Blackout

CHAPTER 7

Kat Bronsky paused on the front entrance to the American Consulate compound, smelling flowers, watching the flashes of lightning from the approaching storm, and wondering why she was so distracted. She smiled at the consular officer waiting for her in the doorway and went inside, making a mental note to phone customs in Honolulu before going to bed to arrange special handling for Robert MacCabe.

She wondered if the 747 was airborne yet. She could imagine herself comfortably seated in the first-class seat next to Robert MacCabe, and not just for professional reasons. There was a basic attraction there, although his plight was what primarily concerned her. She had a proprietary interest in what he thought he knew, but it would also be nice to get to know him better. Despite a bad initial impression, MacCabe seemed like a truly nice guy.

That’s a dangerous conclusion, she reminded herself. At least bad boys are as advertised. The nice guys can always fool you.

A consular officer had waited up to greet her. They would arrange a 7 A.M. meeting for her on what was a criminal matter involving a staff officer. With luck, she could make a noon departure to L.A.

She thanked him and followed an aide to the guest house, the thought of a soft bed and six hours of sleep a luxury.

“Quite a sight, huh?”

Robert MacCabe turned his head away from the windows to the source of the voice: a well-dressed man in his late thirties, sitting in the opposite row.

Robert managed a smile, slightly irritated at the forced engagement. “Yes.”

“A good view of Kowloon should be coming up on your side as we turn east.”

Robert nodded and looked left again.

“You one of our regular customers?” the man asked.

Once again Robert took his gaze away from the window and looked over at the speaker. “I beg your pardon?”

“One of our regulars? You look very familiar.”

Robert smiled thinly and shook his head. “No. First time on this airline.”

A seat belt clanked open as the man leaned over with his hand extended.

“I’m Rick Barnes, CEO of Meridian Airlines. And you are?”

“Really enjoying this view,” Robert said, trying to hide his displeasure at the interruption. The beauty the man had heralded was sliding past unseen on the left as Robert reluctantly shook Rick Barnes’s hand. “MacCabe. Robert MacCabe.”

“Who’re you with, Robert?”

“The Washington Post.”

“Really? Well, I think we’ve met before somewhere. You look exceedingly familiar. Good to have you with us.”

Robert nodded as he looked left, feeling Barnes’s eyes on the back of his neck.

“Were you in Hong Kong to cover the trade delegation aboard tonight?” Barnes asked.

Robert sighed and looked over, smiling thinly. “Let’s talk a bit later, if you don’t mind, Mr. Barnes. I’d like to take this all in.”

“Oh, sure!” Rick Barnes said, waving Robert back to the window. The young airline president got to his feet and walked back toward the galley, nodding to the couple in the second row of seats.

Dr. Graham Tash nodded back as he squeezed his wife’s arm and spoke softly in her ear. “Great safety example. We’re hardly off and he’s running down the aisle.”

“You recognize him, Honey?” Susan Tash asked.

“Should I?”

“One of the founders of the Costclub warehouse stores. Made about a billion dollars by age thirty and doesn’t really know what to do with it.”

“So he bought an airline?”

“Bought into it, more precisely,” she said. “Forbes magazine had an article on him. He put himself on the board and made himself CEO, even though he knows virtually nothing about aviation. Meridian is his new toy.”

“I’m not envious,” Graham said. “I have my toy.” He squeezed her hand again and felt her pull away slightly, feigning offense.

“Surely you’re not referring to your new wife as a toy, Doctor!”

He looked hurt. “Well, wait a minute. Let me check. You’re incredibly beautiful, perfectly proportioned, sexy beyond Bardot and Monroe, brilliant beyond comprehension, and sexually insatiable. Yep! Definitely my favorite toy.”

She swatted his shoulder, trying to look insulted, but her smile betrayed her.

He smiled back. “Does this mean you won’t meet me in the bathroom in five minutes for meaningless sex?”

“Sh-h-h! Behave yourself!” she whispered. “You’re a professional.”

“Look, seriously, this trip was a wonderful idea, Honey.”

“I thought you’d like Hong Kong.”

“What I like is being with you. Anywhere. I haven’t been happier in decades. Who knew? My own nurse. Right there in the OR all the time. Scrubbed and everything.”

“Yes, isn’t it romantic?” she said, smiling. “I can tell people we flirted over an appendectomy, got serious during a bowel resection, and fell in love in the middle of open-heart surgery.”

He leaned over to kiss her as the 747 rolled sharply to the right, shoving everyone on the upper deck to one side.

“Who in the hell was that?” Dan Wade asked, as Pete Cavanaugh brought the Boeing back to wings-level and punched the Transmit button. “Hong Kong Departure, Meridian Five. Another aircraft just passed from left to right across our flight path, very close, almost a near hit. We’d estimate we missed him only by a quarter mile.”

“Roger, Meridian, there is no known traffic ahead of you.”

“Did you have any a minute ago?” Dan pressed.

“No, Sir. There was no…” There was a pause and another controller’s voice came on frequency, presumably a supervisor.

“Meridian Five. Stand by.”

Thirty seconds went by before the supervisor’s voice returned. “We were apparently getting an intermittent raw radar return in that vicinity a minute ago, Meridian, but our computer did not consider it valid traffic, so we did not call it out to you. We have only an inbound DC-ten and an outbound Global Express out there.”

The controller was pulling on the sleeve of his supervisor. “Two-Two-Zulu has disappeared, Sir. The Global Express.”

The supervisor looked at the controller he’d superseded. “Where was he?”

The controller ran his finger over the glass of the computer-generated radarscope to a spot several miles in front of Meridian Five. “Here. The data block started coasting, then just dropped out.”

The supervisor took a deep breath. A missing airplane in Chinese airspace translated to an instant political problem, especially since mainland China had taken over. Officially, the aircraft couldn’t be missing unless it had crashed.

“Did you see the altitude going down?”

The controller shook his head. “No, Sir. It was stable until he blinked out.”

“How about a basic radar return? Did you see anything after he disappeared?

The controller shook his head as he pointed to another spot on the screen. “There’s that other target. No transponder signal. Just a raw radar image.”

The supervisor looked at the shadowy target the controllers called a “skin paint,” the echo of the radar beam off a flying metal object, unenhanced by the electronic information usually provided by an aircraft’s transponder.

The controller moved his finger just below the intermittent target, which was to the right of Meridian this time. He toggled a switch to enhance the raw signal, and it flared more brightly, clearly moving laterally toward the 747.

The supervisor pushed the Transmit button. “Meridian Five, Hong Kong. We have that intermittent target again to your three o’clock position, altitude unknown.”

Aboard Meridian 5, Dan’s face was pressed to the side window. “I see nothing over here, Pete!”

Pete shook his head. “You suppose the Chinese Air Force is out here playing games?” Pete triggered the radio with his Transmit button. “If this is some sort of military game, Hong Kong, tell them to stop. It’s a violation of civil rules.”

The supervisor’s voice was back in an instant. “We know of no explanation, Meridian. We are also missing a business jet who was ahead of you. Have you had any contact with Global Express Two-Two-Zulu?”

Dan and Pete exchanged glances.

“This is weird. What do you suppose happened to them?” Dan said to Pete, just as the supervisor’s voice came back, intense and rapid.

“Meridian, we’ve lost that target. We are informing our military authorities.”

“Dan, look up the numbers for our Air Force base in Taiwan, just in case.”

The copilot reached for his bag and pulled out the appropriate manual, flipping to the right page. He was in the process of glancing up from the manual at the same instant the world seemed to explode in an incredible burst of hideously bright light that saturated the cockpit, stabbing his eyes and thrusting him back in the seat with unbelievable pain. An unearthly, agonized scream erupted from the left seat and the 747 shuddered into some sort of shock wave.

Dan’s eyes were on fire. His eyelids slammed shut, the pain all but unbearable, an endless field of white where his vision should have been.

“Pete! Are you okay?” Dan called.

There was another guttural screech from the left seat, and Dan reached out to touch the captain. He felt Pete Cavanaugh’s body slump to the left.

“Pete? Pete! Speak to me!”

Dan felt for the control yoke in front of the captain. Pete’s hands weren’t on it.

“Pete? For God’s sake, answer me!”

There was no sound from the left seat.

The supervisor in Hong Kong Control was in his ear, asking what they had seen. Dan wanted to answer, but his mind was in complete confusion, his eyes two burning coals of intense pain, his captain unresponsive — and the 747 obviously wobbling around, out of the control of either pilot.

Autopilot!

Dan reached to the upper console and punched the square push button that engaged the autopilot, and felt the giant machine begin to right itself.

My God, what’s going on here? No depressurization. Windshield’s intact.

The autoflight system had been set for climb at Mach.74 before Pete disconnected, he recalled. He needed to reengage the autothrottles, too. But should they climb? Maybe not.

Declare an emergency… got to go back… may need to dump fuel, we’re heavy.

Dan snapped on the autothrottles and selected the Altitude Hold button, praying he’d gotten the right one. He could hear the throttles adjusting themselves as he fumbled for the Transmit button.

“Hong Kong, has there been a nuclear detonation somewhere ahead? Something… something exploded up here!”

“Say again, Meridian.”

“Something exploded just in front of us! I think we’re hit. There’re only two of us on the flight deck, and the captain is not responding. I’m on autopilot, but this is the first officer and my eyes have been badly hurt. I can’t see. I need your help.”

The voice from below sounded almost as shaken as his own. “Ah — Meridian, this is Hong Kong. You are heading now zero-eight-two degrees, and you appear level at one-two thousand feet, ground speed three hundred forty knots. Say your intentions?”

“Hell, Hong Kong, I don’t know. I’m, ah… let me calm down up here and try… try to figure out what I’ve got, okay? Stay with me. Give me a turn if necessary to stay in your radio range.” Dan realized he was almost hyperventilating with fear and pain. He forced himself to slow his breathing rate, willing the searing pain to the back of his consciousness as he tried to deal with the crisis.

“We’ll need to come back, I’m sure of that. Ah… declare us… I mean, I’m declaring an emergency right now.”

“Roger, Meridian. We have your emergency declaration. Be advised Hong Kong is now under a severe thunderstorm watch, and rain is beginning. There is more weather to the east. We can keep you clear in the meantime, but for now, please maintain present heading. Were you hit by lightning, Meridian?”

Maybe that’s it, Dan thought. No. It couldn’t be. Lightning isn’t that bright.

“Meridian, a question, please. Are there relief pilots aboard your aircraft?”

The stabbing pain behind each eye was getting worse, blanking out even his thoughts as Dan struggled to stay engaged and rise above the pain.

“No, Hong Kong. This is a two-man crew.”

Have to get someone up here! he told himself, fumbling with his left hand at the back of the pedestal for the interphone. He couldn’t find the right buttons at first, but finally pushed All Call and listened to the majority of the flight attendants come on the line from various sections of the aircraft.

“Britta, are you there somewhere?”

“Right here. Is this Dan? You sound strange.”

“Please… get up here right now! We have an emergency. I need you — WAIT! First, make a PA, ask for any other pilots on board, even… even if it scares everyone.”

“It’s scaring me, but I’m on the way.”

Britta Franz felt her stomach contracting into a singularity as she punched the PA button on the same handset and put it back to her mouth, trying to sound calm.

There was silence amid the wide-eyed looks she was getting from the cabin passengers on the left side, the only ones who could see the apprehension on her face.

Bill Jenkins materialized at her side, waiting silently as she tried again.

Bill leaned toward her. “Britta, I’ll keep trying. You’d better get up there.”

She gave the handset to him without a word and raced toward the staircase, breaking into a run at the top of the stairs with the cockpit key in hand. She found the door unlocked.

Britta instinctively shut the door behind her, letting her eyes adjust to the subdued light. She could see Pete in the captain’s seat, but something was wrong. He was slumped to the left with his head lolled back.

“Dan?” Britta said. “What’s going on?”

“Check Pete! Check him. Now!”

Britta’s mouth felt dry as she turned to the captain. A stab of fear ran through her mind as she realized his eyes were open. She reached for his neck and felt for the carotid artery as she would before administering CPR, but there was no pulse. She moved his head, and it rolled lifelessly to the other side.

“Oh my God, Dan! He’s not breathing! I can’t find a pulse!”

“Can you get him out of the seat and do CPR?” Dan asked.

She turned to the copilot, wondering why he was flying with his head down. “Danny, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t see, Britta. Something exploded in front of us.”

“Oh my God!”

“The plane’s on autopilot. Help Pete! Don’t worry about me for now.”

“You can’t see?”

“Britta! Help Pete!”

She nodded, breathing rapidly. “Okay. Ah, I’ll need help.”

She dashed to the cockpit door and flung it open, her eyes falling on the very person she was hoping to see. Memorizing the names of her first-class passengers had always been a matter of pride for her, and now it was a godsend.

“Dr. Tash!”

The physician and his wife had been watching the cockpit door since she ran inside. His eyes locked on hers as he came out of the seat.

“Right here.”

“I need help! The captain’s injured and not breathing.”

Britta stepped aside to let the doctor rush in. Robert MacCabe followed. “Can I help?” MacCabe asked.

“Probably,” Britta replied.

The doctor was leaning over the captain, his eyes wide with surprise as he ran the same basic checks for pulse and breath. “How do I get this seat back?” he asked.

“It’s electric. The buttons are on the forward left edge,” Dan replied.

Robert moved forward and joined Graham Tash in maneuvering the captain’s deadweight out of the seat, pulling Pete as gently as they could through the cockpit door and into the forward aisle, where Susan Tash was waiting.

“What do we have, Graham?”

“Start CPR, Susan. His airway’s clear. Breathe first. Miss?” Graham said to Britta. “I need the aircraft emergency medical kit.”

She nodded and immediately disappeared back into the cockpit, emerging with the large white metal box. Graham began opening it.

“How can I help?” Robert asked the doctor.

“Check on the copilot for me.”

Several of the occupants of the first-class cabin were on their feet, standing by their seats and watching, unsure what to do. Britta looked up and held up her hand. “Stay calm, folks! We’ll explain in a minute. The other pilot is at the controls.” She knelt alongside Pete and looked at the doctor. “How bad is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know yet.” He popped a stethoscope into place and began probing for a heartbeat while Susan finished the first round of breathing.

There was none.

“Is that a crash cart?” Susan asked.

“Not completely,” Graham replied, “but we’ve got a defibrillator.”

Robert MacCabe reentered the cockpit and moved to the copilot’s side.

“Who’s there?” Dan asked, sensing his presence. The question confused Robert. The light in the cockpit was not that dim.

“Ah, Robert MacCabe. Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What — what happened up here?” Robert could see that the copilot’s eyes were squinted closed; his head was down, his face bloodless and contorted in pain.

Dan shook his head. “Something exploded in front of us. The light was unbelievable. I think I’ve temporarily lost my vision to flash blindness.”

Robert felt his heart accelerating. He told himself this couldn’t be happening.

“What’s wrong with the captain?” the copilot was asking.

“You say… your eyes—”

“I CAN’T SEE! Okay? Are you a doctor?”

“No, but there’s one working on the other pilot.”

“Then tell me about the captain.”

Robert felt his head swimming. He glanced back toward the door at the rear of the cockpit. “He’s… we’re giving CPR. He’s not breathing.”

Robert heard an agonized noise from the occupant of the right seat. The man was breathing rapidly, obviously in deep pain. “Let me get the doctor up here.”

Robert turned to go but Dan stopped him. “Hey! Are you a pilot?”

“No.”

“Any aviation experience?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“Okay. If they find another pilot, get him up here immediately.”

Robert left the cockpit with his stomach in a knot and his mind in complete confusion. What could have exploded? A missile? Maybe that was it. What was the political situation? Suddenly he couldn’t recall, but the possibility they were under attack by China flitted through his mind.

What else could flash-blind a pilot? he wondered, the answer coming with nightmarish implications. Oh my Lord, a nuclear blast could do it. But why hadn’t there been a shock wave? Wouldn’t that have torn them apart? Maybe not, he thought, if the explosion was several hundred miles away, or the detonation was small. But we could all be doomed from radiation exposure.

Robert was standing just outside the cockpit door. “Ah, the copilot… says he can’t see, Doctor. He needs you up there.”

Graham Tash looked up and caught Robert’s eye. “Just a second.”

Robert nodded and disappeared back into the cockpit as Graham looked at his wife. “Okay. CLEAR!”

“Clear!” she echoed.

Pete’s body convulsed once. Graham threw the paddles down and jabbed the stethoscope in his ears as he leaned over the chest.

He straightened up and shook his head. “Keep going!”

Susan Tash began pumping again immediately as Graham scrambled to his feet and raced into the cockpit. Robert stepped aside and the physician introduced himself.

“Let me look at your eyes!” Graham ordered.

Dan lifted his head toward the doctor’s voice. “It hurts so bad, I don’t know if I can open them.”

Graham leaned down, positioning his thumbs to open the left eye. “Try to relax the eyelid if you can.”

“I’ll try. OW-W! The light! That’s horrible!”

Graham let the eyelid close. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to find some painkiller for you as soon as I can. I’ve got to get back to the captain.”

“How bad are my eyes?”

“I don’t know. Not like the captain. You’ve been flash-blinded by something, but the damage is internal.”

He moved toward the cockpit door, but the deadly urgency in Dan’s voice stopped him.

“How long to recover?” Dan asked. “For flash blindness, I mean?”

Graham Tash shrugged. “I don’t know. Up to a few days, maybe. Best guess.”

“Doctor,” the copilot began. “With the fuel we’re carrying, we don’t have days. We have, at best, about eight hours.”