Texas fury (60 page)

Chesney returned with Edith's soft drink. She bent low so as not to disturb the woman's seat companion. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Neibauer."

The woman was touched. "Bless your heart for saying that. You're probably the only one who will wish me a Merry Christmas. There should be love and warmth, but so many times ... I wish ... I wish ..."

"What, Mrs. Neibauer? What do you wish?" Chesney whispered.

"I wish, just once, that one of my two children would call me on the phone or write me a letter and tell me... and tell me they love me. I've always told them, all their lives, that I love them."

Tears burned Chesney's eyes. She reached out her hand to the old woman. "This visit might be just what you want. Everyone says Christmas is a time of miracles. Can I get you anything else?"

"No, my dear, you've done enough. Thank you for listening. How is the little girl doing?"

"Just fine. Mrs. Neibauer, would you like to go to the back and sit with her for a while? There are some storybooks on her

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seat. I don't think the child has had many people read to her. It might be good for both of you."

"I'd love to read to her. She won't set up a ruckus if I sit down with her, will she?"

Chesney smiled. "No, I don't think so. The dog probably won't let you touch her, so you might have to wing it."

The old lady had a purpose now. She rose with difficulty and followed Chesney down the aisle.

Molly smiled shyly and squeezed Gus to her chest. The little dog struggled to lick at her face. Molly's giggles made the old lady smile. Chesney was turning, to return to her station, when she felt it again, the light-headedness she'd felt earlier. The look of alarm on Mrs. Neibauer's face frightened Chesney. She forced a smile and muttered, "Turbulence."

Patty Mclntyre's face registered shock. She was too young, too inexperienced to cover the fright she felt. One of the skiers excused himself and crawled over his seat companion. "What's wrong?" he hissed.

"Wrong? Nothing. What could be wrong at thirty thousand feet?" Patty whispered over her shoulder.

"Don't give me that crap. I felt something—dizzy. I felt it a little earlier, too. We're losing altitude, right?"

"Turbulence. Only the pilot knows if something's wrong, and he hasn't said anything. You really should go back to your seat and buckle up."

"Why should I go back to my seat and buckle up if nothing is wrong? There's no turbulence at thirty thousand feet. Pilots don't take their passengers into their confidence until it's too late," he said ominously. "And another thing; my brother is a pilot, and I've logged almost as many hours as he has. We've dropped about five thousand feet in the past twenty minutes. Maybe the others aren't aware of it, but I am. Aware, Miss Mclntyre. Now what do you have to say?"

"I say you should return to your seat and buckle up," Patty said quietly. "Now!"

"Yes sir, ma'am," he said, saluting smartly. "Whatever you say, ma'am." His voice was sour, almost as sour as Patty's face.

The skier plopped down into his seat and fastened his seat belt, then leaned over and instructed his teammates to do the same. Chesney noticed that he was whispering to the man sitting next to him.

Chesney and Patty watched from the galley in the first-

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class section as the whisper traveled across the aisle and into the next. They had no way of knowing the message was a terse, harsh alert that the plane had descended five thousand feet, and there was something wrong somewhere in the plane. They watched helplessly as the whispered message was repeated over and over. The whispers had a snowball effect. Twenty minutes later, the entire midsection of the cabin was alerted and aware that something was wrong.

"I'm scared, Chesney," Patty whispered.

Chesney put her arm around the young stewardess's shoulder. "We've all felt tremors and light-headedness before. The captain hasn't alerted us to any kind of malfunction. We're the first to know. I think it's our imagination, and I say we start another round of drinks. Plenty of coffee and tea, too. Smile, Patty."

The soft ping of the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign flashed overhead. The passengers were stirring now, looking at one another... silently. Three pings sounded, the signal for Chesney to go to the flight deck. She turned the cart over to Patty and walked nonchalantly through the midsection to first class and then to the flight deck.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Chesney asked quietly. Her heart was thumping so loudly, she thought it would leap out of her chest.

"We're experiencing a spot of trouble. We've blown a duct. I've descended six thousand feet, so if any of the passengers

"They already know, Captain." She told him about the whispered message.

"There's always one wiseass aboard," the captain said tersely. The second officer nodded sourly. He was only twenty-seven and his heart was pounding in his chest. He wondered if his eyes mirrored the fear he was seeing in Chesney's eyes.

Chesney was halfway through the first-class section when she felt a third wave of dizziness. She turned and headed back to the flight deck and spoke to the captain again. When she returned to her station, her face was chalk-white. She alerted first Patty and then the other attendants to return to the midsection.

The hospitality carts were quickly shoved into their proper places, the cabins cleared of all loose objects. The entire crew rushed up and down the aisles, reaching for glasses and cans, shoving them into their trash bags regardless of the passengers'

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protests. Chesney was the last to hit the jump seat and buckle up when the captain's voice came over the p.a. system. She tried to force herself to swallow past the lump in her throat as she listened to words she'd heard minutes ago. "This is the captain speaking. As you must have noticed, the Fasten Seat Belt sign is on, and I've just turned the No Smoking sign on. It's just for a while, so please bear with me and the crew. We're experiencing some pressure problems, but nothing to be alarmed about at this time. Staying in your seats now is for your own protection. Our cruising altitude is now twenty-four thousand feet. Forty-five minutes ago it was thirty-one thousand. We're heading into a storm, and there will be some rough turbulence. I'll keep you advised of the storm conditions every fifteen minutes." The captain signed off to total silence.

"How much is forty-five minutes?" Molly Sanders chirped to Mrs. Neibauer.

The old lady's eyes were on Chesney when she replied. "Not long, honey. Maybe as long as it takes for you to have a bubble bath. Did you ever give Gus a bubble bath, Molly?"

"No, the soap gets in his eyes. Gus doesn't get dirty. He has a bib. Do you want to see it?" Molly asked as she rummaged in her shiny black purse. "See?" she said, holding up a small plastic bib with goldfish on it.

"I'll bet he doesn't like that very much," Mrs. Neibauer said in a shaking voice. Chesney was unable to tear her eyes away from the old lady and the little girl. Youth and old age, and where was she? Somewhere in the middle. As alone as each of them. If. . . she wondered who she would help if something happened —providing she was able to help. Every manual she'd read, every lecture she'd attended on crash safety, emphasized the crew first. The crew was to take care of itself first, passengers second. If there was a crash, the passengers would forget the brief demonstration of the oxygen masks. It was never mentioned to passengers that if decompression occurred, only fifteen seconds of life remained. Even in five seconds, without the aid of oxygen, a degree of lessened judgment would occur. Five seconds after that, a state of euphoria would take place. In that state many passengers would opt not to use the masks and lapse into unconsciousness.

Chesney ran the captain's last words over in her mind. "We've blown a duct. It's a slight opening in one of the joints, but it's enough to cause us to lose altitude. We're descending as slowly as we can, but we're picking up some heavy ice. We

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can't maintain our altitude. The faster we go down, the faster the ice builds up. We're losing our deicing ability. Get back to your station and... pray," the captain had finished grimly. He'd said he was changing course to 240 degrees.

"Oh, God!" Chesney moaned as pandemonium broke out in the cabin. The skier was shouting now, alerting the other passengers. She picked up the microphone and began speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. The captain has just informed me that we're experiencing some difficulty with our air pressure. We're also experiencing some icing on the wings, which makes the plane heavier. We're descending slowly so as to take care of that problem, and the captain has changed course. Please buckle your seat belts and remain calm. You must remain calm. The captain will advise us shortly." Chesney no sooner put the mike back into its niche when the skier hopped into the aisle, his face a mask of fear.

"You can't get rid of the ice," he shouted. "There's no way the captain can get this plane down." The boy's voice was shrill and hysterical. Chesney and the other attendants looked on helplessly as he continued his tirade. It was Edith Neibauer who unbuckled her seat belt and limped her way to him.

"Young man, that's just about enough! You are terrorizing these passengers, and I will not tolerate it. I'm too old to die of a heart attack in midair. The law says you're a man, so act like one! The captain will do what he can for all of us. I'm ordering you to sit downl" Edith raised her cane threateningly. At the sight of the raised cane, the Yorkie leaped off Molly's lap and tore down the aisle after the skier. The dog bared his teeth, growling as ferociously as only a small dog can do. Passengers were in the aisles, some helping Edith back to her seat.

The first officer growled at the commotion coming through the p.a. system. "Change course two-forty; I'll handle this." The moment the cockpit door opened, the skier barreled through, with the Yorkie in pursuit. The first officer dragged him backward, slamming the door behind him. Gus leaped onto the captain's lap, trembling so badly he couldn't sit. The captain changed course to 240 degrees as he listened to the child's shrieks of "Gus! Gus!" The little dog heard them, too. He was off the captain's lap in a second, growling and whining at the door. Three minutes later the first officer returned, his face as white as the shirt he wore. Gus streaked by him, leaping through the first-class section and on down the aisle of the midsection.

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He snuggled in Molly's lap in a flash. A few of the passengers cheered.

"They're applauding Gus, honey," Edith Neibauer said kindly. "He did a very brave thing going after that young man. Gus is a hero!"

"Gus is afraid of sticks. Travis hits him with the broom when I go to nursery school," Molly whimpered.

Dear God, Chesney thought. She'd lost control. Mrs. Neibauer had done her job for her. Tears burned her eyes when she addressed the old lady. "Thank you, Mrs. Neibauer; we all appreciate what you did."

The old lady smiled wanly. "Sometimes old age has its own rewards. I didn't stop to think, and if I did, I guess I thought the young man would think of me as his grandmother and listen to me. It's over now, and Gus saved the day. We're going to"—she spelled the word so Molly wouldn't understand what she was saying—"c-r-a-s-h, aren't we?" Her tone was so calm, so matter-of-fact, Chesney blinked.

It was against everything she'd been told to do, but she spoke anyway. "We're losing altitude very fast.' If ... if we do ... if anything goes wrong, watch out for Molly . . . and Gus."

The old lady was serene now, so calm that Chesney felt better. "For this little bit of time, these two are mine, Miss Brighton. I'll do my best. You know, when a disaster is about to take place, people usually rally round and pull together. Why don't we sing? It is Christmas Eve, and Santa will be here soon. Why don't we have a rousing chorus of 'Jingle Bells'?"

The captain and first officer heard the song at the same moment that they realized they were on a course of 204 degrees, not 240. They were forty degrees off course and headed west over the French Alps, at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet.

Blame would come later, when the wrecking crew found the black box.

In her jump seat Chesney played her game again as she tried to look into a visual of her future. She could see only blankness. Her fear at the moment was so alive and so real that the words of the song stuck in her throat. She felt Edith Neibauer s eyes on her. She forced herself to finish singing the song. "If you ever feel the need to adopt a granddaughter, I'd like to apply for the position," she said.

"Bless your heart, child. You don't have to apply; the position is yours." Without missing a beat she swung into "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." Molly took her thumb out of

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her mouth long enough to clap her hands in glee. Gus barked happily as he licked at the little girl's face. Chesney was relieved to see the dog was snug in Molly's seat belt. Chesney turned in her seat, trying to catch Patty's eye. When the young stewardess felt Chesney's gaze, she smiled. Chesney smiled back. What would be would be.

The p.a. system came alive. The captain's voice was brisk and cool when he made his announcement. "Due to heavy weather conditions, our blown duct, and the ice accumulating on our wings, we are off course by forty degrees. We're headed toward the French Alps and Chamonix. There are no landing fields that I know of in this particular area. We've lost all contact with Geneva, and at this moment we're descending rapidly. Stay buckled into your seats. If we go down, put your head between your legs. God be with us all."

"Whazat mean?" Molly asked curiously.

"That means we're going to land soon. I'm going to put my knitting bag next to Gus so he's more comfortable." The bulging bag of soft cashmere yarn was secured around the little dog by knobby, arthritic fingers. "Now, listen carefully.... 'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house..."

Chesney's eyes were glued to her watch. They were losing altitude faster now, more than a thousand feet a minute. Too much ice on the wings, probably all over the plane. It was colder now, the engines working harder to pump air into the cabin. She estimated their altitude at six or seven thousand feet. The French Alps. She tried to remember what she knew of the Alps. High, dense, snow-capped. Impossible terrain. A belly landing, not head-first. There might not be an explosion. They'd started out with eighty-five thousand pounds of fuel. How much was left? Zip, she thought. She should have sent the card. A phone call would have been better. It was almost Christmas Day. Five thousand, four. The plane was shuddering now, lumbering in midair. From somewhere she heard someone praying, the Our Father. ... It was Patty Mclntyre. She'd never realized what a sweet, clear voice Patty had. If only she'd called ...