‘He’s telling you the truth. He’s been investigating this for a long time and if he says the plane may be in danger, then I’m sure we’re all agreed that the sooner we know whether the threat is real or not the better.’
The animosity left the cramped galley in a heartbeat. Suddenly they were all on the same side.
Jim took control. ‘I’m going to search you, okay?’
‘Okay.’ Tom said.
The man made a good job of patting him down. He took Tom’s phone and keys from his jeans and handed them to Lucia, then did the same with his credit cards. Tom felt a stupid urge to protest, just in case the plane went down while he and his cards were disunited, but suppressed it.
‘Come with me.’
Tom squeezed Lucia’s hand and walked down the aisle after the man.
The steward picked up the phone on the wall beside the cockpit door, shielded his mouth from Tom, and said a few words to the flight crew. Seconds later, the catch on the door was released.
It took the longest five minutes of Tom’s entire life to convince the pilot to check the plane’s ID on the control and display unit. It matched. Tom’s knees turned to water and he sank quietly to the floor of the cockpit, his back against the door. The other four men – who had until now been suspicious and disbelieving – suddenly looked uneasy at what looked like unrehearsed terror.
‘We have to land,’ was all Tom could say weakly.
The pilot looked at his watch. ‘We’re only an hour and forty-five from DC.’
Tom shook his spinning head, feeling the hot-cold clamminess on the skin of his neck and back that usually preceded vomiting, but he knew he wasn’t going to be sick.
He wanted to shout at them to put the fucking plane down, but remembered Lucia’s fast results back in the galley, so tried hard to make his mouth say what his head meant, without histrionics and without obscenities.
‘The first fake fan disc blew after four thousand eight hundred cycles. Three men were killed. The second went after only two thousand six hundred. A hundred and thirty-eight people died. The 737 that went down in Oklahoma? We’re pretty sure it’s the same problem. Seventy-eight people died. The fake in this plane has been installed longer than any of those. It’s gone through more cycles. It could let go at any second. It’s a miracle it hasn’t already.’ Tom breathed out at the end of his little speech. The strain of keeping it short and calm made him shudder.
Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on the pilot, who chewed his lip.
Tom looked up at him, sweat running into his eyes. ‘How many souls on board?’ he asked.
‘One twenty-seven.’
‘Sir …’ said Tom, when he badly wanted to say ‘asshole’. ‘If we land now, worst-case scenario is some pissed-off passengers. If we don’t and it lets go …’ He gave a short, mirthless laugh. Then, in the face of the pilot’s continuing doubt, he found a cruel little winner on the river.
‘I mean, if I’m wrong you can blame me, y’know? It’s all on the CVR, right?’
Right. Everything Tom had told them, everything the pilot said or did in response – or didn’t do – was a matter of record now, whether they lived or died.
‘Where are we?’ said the pilot, not taking his eyes off Tom.
‘Closest is Blue Grass,’ said the co-pilot, in a tone that suggested he was suddenly in favour of an immediate controlled descent, as opposed to one where they all fell out of the sky like a plague of frogs.
Fate, thought Tom. He’d get to see those Kentucky high-stakes gamblers and their horseflesh chips up close, after all.
If they made it down.
Jim was holding out a hand and Tom allowed himself to be helped up.
The crew didn’t thank him as he left, and he didn’t blame them. He was just grateful they were bowing to what they must still consider to be a million-to-one shot just for the sake of covering their asses.
The chief steward escorted him all the way back to his seat, as if he wanted to make sure Tom sat down. But when Tom did, he asked if he could get him a drink. Tom really wanted a drink very badly but decided he’d look like a drunk if he accepted one, so asked for water.
‘And I’ll have a Bloody Mary,’ said the woman in 15B. ‘On him.’
The man left and Tom looked at Lucia. She was hiding her fear well, but Tom could still see it on her face. She gave him back his cards, phone and keys silently.
The captain introduced himself cheerily over the PA system and said that, due to unforeseen circumstances, they’d be diverting to Blue Grass Airport, Lexington. A groan and then a babble of angry voices drowned his by-rote apology for inconvenience caused, as the passengers voiced their impotent displeasure.
Tom looked reassuringly at Lucia, and knew they were doing the right thing.
*
It took them just fifteen minutes to get down, with an ear-poppingly steep series of descents. The pilot didn’t even take the time to burn off what excess fuel he could, so Tom figured he must have been more convinced now than he’d looked at the end of their conversation.
Lucia was tense again and he hated to feed her fear, but finally he leaned across the aisle, pulling her close so they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘We’re five rows back from that exit door.’
She nodded, waiting for the relevance.
He tried to lighten his tone. ‘The pilot is going to ask us to take up brace positions, as if we were going to crash, but that’s highly unlikely, okay?’
Her amber eyes flickered.
‘If all the lights go out, stay calm. Remember, your seatbelt catch is right here in the middle, okay? Not at the side like a car.’
Her face was set and serious.
‘If we have to get out, just remember we’re five rows back. That’s four seat-backs you have to count in front of you, then turn right to the door.’
