Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3)(70)

They were less than fifty miles from Iquitos and running on fumes. The pilots fought to keep the plane’s altitude level as the pounding rain reduced their visibility to what was directly in front of them. They were now fighting for a controlled descent.

Communication from the small airport in Iquitos was now constant, feeding the pilots information from the ground and waiting for visual contact.

In the cabin, DeeAnn was desperately trying to maintain a grip on Dulce’s hand, which was now covered in sweat. She hadn’t said a word in the last thirty minutes. Instead, her young hazel eyes were wide with fear, squeezing DeeAnn with one hand and her chair with the other.

“It’s okay, Dulce. We’re okay.” DeeAnn kept talking loudly through the speaker on her chest, trying to calm her. She lowered her face, trying to get the small gorilla to look at her. Unsuccessful, she spoke over the noise to Caesare. “How much longer?!”

“Ten minutes!”

Caesare watched DeeAnn roll her eyes and turn back to Dulce, who he realized was obviously having trouble. But he was focused on something far more critical –– the sound of the engines outside, or more specifically the sound of sputtering. The fearful sound that would tell him the last of their fuel was gone. As long as he could hear their high-pitched whine, they still had a chance. But if they lost the engines at this distance, even a decent glide ratio wouldn’t get them far enough. And now, deep over the rainforest, there were no open areas for an emergency landing. It was the runway at Iquitos or nothing.

Another sudden plunge tested their seatbelts, and a loud whimper was heard from Dulce. Behind DeeAnn, Juan had both eyes closed. If they crashed, he didn’t want to see it coming.

Caesare tuned out the voices of the two pilots in the cockpit and pressed to find the engines again amongst the noise. But instead he heard the sound he had been dreading…a sputtering engine. The left fuel tank was now empty.

The voices of the pilots turned to shouts as they tried to restart the engine. No dice. They redirected everything to the right side, fighting even harder to keep the craft level.

Caesare felt the nervousness and fear coursing through his veins. He tried to concentrate as if to will the second engine to keep turning. He couldn’t let everyone die.

He checked his watch again…eight minutes.





40





The right engine began to sputter. Just twelve seconds before their forceful impact onto the Iquitos runway.

The sudden reverse thrust of the right engine caused everyone to lurch forward. But the uneven reversal resulted in the aircraft veering hard to the right. Suddenly they were off the wet runway, careening into a field of tall wet grass and mud.

The soggy ground grabbed the wheels instantly and pitched the Huron sideways, causing its left wheel to buckle and its struts to smash into the black asphalt. A shower of sparks erupted under the plane as the struts dug into the asphalt, continuing over the edge and into the mud.

With a thunderous shaking, the plane slowed and its large nose crashed into the ground, plowing to a violent stop.

Caesare was instantly on his feet and across the aisle, pushing DeeAnn and then Dulce back in their seats, checking for injuries. Both stared back at him, alive but in shock.

“Is anyone hurt?” He unbuckled their belts and gently searched DeeAnn first. She shook her head and he turned to Dulce, who immediately leaped into his arms, soaking wet and clinging as tightly as she could.

No like bird.

With Tiewater already pulling Juan from the seat behind them, Caesare could only laugh.





The large wooden door burst open and Wil Borger stuck his head into the conference room, interrupting Langford, who was seated with several other men.

“Sir! Steve Caesare and the others are on the ground in Iquitos!”

Langford took a huge breath and leaned back in his chair. “Thank God. Any injuries?”

“None, sir. Everyone is fine.”

Langford looked across the table with relief. Secretary of Defense, Merl Miller, smiled. “That was damn close.”

All of them broke into laughter and Langford slapped the table. He then turned to Borger. “You tell him if he does that again, I’ll court-martial him.”

“Yes, sir!”

Langford turned to Douglas Bartman, the Secretary of State, sitting across the table and to his right. The man was smiling under a head of dark brown hair. “The Peruvian government assured us they will keep the incident quiet. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to maintain our cover of a humanitarian mission now without casualties.”

“Any cooperation from Guyana yet?”

“No. Not from any of them yet.”

“What about Brazil?”

Bartman frowned. “Brazil has severed all communications with us. As has Venezuela.”