you think the Straton can handle it, then I can handle it.”
Berry decided that he had to tell it to her truthfully. It was her life too, and she had a right to know what could happen. “Look, Sharon, the major problem is not the aircraft. If the turbulence gets too rough-and there’s no reason to think it won’t, by the looks of those clouds-then the autopilot could disengage itself. Then I’d have to hand-fly this thing. Christ, three experienced pilots in an undamaged craft have their hands full during a storm. I have to think about the throttles, the pitch trim… I haven’t flown this aircraft in good weather. The plane could get away from me… spin out…” Berry suddenly wanted to turn, to run and get away from the black wall closing in on him, even if he had to put the plane down at sea. Anything would be preferable to the nightmare of a bouncing, heaving aircraft caught in the center of a storm of unknown width and breadth. He turned to Sharon. “Do you want to turn? We can outrun it, but we’d probably have to ditch before we reached any land.”
Crandall considered the options: Running from the storm knowing that each minute of flight time was another minute from the coast. Then putting it down at sea. And if they survived the landing, there would be the agony of the sea, maybe other passengers floating in the water… She weighed that against the storm. They would live or die in the storm-nothing in between. She looked up at the clouds. Somewhere on the other side of that black veil the sun shone, and over the next horizon was the coastline of America. That’s where they said they wanted to go, and that’s where they would go. A sense of calm came over her, and she knew that one way or the other the end of their long trial was near. “We should maintain our present heading.”
Berry nodded. He also had a need to meet the storm head-on. He thought about his wife and children for the first time in over an hour. Then he thought about his employer and his job. The worst thing that could happen to him, he realized, was that he would survive, only to pick up his life where he’d left it. He believed that somehow the crucible of that storm would cleanse him, even rebaptize him.
Crandall said, “We should call San Francisco and tell them what’s happening. They may be able to give us some advice.”
Berry nodded. He realized that, subconsciously, he had been avoiding the data-link. Instead of it being a lifeline, the link had become an intrusion into his small world. He typed.
TO SAN FRANCISCO: WE ARE APPROACHING AN AREA OF THUNDERSTORMS. I AM UNABLE TO WORK OR READ WEATHER RADAR. WE HAVE DETERMINED THAT THE BEST COURSE OF ACTION IS TO MAINTAIN PRESENT HEADING. IS THERE ANYTHING WE SHOULD DO TO PREPARE THE AIRCRAFT?
He reached for the transmit button, then decided to type an additional line.
IS THERE ANY INDICATION AT YOUR END THAT WE CAN GET AROUND THE WEATHER WITHOUT EXPENDING TOO MUCH FUEL? BERRY.
He pushed the transmit button, then looked up at the windshield. Thin wisps of smoky gray clouds sailed past the Straton; the cockpit became a little darker. “I’d say we’ve got about fifty miles to go before we’re into the heavy weather. Nine or ten minutes’ flying time.”
Crandall noticed that her calm had turned to edginess, as it always did when she entered a storm. It seemed like the waiting was the worst part of it-until you were in it. Then, when you thought the worst was happening, it got even worse than that. But breaking out of a storm into the sun or the moonlight was one of those rare and exhilarating moments in flying. She turned to Berry. “Is there anything you’d be doing in your private plane that we haven’t done yet?”
“Yes.” He forced a smile. “Turn around and get the hell out of here.” The aircraft bumped slightly, and he turned and looked back at Linda. She was awake now, sitting in one of the empty flight chairs with her knees up to her chin. He turned to Sharon. “Buckle her into the observer’s seat.”
Crandall rose from her chair and walked over to the girl. “Let’s get up and sit over here where you’ll be more comfortable.” She took her by the arm and led her to the observer’s seat that was directly behind the captain’s chair. “That’s right. Here. I’ll buckle you in just like when you first came onboard.”
“Thank you. Are we going into a storm?”
“It’ll be all right. But remember, it’s going to get very dark in here. You’ll hear the rain against the windshield. It might be louder than you expect. And it will be a very bumpy ride. But Mr. Berry will fly us right through it. You’re not afraid of lightning, are you?”
“No. Only when I was little.”
“Good. Lightning is nothing to be afraid of.” Crandall patted the girl on the cheek, then climbed into her chair and buckled herself in.
The three of them sat quietly in the darkening cockpit as the Straton sailed toward some thin, layered clouds that preceded the wall of thunderstorms. Wisps of light gray flew past the windshield. The Straton bounced suddenly, and from the lounge came a wailing and moaning that Berry recognized instinctively as something very primeval, an ancient inborn terror that came from the very soul of the species. “Poor bastards.” They were going to be hurt if it got very bad. There was nothing he could do for them.
The alerting bell sounded.
TO FLIGHT 52: NO INDICATION AT THIS END THAT WEATHER IS AVOIDABLE CONSIDERING YOUR ESTIMATED FUEL RESERVE AND CONSIDERING THE UNPRESSURIZED CONDITION OF THE AIRCRAFT. MAINTAIN PRESENT HEADING AND ALTITUDE AS YOU INDICATED. IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU ALTER CENTER OF GRAVITY FOR TURBULENCE BY TRANSFERRING FUEL BETWEEN TANKS. STAND BY FOR DETAILED INSTRUCTION. ACKNOWLEDGE A READY CONDITION. SAN FRANCISCO HQ.
Berry typed.
EXPERIENCING SOME TURBULENCE. SHOULD I CIRCLE TO AVOID TURBULENCE BEFORE PROCEDURE IS COMPLETE?
The reply came quickly.
NEGATIVE. MAINTAIN HEADING. PROCEDURE WILL TAKE ONLY TWO OR THREE MINUTES. ALL CONTROLS ARE LOCATED ON OVERHEAD PANEL.
“Okay.” Berry looked up at the large panel above his head. “Sharon, read me the instructions as they print.”
“Here it comes, John. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“In the center of… the overhead panel… four switches… labeled… low pressure fuel valve position… acknowledge…”
“I see them.”
“Good.” Crandall typed a quick acknowledgment. “Okay… here comes more… Turn the switches… to off…”
Berry looked over at her. “All of them?” He glanced down at the display screen himself, but at the angle he was at it was difficult to read.
“That’s what it says.”
Berry looked back at the switches. There was something wrong. Some instinct told him to be careful. To proceed cautiously. He remembered a line from an aviation magazine. Operate important switches one at a time. He put his hand on switch number one. Tentatively, he pulled it toward him so it would clear its guard, then pushed down on it and moved it to the off position. He counted off a few seconds.
“Done?”
Berry looked around the cockpit, then scanned the panel in front of him. Nothing unusual was happening.
“Did you do it?”
“Wait a minute. That’s just the first one.”
Crandall looked back at him. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. I’m just proceeding cautiously.”
Crandall turned to the console. “They want an acknowledgment.”
“Tell them to hold their fucking horses.” Berry hit the second switch, then the third, and finally the last. He sat very still but could feel nothing in the seat of his pants to indicate any transfer of fuel, any shift in center of gravity. Maybe the autopilot was compensating. It probably was. “Finished. Is that all?”
Crandall typed the acknowledgment, then read the next message as it came through. “Last step… a covered switch… labeled… fuel valve emergency power… engage the switch… then fuel transfer… will be done… automatically… it will take… two or three more minutes.”