Four hours earlier, Hollis Barrett had barely looked back at Mara when she entered the crew briefing room at Boston Logan International Airport.
He looked at her CV instead.
Thirty-six years old.
Certified for commercial multi-motor applications.
Five years of service with Northstar Airlines.
Excellent safety statistics.
Instructor qualification.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing made an impression on a man who had crossed the Atlantic Ocean thousands of times.
“Keene?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Barrett leaned back.
I heard that you have been transferred from the domestic service.
Largely.
« Have you ever traveled the route from Boston to Dublin in the winter? »
Several times.
He smiled as if he were reassuring a nervous student.
The North Atlantic is not Kansas.
Mara almost smiled.
She was born in Kansas.
I will keep that in mind.
Barrett spent the entire briefing talking.
Mara listened.
She had learned long ago that people open up when you give them the space to feel at ease through silence.
Barrett loved authority more than responsibility.
He told stories about the old days, before modern automation. He complained that younger pilots relied too much on checklists. He joked about corporate training.
Mara allowed it.
Although military service was mentioned in her personnel file at the airline, it was only in general terms.
United States Air Force.
Experience in transport and tactical aviation.
Honorable farewell.
The airline knew more.
Barrett had never taken the trouble to check it.
Seven years earlier, Mara was Lieutenant Colonel Mara Keene, call sign « Raven », an F-16 pilot attached to a fighter squadron operating from the Middle East.
She had 1,900 flying hours in the army.
Thirty-seven combat missions.
Two decorations that she has never displayed.
And there was one memory she wouldn’t have wanted to erase for anything in the world.
Major Owen Rusk had been her wingman during her last deployment.
He was thirty-two, loud, reckless, loyal, and engaged to a nurse who was waiting for him in Arizona.
During what should have been a routine support mission, their formation was relieved by an enemy missile battery.
Mara’s plane was damaged.
Rusk stayed beside her.
When a second rocket was launched, he turned towards it.
He never came home again.
The official investigation concluded that his maneuver had saved Mara’s life.
Mara called it something else.
A debt she would never be able to repay.
Three months later, she resigned.
She moved to Oregon.
In Colorado.
Next, Massachusetts.
She trained as a civil aviation officer and became exactly what she wanted to be.
Normal.
No nicknames.
No ceremonies.
No confidential debriefings.
No folded flags delivered to someone else’s front door.
She wanted fixed departure times and breakfast at the hotel.
She wanted to hear passengers complain about delayed baggage.
She wanted problems that didn’t end with a collision in the middle of the night at someone’s family’s house.
Flying on flight 442 seemed perfect.
From Boston to Dublin.
A routine night crossing.
An average airplane.
An average crew.
By midnight, most passengers were already asleep.
The cabin lighting was dimmed.
Barrett relaxed in his chair.
Mara kept an eye on their route.
They were diverted slightly to the north by the high-altitude wind, but no unusual observations were visible in their systems.
Then Mara smelled something.
Sharp.
Dry.
Almost electric.
She leaned closer to the panel.
Do you smell that?
Barrett barely looked up.
Coffee warmer.”
« Nee. »
Mara breathed again.
It reminded her of burnt stone.
The hairs on her arms stood on end.
A few minutes later, small streaks of blue-white light crept across the windshield.
Barrett leaned forward.
“What is that?”
“Static discharge.”
There is no storm.
« I know. »
The intercom rang.
Mara answered.
Head flight attendant June Calder sounded uncomfortable.
Mara, we are receiving complaints about a strange smell in the front cabin.
What kind?
Just like matches. Maybe smoke.
Is smoke visible?
“No. But there is dust.”
Mara’s stomach clenched.
» Dust? «
Very good. People can see it around the lights.
Mara turned to Barrett.
“Volcanic as.”
Barrett stared at her.
There are no warnings for volcanic eruptions on our route.
We need to turn around.
Based on fabric?
Based on dust, sulfur, static discharge, and zero weather influences.
« Do you want to make a detour without permission in the middle of controlled shipping traffic? »
I want to stop supplying volcanic material to two jet engines.
Barrett’s facial expression tightened.
Keep the header.
Mara looked at him.
Captain-
Keep the header.
Then the left engine sputtered.
Once.
Twice.
A violent vibration went through the plane.
The engine temperature rose.
Warnings appeared.
Barrett took an oath.
“Engine one.”
« Thrust stationary, » Mara said immediately.
Barrett pushed the accelerator forward.
Mara’s blood froze.
« Nee! »
He tried to get the engine running again.
Instead, the vibration got worse.
The second engine started to sputter.
Mara grabbed the throttles.
Barrett blocked her.
I’ll take care of it.
You are only making it worse.
A loud bang was heard under the right wing.
The cockpit lights flickered.
Another bang followed.
Subsequently, both motors were wound down.
The plane fell silent.
A few minutes later, Captain Hollis Barrett brought them almost into the Atlantic Ocean.
Now that Mara was piloting the rudderless jet, Barrett finally understood the consequences of not listening.
« Checklist, » she ordered.
He hesitated.
« No. »
For the first time that evening, he obeyed.
Barrett’s hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the emergency checklist twice.
Mara pretended not to notice.
Humiliating him would achieve nothing.
Keeping it functional could save everyone.
“Procedure for restarting the engine.”
Barrett found the page.
Thrust levers in rest position.
» Confirmed. «
Fuel control switches switched off.
» Confirmed. «
Starting selection.”
They have gone through the steps.
Nothing happened.
The engines kept cutting out.
Flight 442 passed an altitude of 26,000 feet.
Mara pressed the emergency radio button.
« Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Northstar Flight Four-Four-Two Heavy. Double engine failure. Descending through altitude 260 over the North Atlantic. Any station receiving this, respond. »
Static.
She has sent again.
Nothing.
Barrett stared at the windshield.
How far are we from the mainland?
“Too far.”
« How far? »
Mara checked their position.
« It has progressed far enough that it doesn’t matter, unless we restart something. »
His face turned pale.
« Running away? »
» Not yet. «
« Mara, this plane isn’t going to glide two hundred miles. »
« I know. »
The intercom went off.
June.
Mara answered.
The stewardess’s voice trembled.
The cabin became almost completely dark. People are panicking.
Emergency lighting must remain.
« It is. »
“Keep everyone in place. Tighten your belts. Secure loose equipment. Do not move anyone unless absolutely necessary.”
June was a break.
“Are the engines off?”
Mara looked at Barrett.
He looked away.
« Yes. »
There was a silence on the line.
Then June asked the question that everyone on board wanted answered.
« Are we going out onto the ocean? »
Mara could have lied.
She didn’t do that.
We have a serious problem. But the aircraft is still controllable and I am working on a solution. Keep the cabin ready for an emergency landing.
In the fields?
I will let you know as soon as I know.
Silence again.
« Good. »
« June? »
« Yes? »
« Tell them we are still flying. »
That sounded ridiculous.
But Mara understood what fear was.
Upon hearing « engine failure, » people imagined a plane plummeting straight out of the sky.
A jet without engines could still glide.
For a while.
‘Just tell them that,’ Mara repeated. ‘We’re still flying.’
She hung up.
Twenty-four thousand feet.
Barrett stared at her.
You have done this before.
Not in a Dreamliner.
I mean the loss of thrust.
Mara said nothing.
A military jet?
Nothing.
He studied her.
You were not a means of transport.
Focus on the checklist.
« Soon- »
« Focus. »
Suddenly, a voice crackled through the radio.
“Northstar Four-Four-Two, this is Atlas Cargo Seven-Niner-One. We have received your Mayday.”
Barrett almost laughed with relief.
Mara remained steadfast.
Atlas Seven-Niner-One, report our emergency to air traffic control. Both engines have failed following suspected exposure to volcanic ash. We are descending and cannot maintain our altitude.
Understood. Just a moment.
Thirty seconds later, the cargo pilot returned.
« Four-four-two, the nearest suitable alternative route is still outside your sliding zone. »
We know that.
We can stay above the platform and pass on the signals.
Do it.
The cargo plane became their lifeline.
As a result, the air traffic controllers were told their position.
The emergency services began mapping out possible rescue locations.
Ships were notified.
But Mara understood arithmetic.
The rescue plan gave a reassuring feeling.
It was not a solution.
At an altitude of twenty thousand feet, she smelled smoke.
No sulfur this time.
Electric smoke.
Barrett noticed it too.
A warning light came on.
Front electronics compartment.
Mara’s jaws clenched.
Particles originating from the ash cloud had contaminated systems.
A complete power outage could lead to their instruments functioning less effectively and them having limited control.
‘How much time?’ asked Barrett.
“For what?”
Before we have to leave.
« At this descent speed? Maybe twelve minutes. »
Barrett closed his eyes.
Mara checked the engine indicators.
One number caught her attention.
Rotation of the windmill.
Klein.
But present.
An idea emerged.
Dangerous.
Possibly stupid.
Exactly the kind of idea she had promised herself she would never need again.
“Barrett.”
His eyes opened.
« How familiar are you with turbine failure caused by ash? »
“Simulator material.”
Remember it then.
He thought.
« As soon as the engine has cooled down, the deposits can solidify. »
» In? «
Some contamination may come loose when the compressor is running.
Mara nodded.
The air flowing through the engines barely set the internal parts in motion.
Not enough.
She needed more air circulation.
Much more.
Barrett realized what she was considering.
« Nee. »
We need compressor rotation.
« Nee. »
We’re going to step on the gas.
« You mean descend. »
“I mean diving.”
His eyes grew wide.
We already don’t have enough height.
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