Free Fall

Seventy-Five

Grand Junction, Colorado

“It’s not working.”

Beads of sweat grew on Lloyd Quinn’s brow as he looked at Shawn Krenski, who was shaking his head.

Thirty-five minutes ago, they’d learned that their plane, Trans Peak Airlines Flight 2230 from LA to New York, was locked on a collision course with Seattle-bound NorthSun Airlines Flight 118. The time of impact was in thirty-one minutes.

Both crews had now been alerted and advised not to tell passengers of the situation so as not to risk chaos on the flight. Since the alert, Quinn and Krenski had made countless attempts to regain control of their aircraft.

“Anything happening with the autopilot?” Joe Brazak, the top engineer for the 880, said from Trans Peak’s headquarters in Seattle.

“Nothing.”

“Let’s try that override again.”

“Roger.” Quinn nodded to Krenski, who issued a sequence of commands but to no avail.

“Nothing,” Quinn reported, just as his headset beeped with a transmission from the ATCC.

“TP Twenty-two Thirty, Denver Center. No change to your course.”

“Twenty-two Thirty. Roger, Center. We’re working on it with engineering.”

Quinn’s headset beeped again.

“Try it again but with the reset,” Marty Chan, the systems chief, suggested from Seattle.

Krenski wiped his sweating fingers on his shirt as he tried the reset without success.

“Okay,” Brazak said, “try to reduce speed again.”

“We tried again. Nothing.”

“Try adjusting altitude.”

Quinn made yet another effort, which failed, leaving him to curse under his breath and face the fact that they were trapped. Every command was shut out. He had no control of his aircraft as it cut across the sky thirty-six thousand feet above Grand Junction, Colorado.

They were moving at more than five hundred miles an hour, locked into a course that would end in a midair collision with a Seattle-bound flight in about thirty minutes.

Quinn looked to the corner of the console, where he’d placed a small photo of Maria, his wife, and Sophie and Ella, their two daughters. It was in keeping with a promise he’d made to himself long ago. If ever he faced something impossible on the job, their faces were the last thing he wanted to see.

Quinn then looked at the sky ahead.

God help us.