Chapter 2 - Open the Cockpit Door
Jillian stared at my raised hand.
For a second, she seemed convinced I was joking.
“You?” she asked.
I looked down at Norah.
She had awakened.
Her small fingers tightened around her teddy bear.
“Dad?”
I touched her shoulder.
“I need you to stay here for a minute.”
The aircraft shuddered again.
Harder.
Glasses rattled. Someone screamed three rows behind us. A man grabbed the seat in front of him.
Jillian caught herself against an overhead compartment.
I looked at her.
“You asked for military flight experience.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
That wasn't the answer she wanted.
“What did you fly?”
I hesitated.
Some parts of my old life were buried for a reason.
“Fixed-wing. Rotary. Multi-engine.”
Her expression changed.
“Combat?”
“Yes.”
“How recently?”
“Nine years.”
The airplane dropped suddenly.
Norah screamed.
I caught her against me while luggage slammed inside the overhead bins.
When the aircraft stabilized, Jillian wasn't skeptical anymore.
“Come with me.”
“Dad.”
I crouched beside Norah.
She looked terrified.
“I'll come back.”
“You promised you'd stay right here.”
That hurt more than it should have.
“I know.”
“You said your most important job was being my dad.”
“It is.”
“Then don't go.”
Around us, frightened strangers were beginning to understand why Jillian had stopped beside our seats.
I took Norah's little hand.
“Sometimes being your dad means I have to help make sure you get home.”
Her lower lip trembled.
Then she handed me the teddy bear.
“Take him.”
I stared at it.
“For luck,” she whispered.
I tucked the battered bear beneath my arm.
Then I followed Jillian.
As we moved toward the front, Douglas Martinez stepped into the aisle.
“Excuse me. What's happening?”
“Sit down, sir,” Jillian ordered.
Douglas looked at me.
“Why is he going forward?”
“Sit down.”
“I have twenty years in aerospace technology.”
I stopped.
“You're a pilot?”
“No, but my company develops aviation software.”
“Then sit down.”
His face reddened.
Jillian almost smiled.
We kept moving.
The closer we got to the cockpit, the more I felt something I hadn't felt in nine years.
Not fear.
Memory.
The smell of electronics.
The low vibration beneath the floor.
The strange sensation of knowing hundreds of lives were contained inside a machine moving through darkness at hundreds of miles per hour.
Jillian entered a code.
The cockpit door opened.
And everything changed.
The captain was conscious but barely.
Blood ran from his temple.
The first officer, a woman in her forties, was fighting the controls.
“Who is this?” she demanded.
“Military pilot.”
“What platform?”
I gave her the abbreviated answer.
Her head snapped toward me.
“You're kidding.”
“No.”
“Sit.”
I did.
Captain Ellis turned weakly toward me.
“Autopilot disconnected during the first event. We've got inconsistent control response and partial instrument disagreement.”
“Hydraulics?”
“Pressure's fluctuating.”
“Engines?”
“Both producing thrust.”
“Navigation?”
The first officer answered.
“Primary display says one thing. Standby disagrees by enough that I don't trust either.”
I put on the headset.
My hands settled near the controls.
And for the first time in almost a decade, Warren Hayes disappeared.
The man I used to be returned.
Not the crime boss.
Not the father.
The pilot.
“What's your name?” the first officer asked.
“Warren.”
“I'm Rachel Morgan.”
Another violent vibration passed through the aircraft.
I studied the panel.
Something was wrong.
But it wasn't random.
I watched the indications.
Then again.
Same interval.
Same pattern.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Watch the left-side data.”
She did.
A reading jumped.
Then settled.
Then jumped again.
Her face changed.
“That shouldn't repeat.”
“No.”
Captain Ellis whispered, “Electrical fault?”
“Maybe.”
I didn't believe it.
Machines failed chaotically.
This looked deliberate.
I reached toward a panel.
“Don't,” Rachel said.
I stopped.
“Why?”
“We already isolated two systems.”
“Which ones?”
She showed me.
I stared at the switches.
A cold sensation moved down my spine.
“Who told you to isolate those?”
“Maintenance checklist.”
“Onboard?”
“No. Dispatch transmitted it.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Before the captain asked for help.
I looked at her.
“Reconnect nothing.”
Rachel studied my face.
“Why?”
“Because somebody may be feeding you bad instructions.”
Silence.
Captain Ellis tried to sit straighter.
“You're saying sabotage?”
“I'm saying don't trust anything we haven't verified ourselves.”
Then a warning illuminated.
Rachel cursed.
Our heading began drifting.
I took the controls.
The yoke felt heavy.
Familiar.
Terrifyingly familiar.
“Warren?”
“I've got it.”
The nose responded slowly.
I corrected.
The airplane steadied.
Behind us were more than two hundred passengers.
One of them was my daughter.
And suddenly this wasn't about getting to London.
It was about finding out who wanted this aircraft not to get there.
Then Jillian's voice came through the interphone.
“Cockpit?”
Rachel answered.
“What?”
A pause.
Then Jillian said something that made every person in the cockpit look at the locked door.
“We have a passenger asking specifically for Warren Hayes.”
My blood went cold.
Rachel looked at me.
“Does somebody know you?”
I stared at the cockpit door.
“Apparently.”
“Who?”
Jillian's next words answered that question.
“He says to tell Mr. Hayes that this plane isn't having a mechanical failure.”
I tightened my grip on the controls.
“What else?”
May you like
Another pause.
“He says this is a message.”
