Code 15 (23 page)

As he always did when he was giving a lesson, Ben monitored the tower’s frequency.

When he heard Morgan’s urgent transmission, he was helping a nervous student on his first landing. Ben took control of the airplane, aborted the landing, and then called the tower to inform them that he would assist by escorting the pilot in.

Morgan’s radio crackled, “Cirrus One-Niner-Five. What’s your present status?”

She recognized Ben’s voice immediately. She reached for her microphone.

“I . . . I’m experiencing considerable vertigo and double vision.”

While climbing to two thousand feet, Ben completed a tight turn until he was heading due west. “Okay, Morgan. Are you able to give me your position?”

Morgan lowered her eyes from the horizon. Struggling to pick up any visual clues from the indistinct ground structures, she finally recognized Route 27, which marked the eastern extent of the Everglades.

She keyed her microphone. “I’m a mile or so west of Twenty-seven.”

“Can you make out your altitude?” he asked.

Squinting and moving her head back and forth to see the altimeter, she answered, “I think I’m at eighteen hundred feet.”

“I’m five miles east of you. I’m going to line up on your right wing and bring you in. I should have a visual in a couple of minutes. You’ll be fine. Just hold your head steady, stay calm, and concentrate on your flying. We’ll get you home.”

“I’m getting worse, Ben. I . . . I can barely read my instruments,” she answered in a cracked and frightened voice.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Don’t change your course. You’re due west of the airport and lined up fine. We’ll have you down in a couple of minutes.”

When she looked out of her window she could make out the shadowy silhouette of Ben’s blue-and-white Cessna moving in off of her wing. She guessed he was about three hundred feet away.

“Okay, Morgan. The tower has cleared all the traffic and authorized a straight-in approach. I’m going to take you all the way in.”

Morgan looked over the top of the Cirrus’s silver prop. Every few seconds she stole a glance out of her window to make sure she was still on Ben’s wing.

“Can you see the runway?” Ben asked. “It’s dead ahead.”

It took her only a few seconds to find it but it looked more like a slithering serpent than three thousand feet of straight asphalt.

“I . . . I see it,” she told him.

“Great. We’re about five miles out. You’re a little high, Morgan. Ease her down at about three hundred feet. If you have trouble seeing your instruments, just focus on my right wingtip. “Is your vision any better?”

“It’s still very fuzzy,” she answered, struggling to sound unruffled.

From the mounting spasm in the small muscles of her hands, she knew her grip on the controls was too tight. Forcing herself to relax, she eased the yoke forward coaxing the plane to again descend.

“That’s perfect,” Ben said. “Your flight path’s perfect. That’s I-75 right below us. You’re doing great, Morgan. Don’t bother communicating with me unless you have to. Just concentrate on your flying.”

Leaning forward over the controls, she stared out over the nose of the aircraft. Among a myriad of small buildings and other objects that flowed into each other in a kaleidoscope of indistinguishable shapes, Morgan was able to make out the trailer park that was just to the north of the airport. She had made this same approach hundreds of times before and knew every landmark.

“Just stay with me,” Ben said. “We’re only a couple of miles from the field. You’re lined up fine. Let’s drop down a little more.”

Morgan tried to nudge the controls forward but this time she pushed too hard, sending the nose of the aircraft plunging.

“Ease her back up,” Ben said in a calm voice. “You’re doing fine. You should be able to see the numbers.”

Slowing her breathing and fighting off the nausea, Morgan pulled back on the controls.

“I see them.”

“Good. You’re a little fast, Morgan. Ease off on your power. Bring her down to about eight hundred feet.” Morgan forced her eyes open, fastening them on the 9L painted on the end of the runway. “You’re drifting a little left, Morgan. Bring her back a little.”

She nudged the plane back to the right. She glanced out the window just long enough to make sure she was still lined up on Ben’s wingtip. Along with the pounding vibration of the engine, she could feel her wingtips drifting up and down. Her instinct told her she was less than a minute from touchdown. All at once, everything she had ever learned about landing an airplane flooded her mind. Although she could hear Ben’s transmissions, his voice had become surreal, as if all this was happening in a fantasy.

Morgan fought to stay lined up on the middle of the runway, but it seemed to pitch from side to side as if she were trying to land on an aircraft carrier in rough seas. She swallowed hard. The adrenaline pumped into her bloodstream, whipping her heart furiously.

She eased back on her controls.

“You’re right on the money, Morgan. Just keep it on the centerline.”

Morgan watched as the ground rushed up at her faster than she anticipated. Her corrections were clumsy and unschooled, forcing the airplane to slip treacherously to the right.

“C’mon,” she screamed, pulling the Cirrus back on course. “Have you forgotten how to land an airplane, for God’s sake? You’re greasing it. Pull the nose up. You’re coming in too high. Right rudder. Use some flaps.”

The runway streaked by. Fighting off the panic that now had her in a death hold, Morgan pulled the plane’s nose up, putting the Cirrus into a controlled stall. More and more of the runway continued to race past. She pulled the throttle all the way back, praying she’d touch down with enough runway to roll to a safe stop.

The plane continued to fall until, finally, the landing gear slammed against the runway. But the rough touchdown sent the right wing soaring and Morgan careening into the door. Fighting to keep control as the plane hurtled down the runway on one wheel, Morgan finally forced the wing down, allowing both wheels to grab the runway.

Even though she was now on the ground, she had come in much too fast. Refusing to lose the battle now, Morgan quickly gained control of the plane and brought it back to the centerline. Whatever glimmer of relief she felt was quickly extinguished as she saw the end of the runway charging at her. Having no other choice, she crunched down on the brakes, sending the plane into an oblique skid. For the first time, Morgan’s eyes slammed shut. But instead of the plane doing a ground loop as she had intended, it came to a rapid stop on the last turnoff.

Slowly opening her eyes, Morgan shut down the engine. Then, consumed by an overpowering feeling of relief, she leaned forward across the controls and dropped her head. Forcing herself to take one slow breath after another, her only thoughts were for her baby.

It was only a matter of seconds before she heard knocking at the passenger-side door. She looked up at the anxious men in paramedic uniforms staring at her. She leaned over and flipped up the lock.

The two men helped her out of the plane and onto a stretcher. After they made sure she was strapped in securely, they wheeled her to a waiting ambulance.

Ben touched down five minutes after Morgan, taxied over to his flight school, and quickly got into his car.

When he pulled up to her hangar, he saw her sitting on the side of the stretcher flanked by the two paramedics. Both men had their arms folded. He got out of his car and started toward them.

“I’m feeling a lot better,” he heard her reassure them. “I’m an emergency room physician. I think I’d know if I needed to go to a hospital.”

By this time, Ben was just a few steps away. Morgan looked up. Her face was drained of blood. Supporting herself like a tripod, she sat with her arms locked out with her hands grasping the handles of the stretcher

“Dr. Connolly, we’re just trying to—”

“I appreciate your concern,” she told the skeptical paramedic, “but I’m fine now.”

Ben pointed to her tummy. “The next time you and junior decide to go flying without a copilot, you might want to bring along a Hershey Bar.”

Morgan reached for Ben’s hands and gripped them tightly. Turning her head all the way to the side and looking at him through eyes that were starting to swell with tears, she said, “Thanks for getting me down.”

“You’re a great pilot. You got yourself down.”

“Please tell these guys that I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she said with pleading eyes. “I’m already feeling a hundred percent better.”

Ben turned to the paramedics. “I’m Dr. Docherty. How’s she doing?”

The more senior of the two answered. “Her vital signs are fine, but she’s still pretty unsteady. We gave her an IV bolus of glucose and then checked her blood sugar.”

“What was it?” he asked.

“One-twenty,” Morgan piped in before either of the paramedics could answer. “I’m feeling fine and I’m going home. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Morgan glared at Ben, leaving little doubt in his mind as to her feelings regarding a visit to the emergency room.

“She seems like she’s getting better, and I don’t think we can change her mind about letting us take her to the ER.”

“I could have told you that fifteen minutes ago and saved you guys a lot of time,” he said, covering a smile with his hand and then snugging his aviator sunglasses a little higher on the bridge of his nose. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll hang out with Dr. Connolly and keep an eye on her. If she’s not a hundred percent in the next half hour or so, I’ll transport her to the hospital myself. How’s that?”

After exchanging a dubious look with his partner, the first paramedic said, “Okay, Doc.”

They then helped Morgan down from the stretcher and over to Ben’s car. She managed to get in with only a small amount of assistance. They drove over to Morgan’s hangar, got out, and sat down on two vinyl lawn chairs that were on borrowed time. The wind had picked up a little and there was a large cluster of thunderheads gathering to the west.

Ben leaned forward, picked up a handful of stones, and tossed them one at a time in the direction of a rusted-out oil drum that was now a makeshift garbage can.

“Maybe we should give Jenny Silverman a call,” he suggested. “She might want you to come in for some blood work and an ultrasound.”

“I’ll call her when I get home. I really think the whole thing was caused by low blood sugar. I’m a lot better since I got the sugar.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting the flu,” he suggested.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She paused for a moment before going on, “Did I thank you for getting me down?”

“I think so.”

“I guess I’ll have to talk with the FAA,” she said.

“You’ll have to fill out a report. With your record, I don’t think it will be a big deal.”

A defeated look crossed her face. Morgan had told Ben about the letter from AHCA the same day she’d received it.

“I guess I’m getting kind of used to being investigated by governmental agencies.”

“Take it easy on yourself,” he said, sensing his advice had fallen well short of the mark. “Let’s just call your recent bad luck inconsequential missteps in the great trek of life,” he added.

“I’m not in the mood, Ben.”

“Sorry,” he said, coming to his feet. “C’mon, I’ll take you home. I’ll come back later with one of my guys and get your car.” He extended his hand. “Do you think you can walk?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I don’t think so,” he responded, helping her out of the chair.

“What about my airplane?”

Ben pointed across the airfield at Morgan’s plane, which was moving slowly toward them on the taxiway.

“I called Mike. He’ll hangar it for you. It’s pretty hot out here, Morgan. Let’s get going.”

Seeing she was still a little wobbly, Ben held on to her arm.

She asked, “Did you call my office and leave a message for me to come over to your school and see you before I took off?”

“No.”

“Will you do me a favor and see if any of your instructors or office staff did?”

“Sure,” Ben said, gesturing toward his car.

“Let’s wait a couple of minutes. I want to get my flight bag out of the plane.”

“I’ll bring it to you later when I drop your car off,” he offered, noticing that the color in her face was slowly returning.

“I’d rather wait for it. There’s something in there that I need.”

“What could be so important in your flight bag?”

“Why do you need to ask so many questions?”

“Sorry. I think it’s a great idea to wait for your flight bag.”

Ben helped Morgan back into the chair. They watched in silence as Mike taxied her plane up to the hangar.

 

 

GIDEON took a few steps away from his car. Standing beside a freshly painted chain-link fence, he watched a silver banner plane swoop down, tail hook a long white streamer advertising a new Fort Lauderdale café, and then begin a lumbering climb to the east. Being a man who prided himself on meticulous attention to detail, he was overjoyed with his triumph. Having monitored every tower and plane-to-plane transmission, he knew her flight had unfolded exactly as he had hoped. He slipped the binoculars back into their brown leather case. Now that he was sure she had returned unscathed, the prospect of inflicting even greater emotional pain on her before she died pleased him to no end.

Instead of basking in his triumph, Gideon climbed back into his car and started for the airport exit. Following behind a group of careless cyclists, he closed the distance to no more than a few feet from a small woman who trailed the pack. Waiting for her to turn around and discover her peril, he wondered if Dr. Connolly had the deductive powers to figure out that her sudden illness at twenty-five hundred feet might not have occurred by pure chance. If she were able to connect the dots, it would certainly make the game more interesting.