They caught up quickly on the big-ticket items—family, friends, health and what each has been doing with his life. Then, to Eric’s delight, Dave said, “Hey, we’re having a major test flight today. Really a demonstration. The press will be here at 2. Why don’t you come up? If you do, I promise a personal tour after the demo flight. Whatta ya say?”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Ridge. “Mind if Jayne tags along? She’ll love that computer flying from the ground.”
“More the merrier, but, just so you know, I’ll be flying stick and rudder in the air. She’ll have to watch some young techies fly it remote. I don’t get the same sensations, the same feel, the same smells sitting in an armchair playing with a joystick.”
Ridge nodded, “I can only imagine. See you at 2.”
Jayne jumped at the chance to accompany Ridge to the demonstration. So, Ridge called Torrance Airport and arranged for the same Cessna 172SP he’d rented the previous Sunday. Then, a few calls later, and with David’s assistance, Ridge got clearance to land on a salt flat at Dryden. Weather checked and flight plan filed, Jayne and Ridge took off at noon. Once at altitude, Jayne noticed that in her rush she had left her cell phone at home.
“Not to worry,” said Ridge. “We have radios in the bird and my cell phone is right here.”
“I just hate to forget things.”
“Baby, all that matters is that you’re here with me.”
“Don’t patronize me, big boy.”
“Oops.”
Around 1:15 p.m., the vast salt lake, bone-dry, solid with spider-web cracking, and blindingly white, stretched beautifully in all directions right up to the crystal blue horizon. Knowing exactly where to land was easy. The press planes and WingX birds were already chocked in a row south of the landing zone. David sent a WingX truck out to bring Ridge and Jayne to Ops Center.
After the demo flight, Dave and Ridge grabbed some coffee, while Jayne and a bunch of reporters had fun in the control room watching a remote-control operator fly WebBird with a monitor and joystick.
“The real joy is being in the bird,” said David, as he sat down at the cafeteria table with his mug of fresh coffee. “When you hit top speed at 230 mph, she sings.” He smiled and shook his head in wonder. “And she’s got a helluva voice.”
“What else can she do?” Ridge asked, as he took the seat next to Lake.
“Well she’s G-limited because of her long narrow wings. But she more than makes up for that with other qualities.”
“Like?”
“Flies at thirty-thousand feet for up to forty hours. Uses power from solar panels. And shoots close-up video coverage of the ground. She also has high-powered radar and can listen in on phone conversations with the touch of a switch, on-board or remotely. And if needed, get this, she can strap on missiles. Quite a gal. A cheap date too, compared to other drones, robotic jets or spy planes.”
“I’m a believer. She’s got it all.”
Just then, a distinguished, silver-haired man in his 70s rolled up to their table in a wheelchair. Ridge almost dropped his coffee.
David, shaking the man’s hand, introduced them. “Eric, this is Jack Miles. He’s Program Manager for WebBird and Director of Research and Development here at WingX. Jack, Eric Ridge. A good buddy from Southeast Asia. Saved my life once, big-time.”
Ridge reached over, shook Jack’s hand, and said, “Pleasure.”
As David turned to get himself some more coffee, Jack winked at Ridge and whispered, “Been a long time.”
Ridge smiled and winked back.
CHAPTER 37
Leaving Dryden, the forecaster had predicted “severe clear” into Los Angeles. And that it was. They could see forever. Mountains. Lakes. Cities. Beaches. Ocean. It was a spectacular flight.
“Do you remember me talking about Jack Miles?” Ridge asked as they approached Southbay.
“He was your senior CIA contact in Laos, right?”
“Yeah. The first time we met was in Paksé. Did I ever tell you about it?”
Before Jayne could answer, the plane’s engine put out five or six ugly, ugly coughs. Then, suddenly, it quit. Ridge looked around. Checked instruments. Attempted restart. No go. A second try at restart. Nothing. Ridge grabbed the radio: “Torrance Approach: Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Cessna 3-2-1 Alpha. Engine out.”
“Cessna 3-2-1 Alpha, this is Approach. Go ahead.”
“At 2000 feet. Tried two restarts. No joy. Two souls on board. Setting up emergency landing. Headed west. Five miles north of Torrance Airport.”
“Roger, 3-2-1 Alpha, copy. No traffic in sight. Good luck.”
Ridge turned to Jayne. “Cinch your belt. I see an open farm. A field, within glide distance. Furrows running our way. Should be OK. Straight down the tracks.”
“Got it,” said Jayne, cool and collected as always. Ridge always figured that both her parents dying young and living with a combat pilot did that to her. “Try another restart?”
“Why not?” He checked the instruments. Tried again. Zip. Nada. Nothing. “No luck. Get ready. We’re goin’ in.”
“OK.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Get us down safe, Batman.” God, Ridge loved this woman. He was going to nail this damn landing just for her.
“Winds crazy,” he said suddenly, feeling the gusts all the way down to his bones. “Damn. Glide path’s gone. We’re headed at those houses. South of field. No way we can do that.” Ridge raised the nose and stretched the glide. But then with little choice, he banked left away from the houses. The plane dropped like a rock. He leveled wings and brought the nose up slightly.
“Oh my God. Powerlines, straight ahead. 12 o’clock.”
With no other option, Ridge pulled the nose up to hop the lines. But it killed airspeed. The wings rocked. Then the entire plane wobbled in a death dance, edging disaster. A stall, then a brick. Pulling in air through his nose, teeth clenched and breath held, Ridge froze everything. The wobbling increased. Ridge held steady. Steady. Steady.
