Cat had calculated a time en route of just less than four hours. They were less than an hour out of Cali when the first clouds appeared. They were in and out of them, which, technically, was illegal when flying under visual flight rules, or VFR, but Cat pressed on. He had no intention of landing at some other airport, not when Jinx might be waiting in Cali.
When they were handed off from the Center radio operator to Cali Approach, the operator said, “Call is three hundred overcast, wind two six zero at six. Expect the ILS for two seven zero.”
Cat froze. ILS was an instrument approach. He had never flown an instrument approach and knew little about how to do it. He racked his brain for what his instructor might have told him.
“Turn right to zero nine zero,” the controller said suddenly. “Vectors for the ILS.”
Cat acknowledged the transmission. The controller was going to put him onto the approach. Now he remembered. The ILS was the instrument landing system, the one where you used two needles, one vertical and one horizontal, to stay on the approach. He tried to be calm. The autopilot was keeping the airplane straight and level in the cloud. He was all right for the moment, but he needed a radio frequency. He turned to Meg, trying to stay as calm as possible. “Say, look in that airport directory, will you, and give me the frequency for the ILS.”
Meg consulted the book. “It’s one, one, zero, point one.”
“Descend to seven thousand feet,” the controller said.
Cat started a descent with the autopilot, fighting panic. He dialed in the frequency for the ILS. As he did so he watched the instrument before him. The vertical needle swung sharply to the right, and the horizontal needle rose to the top of the dial.
“Turn right to two four zero degrees and intercept the ILS,” the controller said.
Cat quickly turned the autopilot control to the correct heading and watched as the airplane turned itself and the vertical needle, which represented the centerline of the runway, moved closer and closer to the center of the dial. He had to do something, abort this approach, land somewhere else. He wasn’t qualified to fly this airplane down to three hundred feet in cloud. He would kill them both. He was about to call the tower and abort when he noticed a button on the autopilot that read “APPR.” It was worth a try. He pushed the button. Immediately, the airplane turned left and the vertical needle centered. They were on the runway centerline, and the autopilot was still flying the airplane.
“Outer marker in two miles,” the controller said.
What the hell was the outer marker? Cat, frozen, watched the horizontal needle, the glide slope, move down toward the center of the needle. Suddenly an alarm went off, and a light flashed on the instrument panel. The airplane started to descend again, and both needles were centered. The outer marker must have been where the glide slope began.
Cat had just breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that something was wrong. The airspeed had crept into the yellow arc on the dial and was headed for the red. Quickly, he eased the throttle back, and the airspeed returned to the green arc. He put in ten degrees of flaps, and the airplane slowed further. The needles were still centered. The autopilot would fly the approach, but it couldn’t control the throttle.
Suddenly, they were out of the cloud, and the runway centerline was a mile dead ahead of them. Gratefully, shakily, Cat reduced speed further and came to twenty degrees of flaps. He switched off the autopilot and began flying the airplane himself. A moment later, they were on the ground.
“Hey, that was a pretty slick approach,” Meg said.
“Thanks,” Cat managed to reply, between deep breaths. His shirt was wet under the bush jacket. He had just done something very stupid; he had, with no experience at all, risked their lives on a complex procedure. He vowed he would never do anything in an airplane again until he had been thoroughly trained to do it.
As the airplane rolled down the runway, he saw a hangar with the name “Aeroservice” painted on it. He turned off the runway at the next taxiway and headed toward it. As he approached the hangar, a lineman ran out and directed him to a parking spot. Cat cut the engine and looked up. Ahead of them and to their right, he could see inside the hangar. He tensed.
“Look,” he said, nodding at the airplane parked inside.
“Is it a Gulfstream?” Meg asked.
“Yes. I’ve seen a couple of them at the airport I fly out of in Atlanta. It’s the biggest private jet available.”
They climbed down from the airplane and unloaded their luggage. Cat asked the lineman for the office, and the man pointed to a glassed-in room inside the hangar. They walked slowly past the big jet, and Cat noted the tail number. It began with an N; that meant it was American registered. On the tail was a much larger version of the drawing of the snake in the tree on the matchbook in his pocket.
He made arrangements for tie-down and fuel with the young man at the desk, who seemed very friendly. “Say,” he said to the man, “isn’t that a Gulfstream out there?”
“Yes, señor. It is beautiful, no?”
“Yes indeed. I’ve never seen one up close. Who owns it?”
“A local business here in Cali.”
“But it has an American registration number.”
“Ah, yes. The company headquarters is in the States, you see.”
“I wonder if we could have a look inside her? I’ve never been aboard one before.”
The young man was shaking his head, but he stopped when he saw the hundred-dollar bill Cat was pushing toward him on the desk. “Just a moment, señor.” He left the office and had a careful look outside the hangar, then returned. “You may go aboard her for just a moment, señor,” he said. He led the way out of the office and toward the airplane. The door, incorporating a boarding ladder, was open.
Showing Meg ahead of him, Cat climbed aboard the jet, followed by the young man. They found themselves in a large cabin decorated in black leather and rosewood. The carpet was thick under their feet.
“See if you can occupy this guy back here for a moment,” he whispered to Meg.
She nodded. “Is this the bar?” she asked, pointing to some cupboards.
“Yes, señora.” The young man opened the doors to display a collection of liquor bottles.
“And where is the galley?” she asked.
“Back here, señora,” he said, leading the way.
Cat walked quickly through the airplane to the cockpit, which was a maze of dials and instruments. Breathing hard, he searched for something he knew must be there. A.R.R.O.W., he told himself. Airworthiness certificate, radio license, registration, Operator’s handbook, and weight and balance restrictions — the documents that had to be aboard every aircraft.
He found them in a plastic envelope fixed to a bulkhead and quickly went through them.
“Señor!” The voice was sharp behind him.
He slipped the documents back into their envelope and turned around.
The young man was irate. “You must not tamper with the cockpit!”
“I just wanted to see what it was like up front,” Cat smiled. “Gosh, there sure is a lot of equipment, isn’t there?”
The young man relaxed a bit. “Yes, I suppose so. We must leave the airplane now. Someone might come, and I would get into trouble.” He led them back down the boarding ladder.