Turbulent Intentions(76)

Nick had assured him that Stormy only needed a couple days of peace, and then she would listen to him. Well, a couple of days were up and she wasn’t answering her phone.

What he needed to do was get this damn plane to Hawaii so he could get turned around and back to the woman who would become his wife—if he could convince her of it. He was a sucker for even taking the flight. One of his guys had a kid in the hospital getting her tonsils removed so here Cooper was.

Filled with impatience, he looked down at his watch, knowing there were still at least ten hours of flying to get there and back again.

About an hour into the flight, the sunset seemed to have progressed little as the aircraft flew westbound for Hawaii, the light of day still present in brilliant purples, shades of peach and pink.

Cooper continued to ponder Stormy, still impatiently stressing about the amount of time it would take before he could speak with her. Soon. He’d waited two days, so a few more hours weren’t going to kill him.

With his mind frazzled, he was quickly pulled from his thoughts when the plane shuddered. Good. He’d rather have to pay attention to flying than think about things he could do nothing about at the moment.

“Must be some rough skies,” Cooper told Wolf, who immediately put away his iPad. Reaching up, Cooper turned on the fasten seat belt sign as a precaution for those in back.

Seconds later, the instrument panel lit up with yellow caution lights. As the flight deck panels began to blink, an audible bing sounded a warning. The two seasoned pilots examined the instrument cluster for the source of the anomalous caution light.

“Looks like low hydraulic pressure, left side,” Cooper said. “Wolf, check your circuit breakers to see if that doesn’t solve—”

Before Cooper could finish his sentence, a violent explosion rocked the aircraft. The controls now flashed with red and yellow warning lights, the audible warnings from the computer urgent: bing-bing-bing.

“What the hell?” Wolf shouted as the master warning on the panel chimed wildly.

“It must’ve been an internal failure,” Cooper yelled. “Begin the restart procedure.”

As Cooper reached for the restart checklist, the flight computer and instrument panel again wildly warned of danger: bing-bing-bing. “Engine fire—One! Engine fire—One!” The audible male voice of the computer barked at the pilots, warning them of fire in the engines.

“Engine fire! Shut her down and discharge the extinguisher!” Cooper forcefully commanded as the noise of the audible warnings now chimed without end.

The passengers, many shaken from sleep, were startled and now fully awake at the sound of shattering metal and extreme vibrations. A soft orange glow began illuminating the dark cabin through the windows.

As the passengers peered out, they could see that the left-hand engine was mangled and glowing orange with fire, the wing around it torn to shreds. The sound of the remaining good engine spooled up to a high-pitched whine as the plane pitched violently downward, then left as it began to roll into a spiral.

“Everyone, stay calm,” the lead flight attendant tried to reassure and calm the anxious passengers, only to be interrupted by the emergency oxygen masks dropping from the ceiling.

The scene quickly became more desperate as fear overcame both crew and passengers alike. Men and women were shakily grabbing for the flimsy orange masks that would provide them with emergency oxygen.

On the flight deck, the captain and first officer struggled to control the passenger jet with its two hundred plus souls on board. The computer continued to bark at the two men: “Bank angle! Bank angle! Whoop, whoop. Pull up! Whoop, whoop. Pull up!”

“We’re losing altitude fast, Coop,” Wolf shouted as the gauges spiraled down, like a stopwatch ticking to its inevitable end. The plane was still locked in a spiraling dive.

“I know, I know,” Cooper responded with slight terror in his voice as he gripped the shaking yoke, trying to turn the plane back toward the airport.

“Seattle Center, this is Trans Pacific 422, declaring an emergency,” Cooper announced. The radio only responded with feedback. “Seattle Center, Seattle, Trans Pacific 422, we’re burning up, we’re not going to make it . . .” he said, now with an eerie calm in his voice.

Wolf, seeing there was no response from air traffic control, attempted the call with his radio. “Mayday, mayday, Seattle Center. Trans Pacific 422. Emergency, we are going down! Do you copy?”

“Trans Pacific 422, acknowledged. We have all runways open for you, fire crash rescue is standing by.”

“No. We’re not going to make it. We’re going down now!”