“The Colombian troops!” he shouted at Meg. “They found the place!”
He turned back to the right and glanced at the compass, bringing the airplane on a heading of due south. The blood had blown away from much of the windshield now, and although there were still a lot of hundred-dollar bills stuck to it, he could see reasonably well.
Cat eased back on the throttle. He had to get rid of some of the vibration, or the airplane would break up. He came back from full power to twenty inches of manifold pressure. There was still vibration, but it was not nearly so bad.
“Where are we going?” Meg asked.
“We can’t go back there,” Cat said. “They don’t know who’s in the airplane. They’ll blow us out of the sky. I’m going to make for the Amazon. It’s the only place to go — there’s nothing but jungle for hundreds of miles.”
He got the airplane trimmed and as settled as he could, then looked at the fuel gauges: less than a quarter of each tank. How far was it to the Amazon? A hundred and forty-five nautical miles, he estimated. They were flying at about a hundred and ten knots. A little more than an hour. He eased back on the yoke and gained some altitude, taking the airplane up to a thousand feet or so. He didn’t want to be high enough to attract the attention of another Colombian army helicopter, but he wanted some gliding room if the fuel ran out.
By simply flying south, he would come to the river, eventually. He thought that was better than trying to aim for Leticia, which lay south and slightly west — he might miss it. He would find the river, then turn right and fly along it until he came to the town. Simple enough, if the fuel held out. If it didn’t, he was going to have to put this airplane down, and there didn’t seem to be anyplace to put it except into the treetops.
“I managed this,” Meg said, holding up the canvas-and-leather grip.
Cat laughed aloud. “Terrific! We may need some travelling expenses!”
Jinx looked at them both as if they were crazy. “Daddy,” she said, “when did you learn to fly an airplane?”
Cat looked back at her and laughed. “I’ll tell you all about it later, kiddo! Right now, both of you get your seat belts on. We may not have enough fuel.” They did as they were told.
Cat relaxed a little, but not much. He still couldn’t believe they were alive, and they weren’t out of it yet. He thought about Dell and a lump gathered in his throat. He wondered what it would have been like if he had made it out. Would it have been different? Better? He would never know. He thought about Bluey Holland. He would have to explain about Bluey and his daughter to Jinx. The man had died trying to find her. He thought about Meg, sitting beside him. He’d have to figure that out later.
Cat glanced at his watch. They had been flying an hour and seven minutes. He strained his eyes ahead and thought he saw a brown streak across the jungle. The engine coughed. Straight and level, he told himself, straight and level. Get the most out of the fuel. The engine coughed again. They were not going to make Leticia, but they might make the river. The brown streak was wider now. It was out there. Eight, nine miles, maybe? The engine stopped, then started again. He checked the altimeter: a thousand feet. What was the glide ratio? Two miles for every thousand feet of altitude? That was for the Cessna, but the Maule had fixed landing gear, creating more drag. Surely, it wouldn’t glide as far.
He turned to the two women. “Listen, we’re almost out of fuel. I’m going to try for the river, and if we make it, we’ll have to ditch. The airplane will probably turn upside down when the landing gear hits, so tighten your seat belts. Since the tanks are about empty, the airplane should float, at least for a little while. Wait until we stop moving, then unbuckle and get the hell out, okay?”
Meg and Jinx nodded.
Cat looked at the river; it was only a couple of miles now. They might make it. As he thought that, the engine coughed and died. Cat held back the yoke and let the airspeed bleed away. Best glide speed for the Cessna was eighty knots, probably a little slower for the Maule. He looked at the river and saw what seemed to be a little passenger steamer headed upstream, toward Leticia. He pointed the airplane at it.
When they crossed the riverbank, he still had a hundred feet of altitude. He made a right turn and aimed the gliding airplane upstream. They shot past the steamer, a couple of hundred yards to his left. The river seemed about five miles wide here. He glanced around at Meg and Jinx. Both were staring, wide-eyed, at the brown water ahead, rushing up to meet them.
Cat grabbed the handle and put in twenty degrees of flaps. The airplane floated a little and slowed down. When they were twenty feet off the water, he put in the full flaps, then put both hands on the yoke. The stall speed must be something like thirty-five or forty knots, he reckoned. He held the nose up, bleeding off speed; until the stall warning horn went off. He let the airplane down from there, keeping the horn going, right on the edge of a stall. When they were almost skimming the water, he brought the yoke back into his lap. The nose came up slightly, and he felt the airplane’s tail bump the water.
A second later, the airplane’s nose dropped, and the world turned upside down with a wrenching jolt. Suddenly, all Cat could hear was the sound of rushing water.
“Is everybody okay?”
He got two positive answers. Bracing a hand against the ceiling of the airplane, he got his seat belt undone, then helped Jinx with hers. Meg was already free and opening a door. The high-winged airplane was floating, high and dry. Cat helped Jinx out Meg’s door, then grabbed the canvas-and-leather grip and went out his side.
They stood on the airplane’s wings and looked around them. They were drifting with the current, the trees on shore a hundred yards away moving past them. Cat looked upstream and saw the steamer turning downstream toward them.
“Hey, Cat!” It was Jinx’s voice. She sounded like her old self.
He looked across the inverted airplane’s fuselage at her. They all looked ridiculous, he thought, standing on an upside-down airplane’s wings in the middle of the Amazon river, dressed in tennis clothes. “What is it?” he called back to her.
“You could lose your license, you know, doing this to an airplane!”
Cat roared with laughter. “Are you kidding? What license?”
Epilogue
Cat was in the kitchen making a sandwich when the intercom rang. It was the security guard, down at the gate.
“There’s a Mr. Drummond here, Mr. Catledge. Do you know him?”
“I know him,” Cat said. “Send him up to the house.”
He padded through the house in his bare feet, tossing his sweat socks at the washing machine along the way, and opened the front door.
It was Jim. He looked fresher than the last time Cat had seen him, in the hotel room in Washington. His suit was neatly pressed, and he was closely shaved. “Hi,” he said.
“Come in, come in,” Cat said, pumping the man’s hand. “What a surprise! I’m delighted to see you!”
“I was changing planes at the airport,” Jim said, “and I had a couple of hours layover. I just thought I’d look in on you. I’m sorry I didn’t call first.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re here,” Cat said, clapping him on the back. “Sorry about the guard — we’ve had a lot of press attention since Meg’s piece ran on the Today show. Jinx and Meg are playing tennis. Let’s go into the study and have a drink before we go down to them.” He propelled Jim into the study and gave him a chair. “What’ll you have?”
“I guess I’ve got time for a small scotch.”
Cat made the drinks and flopped down onto the leather sofa. “You know,” he said, “I thought I might never see you again, and I’ve got a lot to tell you.”