Goddard turned quickly, half expecting to see something evil already standing there. He had learned long ago not to argue with his instincts. He closed the cockpit door and slid the security bolt into the locked position.
Confident the cockpit was now secure, he stepped close to the door and peered out through the peephole, looking around the cabin. Nothing had changed. Mr. Sneakers was still asleep.
Goddard expelled a breath. He was now alone in one of the world’s most advanced cockpits, with enough specialized equipment and electronic switches to fill thousands of pages worth of aircraft manuals — but at least the cockpit was secure.
The question was, now what could he do?
Goddard sank to the floor with his back to the cockpit door. It was starting to sink in that he was never going to reach the auction. That opportunity was gone. Fact was, it was highly unlikely he would ever get the aircraft safely on the ground.
It had come down to a matter of life and death now.
He took a few deep breaths to try to help clear his mind. He had to be realistic and focus on survival now. Opportunities in the art world, he reminded himself, came and went.
The responsibility to join the Eternity Masks would have to be passed on to someone else.
He’d heard somewhere that pilots spend less than ten percent of their time at the controls, physically flying the plane. Most of that wasn’t even in the air — it was while the aircraft taxied to its runway, on the ground. Despite that, he wasn’t going to delude himself that it would be easy to maneuver the behemoth modern aircraft. Using the proper settings, the aircraft itself could take off, land, and maintain a straight and level flight. But it still took pilots years, if not decades, to know when and how to set those computer systems.
The lines across his brow deepened as he frowned.
None of that was going to help him though, because he didn’t have a clue what the proper settings were…or which switches and buttons to use to engage any of them.
But maybe there was someone out there who did.
He stood up. They’d been in the air for what…ten… eleven hours — if he’d calculated it right. He didn’t have enough time to go through the manuals before they ran out of fuel. But hanging in front of the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats were two headsets.
He’d never flown a plane, but he had used a two-way radio before. All he had to do was get hold of someone who could direct him how to bring the aircraft low enough to increase the oxygen level… if he could do that, surely someone else on board — any of the five hundred some passengers and crew — would know how to land the plane.
Goddard swallowed hard and tried to put the thought of how many lives were at stake out of his mind. Sitting down in the pilot’s seat, he strapped himself into the awkward harness, and tightened it, reassuringly.
He put the headphones on. In the middle console between the two seats was the one panel in the sea of controls that he recognized: the radio.
He wasn’t sure what the frequencies should be, but each channel had an “actual” and “standby” frequency already set up. He could only hope that the channels were set up to transmit and receive information locally.
He depressed the transmit button.
But found that nothing would come out of his throat, it was so tight. He released the button, coughed, then tried again.
A hoarse croak came out.
“Mayday, Mayday,” Goddard said, recalling every movie he’d seen with an aircraft incident. “This is Phoenix Airlines flight number 318. We have an emergency and we need help.”
Emergency didn’t seem to cover the weirdness of the situation.
He released the button and waited.
After a moment, a voice answered in a heavily accented, sickeningly calm, English. “Phoenix Airlines flight, can you repeat your aircraft number?”
Goddard swallowed.
If he hadn’t been strapped in place by his harness, he would have slumped over with relief. Someone had responded. Maybe even someone who knew what was going on. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It meant he was no longer all on his own. The responsibility for nearly five hundred passengers and crew no longer rested squarely on his shoulders.
One thing was certain; the air traffic controller was going to have a much better idea how to handle the situation than he did. They must have procedures in place, people to call, resources to draw upon, maybe even a nearby military fighter jet that could be scrambled to help guide him through everything and stay by his side.
Goddard took another breath.
Actually, he didn’t care who he was talking to. Not yet. He’d made contact. That was step one. Step two. He needed to find out how to take the plane off autopilot and reduce altitude.
“This is Phoenix Airlines flight number 318 from LaGuardia to Marco Polo, Venice. We have an emergency and need assistance.”
There was no response this time.
His hand hovered over the switch that would have swapped the actual and standby channels. Maybe he should try the other one. Maybe he’d just moved out of range. But the voice had sounded crisp and clear.
He told himself to be patient. They had to be calculating and triangulating his location or something — they can do that, right? — trying at lightning speed to figure out the nearest landing locations.
After thirty seconds that felt more like thirty minutes, he couldn’t stand it.
He tried again. “Hello? Are you still there? This is Phoenix flight 318. I’m the only person conscious on the plane…I don’t know if the plane depressurized at some point or…what happened. Everyone else on the plane is out cold. I’m just a passenger. I have no idea how to fly this plane and I need help. Can anyone hear me? I need someone who can explain this to me, step by step. I need to know exactly what to do. There are a lot of lives riding on this. Please help me!”
His throat was tightening again. He’d lost contact. He was going to die. He let go of the transmit button and waited.
It was all he could do.
After a few seconds, the same calm, strangely accented voice responded. “Sir, we treat this sort of hoax with the utmost severity. I don’t know how you accessed this channel, but if you abuse it again, we will have you arrested and formally charged.”
Goddard was set back.
What the hell?
In desperation, he tried to explain himself.
He tried to speak. Choked. His tongue was too dry to talk.
“Sir, this is Phoenix flight 318. I don’t know what you’re talking about…this is a serious, genuine emergency. This is not a prank. I need help, or this entire plane full of people is going to crash. There must be hundreds of people onboard.” His voice sounded strained over the headset. “I’m not lying. I need help. I woke up out of a dead sleep and nothing is…nothing is right.”
The voice responded in an angry tone, “Sir, we are calculating your radio position. You will be formally charged for this unauthorized intrusion into our channels.”
Goddard shouted, “This is not a hoax! Why can’t you understand what’s going on? We’re going to crash, and you’re treating me like I’m some kind of lunatic!”
There was another pause.
Goddard felt his heart beating in the back of his ears as he inadvertently held his breath.
The voice replied, “Sir, Phoenix Flight 318 crashed three days ago!”
Goddard felt his chest constrict, his whole body slumped forward, for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “No! That’s impossible!”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” the air traffic controller said. “But they’ve already located the wreckage. There were no survivors…”