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  Over a period of several hours, Ray had tried ten different positions to get comfortable in the tiny space. His efforts were finally rewarded when he dozed off sitting sideways on the seat with his head against the forward wall and his feet in the sink. A bad dream involving his ex-wife woke him with a start, and it took him a terrorizing thirty seconds to figure out where he was. That was followed by a strong desire to return to the other nightmare. Once he decided this was the reality that he must deal with, he began taking inventory of his senses. He had a sore back, a stiff neck, and numbness in his legs. His mouth tasted like an army had marched through while he slept, and many of the soldiers had personal hygiene issues.

  Once he generated enough circulation to actually stand up, he realized that all the water he had drank earlier, in lieu of lunch and dinner, had gathered in his bladder. There was little he could do for his other maladies, but he was in the right place to cure this one. He took a few seconds to make sure his legs would actually support him and then relieved himself. A glance at his watch indicated that if he had calculated correctly, the flight would land in a little over two hours. That was not a proposition he wanted to embrace, but he had little choice. The thing that amazed him the most was that he had not heard a single person outside the lavatory since takeoff. Maybe his fortunes were changing at last. With that happy thought in mind, he lowered the lid and pushed the flush button.

  HMS Integrity plowed through the dawn waters, making thirty knots and providing a relative wind across the flight deck to aid the launch of her surveillance aircraft. Admiral Geoffrey Harrison sat in one of the two bridge command chairs alongside his air wing commander, Captain George Newman. Both officers were adamant soccer fans, and they listened to the radio traffic between the carrier, using the call sign Goalie, and the search aircraft, using the call sign Striker. Ten airplanes were launched, and they watched as they formed up and then disbursed into various areas of the search grid. Harrison and Newman were still chapped because the Americans had exiled the huge British carrier to the easternmost sector of the search area, while the tiny US salvage ship basked in the glory and headlines of rescuing over two hundred survivors.

  They felt extremely demeaned to be relegated to the status of garbage scow as they picked up various and sundry bits of useless trash as it drifted east into their sector two days after the crash. The hangar deck held a small pile of clothing and bags, along with seat cushions and pillows.

  Now that the aircraft were safely away, Wing Commander Newman ordered the Sea King helicopters onto the flight deck. They saw the elevator lift the first one from the hangar deck and watched it being towed into launch position. Admiral Harrison ordered the carrier to all ahead slow, and they loitered along at a speed of ten knots. The Sea King crew walked out of the ship’s island superstructure wearing life vests over their flight suits and carrying their helmets in their hands. One of them wore a wet suit and also carried a pair of flippers to put on his feet, should he have to go into the water to rescue another suitcase.

  Harrison and Newman were both in foul moods and heaped abuse on the bridge crew as they barked orders and dreamed of retribution. The sun was now above the horizon, and Harrison ordered the helmsman to turn the ship to the north because he didn’t want to put his sunglasses on. Such was the privilege of command. The two officers munched scones with their coffee and discussed the soccer season to distract from the depression of their duty assignment. The ten search aircraft began making idle comments to each other over the radio to relieve the boredom. Newman picked up the mic and let loose a barrage of colorful verbiage, none of which would be condoned by his own policy of radio etiquette that he demanded of his pilots. This was followed by a series of double clicks from each airplane’s mic button, but no words. The double click was universally accepted worldwide as an informal roger, but was not mentioned in manuals describing radio procedure or accepted technique. The response further irritated Newman. He now suffered the silent treatment from the bridge crew as well as the airplanes.

  The silence only lasted a minute or so and then a very formal and technically perfect transmission was heard.

  “Goalie, Striker Six, over.”

  “Striker Six, Goalie, go ahead.”

  “Goalie, I’ve got a large debris field in my location, over.”

  “Striker Six, radar shows you eight miles northwest. Is that correct?”

  “Affirmative. The debris field begins here and runs to the west.”

  “Copy Striker Six.”

  Newman ordered, “Launch the first Sea King and give him a call sign of Striker Eleven. Vector him to the reported debris location.”

  A few minutes later, the helicopter’s huge blades began to turn, and the jet engine wound up to a roar. The pilot turned it into the wind and then lifted off with the rescue jumper sitting in the open door, dangling his feet over the side. From the bridge, they watched it disappear to the northwest. Harrison commented that if the Americans didn’t want their garbage back, they could have a yard sale and buy beer for the crew. They waited with little enthusiasm to hear what the Sea King discovered.

  That, however, was not to be. The next voice on the frequency was not from the Sea King but from the search plane. “Goalie, Striker Six! Goalie I’ve got a raft in sight! Goalie do you read Striker Six!”

  The radioman thought to himself, I can hear you but I can’t talk to you until you let the transmit button go.

  “Striker Six, Goalie, understand raft in sight, can you confirm survivors?”

  Harrison and Newman were on their feet now.

  “Negative, Goalie. There is a canopy in place and I can’t see inside.”

  Newman took the mike.

  “Make a low pass, man, and see if you get a response.”

  The pilot recognized the voice.

  “Yes, sir. Proceeding with low pass.”

  Newman said, “Radar, vector that Sea King in right now.”

  “Yes sir, he’s on frequency and listening.”

  “Goalie, Striker Eleven, give me a heading.”

  “Striker Eleven, fly heading three three five, approximately six miles.”

  The bridge was alive now that there was an opportunity to rectify an American oversight and revive their ship’s importance and credibility.

  “Goalie, Striker Six, there was no response from the raft when I made a low pass.”

  Newman responded, “Striker Six, did you make a low pass or just a flyby?”

  “Sir, I was at raft level. I could see under the canopy and observed one occupant, but no response.”

  “Good, man. Wait for the Sea King.”

  “Goalie, Striker Eleven, I have the raft in sight, ETA two minutes.”

  The Sea King could not hover directly over the raft for fear of overturning it with their rotor wash. They dropped the rescue diver a short distance away and waited for him to swim to the raft.

  “Goalie, Striker Eleven, diver in the water.”

  “Roger, Striker Eleven, standing by.”

  The men on the bridge knew that it was counterproductive to ask questions at this point. The diver could communicate with the helicopter but not directly with the ship. They would have to be patient and wait for information to be relayed.

  “Goalie, the diver reports two occupants, one female and one child, both unresponsive.”

  They waited and prayed.

  “Goalie, Striker Eleven, diver reports weak vital signs in both survivors. We’re beginning recovery. ETA at Goalie in fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  Harrison ordered, “Notify sick bay, two victims inbound. Have them standby on the flight deck to receive them.”

  Unlike the Karuk, the Integrity possessed a full-service hospital, complete with doctors and surgeons. Four hospital corpsmen were dispatched to the flight deck with rolling gurneys. After a short wait, the Sea King could be seen approaching from the west.

  “Goalie, Striker Eleven, three miles west for landing.”

  “Rog
er Striker Eleven, you’re cleared straight in approach and cleared to land amidship. Wind is north at ten and altimeter is 1014 millibars.” The British used millibars instead of inches of mercury for barometric pressure.

  The Sea King pilot aimed for a point a half mile behind the carrier and then racked the chopper around to approach over the fantail and land alongside the huge island. Four minutes later, Bertha Martin and Amanda Chamberlin were in ICU with bags of fluid dripping into their arms. Royal British Navy doctors argued over the best course of treatment.

  Heather left her book lying on the seat and stood up to stretch, then walked toward the restroom. The nearest lavatory was broken, so she would have to use the next one. She was just passing the taped-up door when she heard the familiar sound of the flush motor. Working in the aft galley and sitting on the flight attendant seat by the door, she had heard the flush motor a thousand times. The finicky motors were famous for screwing up in any number of ways, one of which was to activate on their own for no apparent reason. Sometimes if they did that often enough, it would cause an overflow and blue water would run out into the floor. Heather decided she should check it out to make sure that wasn’t going to happen. However, it could wait until after she used the restroom. The door to the broken toilet was locked, but every crewmember knew how to unlock it from outside, in the event a passenger became incapacitated while using the restroom. She moved on to the next one and went inside.

  After flushing the toilet, Ray was looking at his nicked and cut face in the mirror and thought that he would need practice shaving. He could see the reflection of the startled look on his own face when the other lavatory door opened and then closed. He could feel his pulse rate increase, and he could hear someone bumping around in the other john. No need to panic, no one has bothered to check the broken toilet so far and there is no reason to do so now. He remained quiet and waited. Eventually the toilet flushed, and he could hear water running in the sink. Just be still and just be quiet, he silently told himself.

  The other door opened and then noisily closed, causing him to flinch, but his heart almost stopped when he realized someone was unlocking the door he was hiding behind. Instinctively, he reached into the sink and pulled an eight-inch screwdriver from his tool pouch. He was filled with rage and had come too far to give up now. There was no doubt in his mind that everyone was out to get him, and he would no longer submit to ridicule and mistreatment. He was ready when the door opened. The flight attendant froze when she saw him. Her mouth opened to scream, but before she made a sound, he grabbed her. He pulled her inside and covered her mouth with his hand while his other arm went around her neck. She tried to kick him, but there was no room in the tiny space.

  He pulled her head back as far as it would go and put the screwdriver to her throat. “I haven’t killed anybody all day, but I bet you would be fun. You’re all mine now, and you can live or die. I don’t care.” He closed the door and twisted her arm behind her back. He looked for something to restrain her with and spotted the plastic tie wraps in his tool pouch. The plastic strips were used to tie wiring into bundles and were basically the same thing that police officers used as temporary handcuffs. He pulled her other hand behind her back and quickly placed a wrap around both wrists, placed the end into the self-locking receptacle, and pulled it tight. He listened at the door but didn’t hear anyone outside.

  He turned her around and put the screwdriver in front of her face.

  “Is anyone else out there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He pushed the screwdriver against her throat.

  “I don’t have time for games. Is anyone out there?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why are you back here?”

  “I’m on sleep break.”

  “Where are the other flight attendants?”

  “They’re all up front. We only have business class passengers.”

  “Why did you come back here?”

  “I wanted to read, and the light would have disturbed other people.”

  “When does your break end?”

  “Right before landing.”

  “Okay, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to, and for now that means sit tight and keep your mouth shut.”

  Ray looped several tie wraps together and circled Heather’s head with the plastic running between her teeth, very effectively silencing her. “If you move or make a noise, you’ll be wearing a screwdriver in your neck. Don’t be stupid.”

  He cracked the door open, and when he was sure they were alone in the back of the airplane, he moved into the galley area and scavenged for food. He only found cookies and peanuts, but he ate them with gusto. He knew he had to make a plan now that things had changed. Tri Con was going to pay for ruining his life, and he would not let anyone stand in the way of achieving his goals. From what the flight attendant told him, he figured he had two hours to decide what to do.

  The bright sun was peeking above the horizon now, and Colt slid the green sun screen around its track above the windshield and positioned it to block the glare. They had passed thirty degrees west longitude earlier and were talking to Santa Maria Control. Colt had formed a plan to make the last hour of the flight interesting and had asked for an early descent. The airplane was now two hundred miles from Lajes and cruising at flight level two three zero. The flight attendants had finished the breakfast service for those who wanted it, and since Jenny couldn’t sleep anyway, she had helped them. Colt briefed her that there might be a short delay, but they should touch down in less than an hour.

  “Santa Maria, Tri Con One-One-One, how soon can you hand us off to Lajes approach control?”

  “Tri Con One-One-One, I’ll hand you off to Santa Maria radar shortly. They own about one hundred and fifty miles of airspace, sir. They will send you to approach when you get closer.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Colt switched to the number two radio.

  “Karuk, Tri Con Triple One on guard over.”

  There was a momentary delay.

  “Tri Con Triple One, this is Karuk, go ahead.”

  “Karuk, can you meet me on 123.45.”

  “Yes sir, standby.”

  “Tri Con Triple One, do you read Karuk on twenty-three forty-five?”

  “Affirmative, Karuk, understand you have a couple hundred stowaways on board.”

  “Yes sir, we look like the Staten Island Ferry.”

  “Like they advertize, it’s an adventure. We’re inbound to Lajes to take some of them off your hands. What’s your present position?”

  “We’re ninety miles west, estimating docking at three p.m. local.” He read off the latitude and longitude of their position.

  “Thanks, Karuk, you guys are our heroes. There will be a beer bust tonight at a time and place to be determined. We’ll get the word to you later.”

  “Roger that, sir. We’ll standby.”

  Colt patiently watched the mileage decrease until he heard, “Tri Con One-One-One, contact Santa Maria Radar on 132.15, good day, sir.”

  Colt changed frequencies.

  “Santa Maria, Tri Con Triple One at two-three-zero.”

  “Tri Con Triple One squawk 2364.”

  Colt changed the transponder code to 2364 so they could be identified on radar.

  “Tri Con Triple One, radar contact, you’re cleared direct Koker. Lajes is landing Runway Three Three.”

  “Direct Koker, and we’d like to get lower and deviate south, traffic permitting.”

  “We heard you call Karuk on guard earlier and thought you might want to deviate. The only traffic we have is military activity in the search area one hundred miles west. Tri Con Triple One is cleared direct Koker descend at your discretion to maintain 2500 feet. Deviate as necessary.”

  “Direct Koker with deviations, we’re out of two three zero to maintain 2500 feet, say your altimeter.”

  “Altimeter is 1015 millibars. Let us know when you’re ready for approach.”
/>   “Tri Con Triple One, thank you very much, sir.”

  Colt plugged the Karuk’s position into the computer and tracked the magenta line while descending.

  Charlie slowly opened his eyes to bright sunlight pouring in through the windows of the bridge. He couldn’t believe he had actually fallen asleep in the captain’s chair and that he had slept so long. The hatch to the bridge wings were open and fresh ocean air permeated the space. Captain Maxwell stood on the starboard side of the bridge with his hands folded at the small of his back like a grown-up Napoleon.

  “Good morning, Captain Wells. Did you enjoy your nap?”

  “I feel like the firehouse dog, laying around in everyone’s way.”

  “Not at all, you needed the rest. Would you like coffee?”

  “I would love some.”

  The two captains drank coffee and discussed the arrival in Lajes. Maxwell updated the ETA and explained the procedures to Charlie. They would be met by a harbor pilot, who would come aboard and assist them with docking at the unfamiliar pier. The harbor charts were laid out on the navigation table, and Maxwell was pointing out the landmarks they would use. They were both surprised when the bridge speakers came to life with radio traffic.