Heat

Chapter 47

On Sunday afternoon after lunch, Jenny was helping Carey with some homework. “I think I’ll take a drive,” Jesse said to her. “Will you join me?”

“We’ve got work to do here,” Jenny said. “You go ahead.”

Jesse got into the truck, drove to the center of town and set the odometer of his truck at zero. He drove east, past Wood Products for another mile, and turned right at the sign for St. Clair County Airport. He noted that the road was paved and broad, and after a couple of minutes he came to the airfield. An asphalt strip stretched out in both directions; there were some small T-hangars and one large hangar with an office shed attached and a fuel truck parked alongside. The doors to the large hangar were open, and Jesse saw someone working under the cowling of a Cessna single-engine airplane. He drove toward the hangar, and, as he approached, he saw that the man was Pat Casey.

Jesse got out of the truck. “Hey, Pat.”

“Hey there, Jesse, what brings you out this way?”

“Just went for a Sunday drive, and I saw the sign. First time I’ve been out here.”

“I’m out here every chance I get,” Casey said. “Nothing I love better than flying.”

“Pretty nice setup,” Jesse said, pointing toward the runway. “What is it, about thirty-five hundred feet?”

“Forty-five hundred. You can get a corporate jet in here, no problem. You ever done any flying?”

“Yeah, I had about thirty hours in a Cessna 172 back in my hometown. That was seven, eight years ago. I soloed and did the required cross-country stuff, but never got my license.” This was true, but it had been in Miami.

“I’m just finishing up on a little light maintenance here, cleaning the plugs. Want to do a little aerial sightseeing?”

“Sure, love to.”

“Give me five minutes.”

Jesse moved his truck so that Casey could get his airplane out of the hangar, and, when the police chief had finished his work, helped him roll the Cessna out onto the apron.

“Want to fly left seat?” Casey asked.

Jesse grinned. “That depends on if you can land it from the right seat, should you have to.”

“I can. Hop in the left side, there.”

Jesse got in, adjusted his seat and fastened his seatbelt; Casey climbed in beside him, cleared a double handful of charts and books off the copilot’s seat, dumped them on the backseat and handed Jesse a headset. “Nice panel,” Jesse said. “A lot better than the old 172 I learned in.”

“Yeah, I got rid of the original avionics and put in a whole new panel last year. All King stuff, except for the GPS — that’s from Trimble.”

“That’s Global Positioning System?” Jesse knew more about it than he let on.

“Right. It’s satellite based and accurate to within about a hundred feet, I think. Wonderful navaid. All you have to do is enter the three-letter identifier of any airport, press this button twice, then set the course into the course deviation indicator right in front of you. Switch on the autopilot, and it’ll fly you straight there.” Casey produced a laminated sheet of paper. “I’ve already done a preflight inspection, so I’ll read you the cockpit checklist; it’ll all come back to you.”

Jesse was surprised that it did come back. Soon they were taxiing to the end of the runway.

“This is a 182, which is larger and heavier on the controls than your 172 trainer, but not all that different. I’ll work the radios for you.” Casey announced their intention to take off on the local frequency. “Okay, let’s go; set the trim in the green and put in fifteen degrees of flaps, that’s the first notch; throttle all the way in.”

Jesse slowly shoved in the throttle, and the airplane began to move down the runway. There was no wind, and the takeoff was uneventful. Jesse got the flaps up.

“Climb to four thousand feet,” Casey said. “The airport elevation is three thousand, so that’ll put us a thousand feet above ground level.”

Jesse did as he was told, then leveled off at four thousand feet.

“Okay, reduce power to, let’s see, about twenty-three inches of manifold pressure and twenty-three hundred rpm. Good, now I’ll lean the engine, and we’re in business. Turn left to two-seven-zero, and hold your altitude.”

Jesse made the turn without losing any altitude.

“Want to see St. Clair from above?”

“Sure.”

“See the church steeple there? Head for that.”

Jesse picked out the steeple rising above the trees, then saw the mountaintop just behind it. He headed for the church, then continued straight on toward the mountain.

“Look, there’s Jack Gene’s place,” Casey said. “Head over there.”

Jesse turned the airplane slightly, and soon the snowy swath of Coldwater’s garden hove into view.

“There’s Jack Gene in the garden,” Casey said, smiling. “Let’s do a low pass over his house. Drop down a couple hundred feet, and when you get over the house, make a thirty-degree turn to three-six-zero.”

Jesse pushed forward slightly on the yoke and the airplane began a descent and picked up airspeed. He could see the figure in the garden now; he was sitting on a bench and seemed to be holding a book.

“Here we go, start your turn,” Casey said.

Jesse looked at the attitude indicator and picked out the thirty-degree mark, then rolled the airplane to the right.

“You’re losing altitude,” Casey warned.

Jesse hauled back on the yoke and the airplane began to climb again.

“Now roll out level for a minute and then turn left to two-seven-zero.”

Jesse leveled the wings momentarily, then turned left. As he rolled out again on the westerly heading, he looked to his left and saw that he was level with the mountaintop and only about three hundred yards away from it. Then he saw something else: around fifty feet down from the mountaintop there was an opening in the brush, and, set into the mountainside, a large round opening with a grate over it.

“Let’s circumnavigate the mountain, now,” Casey said. “Just fly right around it, and we’ll head back to the airport.”

Jesse continued around the mountain, and he saw two more of the grates. Somebody came running out of one of the small buildings on top and trained binoculars on the airplane.

Casey took the copilot’s yoke and wagged the wings. “They know my airplane,” he said. “Anybody else would get a stinger up his ass, flying this close to the mountain.”

Jesse continued around the mountain and, on the town side, which was sheer cliffs, he saw two more grates.

“Now fly a heading of zero-niner-zero until you see the field, That’ll put you on a downwind for runway two-seven.”

The field appeared after a couple of minutes, and Jesse, following Casey’s instructions, entered a right downwind for the runway, descending slowly, while Casey announced their intentions over the radio. Jesse turned base, then turned onto the final approach.

“You’re a little high,” Casey said. “Reduce power a good bit. That’s right, now she’ll fly you right down to the threshold.”

Jesse pulled back on the throttle, and the airplane settled toward the end of the runway.

“Start your flare, now, and reduce power even more. You want an airspeed of seventy knots over the numbers. Here we go, flare some more, now.”

Jesse hauled back on the yoke, the stall horn went off, and the airplane struck the runway solidly. “Sorry about that, Pat.”

“That was just a nice firm landing,” Casey said, laughing. “You just fell about the last five feet.”

Jesse taxied back to the hangar, and Casey showed him the shutdown procedure.

“Pat, that was a real treat; thank you.”

“You did real good, Jesse; you must have had a pretty good instructor.”

“Fellow by the name of Floyd; a real old-timer with about ten thousand hours.”

“Those guys are the best. I’ve got my instructor’s ticket; you want to start working on your license again? Cost you eighty bucks an hour for the aircraft and fuel; I’m free.”

“That’s a terrific offer, Pat; I’d really like that.”

“Next Sunday, same time?”

“You bet.”

“I’ll get you the instruction book and a new logbook.”

“Can I borrow your pilot’s operating handbook until next week? I’d like to read up on the operating speeds and all that.”

“Good idea.” Casey reached into the cockpit and handed him a thick notebook.

“Thanks, see you next Sunday,” Jesse said.

“Hey, Jimmy!” Casey called to a man near the fuel truck. “Top her off, will you? Just the right tank.”

Jesse got back into his truck and drove off. He checked the speedometer for distance, then drove home. He’d learned a lot more than he’d expected to on a Sunday afternoon.

That night, Jesse had the dream again. He was walking down Fifth Avenue in New York, and he saw the little girl he had taken for his own Carrie. He had decided it wasn’t Carrie, and this was where the dream had stopped. Only this time it continued. It was if they were all in slow motion. The woman bent over and pointed to something in the shop, as Jesse watched through the window, and she seemed terribly familiar. Then she straightened up, and Jesse could see for the first time that, even under the overcoat, the woman was pregnant. He jerked awake, this time with the scene fixed in his mind. Then he remembered something Kip had said, about how he would take care of his family if he lost his job.

Jesse sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, lest the dream should leave him. Machinery in his mind turned, like the tumblers in a safe, and the combination clicked.

Doors swung open. He fell back on the pillow, exhausted from his insight.