Test Pilot's Daughter: Revenge (28 page)

“
Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” Christina said calmly. “I could swim that far if I had to.” Out of nowhere, an image of Jessica shot through her mind, and a sharp dagger of pain cramped her stomach. “If only Jessica were here to see this.” Back on the radio she took a deep breath and said, “Miami approach, we’re clear of clouds. I’d like to leave the autopilot on to five miles out, then you can vector me to the runway of your choice.”

“
That’s a Roger, Niner Niner Kilo; you’re cleared into Class B. Descend to 2,500 and give me a call when you have the airport in sight. Expect 27 Left.”

At seven miles out, the parallel runways of Miami International came into focus. It was a sight for sore eyes. They were home free now. All Christina had to do was make a simple landing under ideal conditions. She looked at the fuel gauges, and once again started to tense. Both gauges pegged on empty.

Just give me enough for seven more miles,
she prayed. “Miami approach, Niner Niner Kilo, airport in sight.”

“
Roger, Niner Niner Kilo, contact the tower on 123.9.”

Billy dialed in the new frequency.

“
Miami tower, this is Saratoga Two Eight Niner Niner Kilo, airport in sight.”

“
Roger, Niner Niner Kilo, turn right to Three Six Zero and descend to 1,200.”

“
That’s three-six-zero, down to 1,200.”

She flipped off the autopilot and made the right turn. “William, let’s get the gear down.”

He pulled down the landing gear knob, and the engine started to sputter. Panic grabbed her by the throat, and she gasped with fear. They were still well out over the water with very little altitude.

“
Switch tanks,
quick!”
Billy yelled.

Bending down and switching to the other tank, she felt the engine surge, and it returned to normal. She started breathing again.

“
I guess the left tank is dry,” Billy stated the obvious.

“
Niner Niner Kilo, turn left to Two Seven Zero. That’ll put you on a straight final for 27 Left. You have a five knot tailwind, but it shouldn’t be a problem. That’s a 10,000 foot runway.”

“
Roger, we’re lining up on 27 Left.”

Billy yelled in a frightened voice, “There’s something wrong with the landing gear. Those three lights are supposed to be green. The gear didn’t come down.”

“
Shit!” Christina cursed her bad luck. “Just what we needed. What else can go wrong?”

“
Miami tower, Niner Niner Kilo. Looks like we have another problem. The gear won’t come down.”

“
Niner Niner Kilo, standby one.”

A second voice came through the controller’s mike. It was the calm, cool voice of a female.

“
Niner Niner Kilo, hello Christina, my name is Janet, and I fly a Saratoga. Glad to give you a hand. Now tell me, did you pull down the gear knob on the console?”

“
Roger that, but we have only one green light of the three. I’m afraid we damaged something in that thunderstorm.”

“
Niner Niner Kilo try pulling the gear lever back up, wait a few seconds and put it back down firmly.”

Billy cycled the landing gear control, but the result was the same.

“
No go. Only one green,” Christina reported.

“
Niner Niner Kilo, there’s a small red knob on the floor between the two front seats. It’s the emergency gear release. Do you see it?”

“
Got it!”
Billy yelled quickly.

“
We see it,” Christina reported.

“
Push that knob down hard and hold it down.”

Billy shoved the little knob down hard and noticed two of the three lights flashed, then held a constant green, but the third indicator was still out.

“
Left gear’s still hung,” he reported.

“
Miami tower, the indicator shows the left wheel still up.”

“
Niner Niner Kilo, we suggest you plan to go around in left closed traffic while we work on this.”

“
Forget that!”
Christina barked back. “We’re running on fumes. I’m gonna put it down, gear or no gear.”

The voice came back and said, “Christina, listen carefully. Let’s see if you can kick that wheel loose. Slow your airspeed to about 90 knots. Have your co-pilot hold down the emergency gear release and kick each rudder pedal hard, one at a time.”

“
We’ll try it.” Christina pulled back power and lifted the nose. When the airspeed hit 90, she told Billy to hold down the release. She stomped on the right rudder pedal as hard as she could. The nose of the Saratoga jumped to the right, but there was no change. She kicked the left rudder even harder, and the plane jerked violently. Suddenly, the third light flashed. It was three green.

“
It’s down!” Billy cried.

“
Thanks, Miami tower. We got three green.”

“
Niner Niner Kilo, way to go girl.”

The male controller’s voice returned, “Wind is Zero Niner Zero at Seven. Clear to land.”

“
Clear to land,” she replied.
Clear to land? Clear to land. The most beautiful words I ever heard.

One mile off the end of the runway, the engine sputtered and coughed, then stopped cold. She switched tanks but nothing happened. She shoved down the nose, but this time she had 10,000 feet of runway in front of her and a full complement of emergency equipment ready and waiting.

She tried to relax. Aided by a seven knot tailwind, the runway looked within reach. With the natural cockiness of a test pilot’s daughter, Christina wanted to make a perfect landing. She envisioned the Evening News showing close-ups of the final touchdown. Descending rapidly, she leveled the wings and gradually pulled back the yoke, milking her airspeed and the last few feet of altitude. She could see they were over the threshold. Staring at the far end of the runway for maximum depth perception, she flared the big plane smoothly, just inches off the deck, letting it sink. She squeaked down the two main gear in a flawless landing, nose slightly elevated. Rolling down the runway, she reduced back-pressure to lower the nose, pulled onto a taxiway and braked to a stop.

Heather and Billy squealed with delight. There were “high fives” flying all over the cockpit.

“
Niner Niner Kilo, proceed on the taxiway and contact ground on 127.5.”

“
Sorry about that, Miami tower. You’re gonna have to come get us,” Christina laughed. “We’re bone dry of fuel.”

As they waited for a tow, the elation subsided, and Christina’s mind returned to the black world of reality. Her thoughts drifted from Jessica to Hank to Weston. The vision of Jessica bleeding to death in her arms hammered its way into the depths of her soul. A sharp pain burned in her gut as she contemplated her new enemy. Weston, a man who would kill five innocent people just to get rid of a girlfriend, was gonna get his. Her mind reeled with schemes conceived during long hours of boredom on that island, vengeance for the worst kind of evil.

“
Listen, you guys,” Christina said, “we need to be careful what we say about Weston. The voice on the GPS has been recorded over, and there’s not a shred of evidence to prove what happened. I intend to take care of that shit-head myself, but I don’t want him to know that we know what happened.”

Heather jumped on the notion and said, “She’s right. Billy, we need one more huge favor. As far as we know, your granddad just died of a heart attack. Will you promise never to mention Dr. Steve Weston or even acknowledge that you’ve heard of him?”

“
Dr. Steve who?” Billy chuckled. “Count on me, Heather. Just let me know if I can help stick it to that asshole.”

Heather interrupted, “Also, I’d like to ask you both not to mention what that man on the beach was trying to do. I’ll have to live with that image, but I don’t want to read it in the papers. The media would eat me alive.”

“
One more thing,” Christina added. “Let’s keep William out of the killing business, just in case some creep wants to make something of it. Let’s stick with the story that Jessica killed both perpetrators. Got it?”

“
Got it,” they responded in unison.

“
Now let’s swear our oath to each other.”

All three grabbed hands and swore their allegiance. A tow truck emerged out of nowhere and hooked up to the front landing gear. As the driver took off toward the terminal, Christina sat back fully relaxed and enjoyed the ride. All of a sudden she was concerned about her appearance.

“
You know there’s going to be news people in there with cameras” she said. “No offense, Heather, but I have to say we both look like hammered horseshit.”

“
My God, you’re right. How about my eye?”

Christina turned to look. Both eyes were a horrid shade of purple. “Don’t worry, Heather, it just looks like someone hit you in the face with a Saturday night special.” She chuckled. “I know you’re well accustomed to being the most beautiful woman on the planet, but for once, you’re just gonna have to suck it up.”

Christina felt wonderful.
God, it’s great to be back to civilization.
The girls started straightening their hair and wiping the dirt off their faces. Billy didn’t seem to care. The tow truck stopped at the bottom of some stairs, and they all got out and stretched their legs. As they climbed to the terminal, they were shocked by the mob of reporters.

You’d think we just returned from the moon
, Christina thought.

Bright lights blinded them as microphones were shoved forward. Several reporters started shouting questions at the same time. The passage was completely blocked, and she began to wonder how they were going to get through. After being surrounded by mind-numbing serenity for weeks, the lights and ear-splitting shouts were hard to take. She winced and held up her hand to shade her eyes. Questions came rapid fire:

“
Where have you been?”

“
Where is the pilot of your plane?”

“
How did you get out of that hurricane?”

“
Where are the rest of your party?”

“
How did you survive so long?”

Christina held up her arms trying to hush the mob. “If you want answers, you’ll have to
be quiet!”
she screamed above the noise. “If someone will get us something to drink, I’ll make a brief statement. Then you’ll need to let us pass, so we can talk with authorities.”

The room fell dead silent, and a young male reporter quickly rounded up some soft drinks. More lights were turned on, and the cameras started to roll. She took a long gulp of an ice cold Coke, thinking how wonderful it tasted. “My oh my, how we take for granted the small pleasures of life,” she said taking a deep breath. “My name is Christina Matthews. We’ve been through a traumatic ordeal. On our way to the Exumas in a charter plane over a month ago, our pilot, Hank Rogers, died in flight. I had to take control of the airplane and make a forced landing on an abandoned island. After several weeks, we were attacked by drug runners, and Jessica Ward was killed as she managed to kill both perpetrators. We spent three more weeks there eating fish and drinking distilled seawater and rainwater.”

“
But why didn’t you just fly back?” one reporter injected a quick question.

“
Our plane was stuck on a short beach, and we had to wait for high winds associated with the hurricane to get it off the ground. We were able to use the GPS and the autopilot to navigate back to Miami. As you can see, Heather Daniels, William Rogers, the grandson of the pilot, and myself are the only survivors. We’re dirty, hungry and exhausted, but very fortunate to be alive. Now, if you’ll please clear the way, we need to pass.”

Again, they all started firing questions.