The Mystery of Flight 2222 Page 4

  Dinner was served without fanfare. The movie was playing, and Helen had donned her headset. She was chewing on her chicken a bit longer than one should, giving Frank a feeling of satisfaction with his choice. His beef was tender, but there was not much of it. The cursory cookie and cake for dessert was minimally tasteful but easily consumed. As he glanced toward his companion, a polite smile creased her face. Half of the cake remained on her plate. The cookie had not been touched. Frank reached for the call button, pushed it, and waited.

  “You rang?” another attendant asked. She was older and more seasoned than Kimberly. Her demeanor was all professional. No smile, no specific eye contact.

  “Please, two Kaluha and milks on the rocks, here.”

  “Sure, that will be twelve dollars. And I’ll be back in a minute with the drinks.”

  Frank inched forward in his seat, removed his seat belt, reached into his pocket to retrieve his billfold, and produced the exact change. The woman thanked him and left. Kimberly eventually returned with the drinks, a sight welcomed by Frank.

  She set one in front of Helen, who was surprised. She removed her ear pieces just in time to hear the attendant ask,” Anything else for you two?”

  “No, thank you,” Helen answered before Frank had a chance to say a word. “Thank you for the after-dinner drink, or should I say after-whatever-that-meat-was drink,” she said.

  “No problem. My pleasure.” Frank chuckled. “So, not a tender massaged and coddled Perdue chicken, eh?”

  “You could say that chicken had been in some kind of rough boot camp too long.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence, both of them checking out who they would choose next as their choice in Frank’s game. He continued to suck on the ice at the bottom of his plastic container, trying to get every bit out of his six dollars as he watched the movie progress without sound. This was another activity he used to pass the time on long flights, guessing what was being said by reading the character’s lips. He had no experience in reading lips, but it was a challenge to try. He thought he was getting pretty good at it, but there were times when he had no inkling what they were saying.

  He turned and raised his head to scan the nearby passengers to begin the guessing game again but found Helen fast asleep, the headset cockeyed across her forehead. He removed it gently. A soft glow from the cabin lights illuminated her face. She was not especially pretty—plump cheeks, non-conforming lips, and eyes that were slightly uneven—but there was something about her that interested Frank. It wasn’t sexual at all. She seemed to be alluring in another, more intellectual way.

  Sleep tight, little lady. Wish I could sleep on a flight.

  He had spent many an hour on an airplane, big ones, little ones, and puddle jumpers. He had tried multiple ways to get some shut-eye, but everything he did was a failure. It seemed as if these methods got the opposite effect: alcohol, sleeping pills, non-narcotic sleeping aids, and even counting sheep. None of these worked. He had tried some of the sleeping aids he’d seen in the ever-present catalog in the pocket in front of him and those in the airport shops: neck pillows, sleep blinders, multiple-shaped pillows for window seats, but they turned out to be a waste of money. With his head tilted against the soft small airline’s pillow, he stared out into the night, counting the red blinking light at the end of the wing.

  Red sheep! Damn, one o’clock, and I don’t feel a bit sleepy. Oh, well, might as well hit the head.

  Seat belt unhooked, he climbed in slow motion over Helen’s outstretched legs until he was firmly in the aisle. To his left sat an elderly woman still adorned with a hat that could have been worn by a movie star in the 1930s. She didn’t seem to be that ancient, but the long dress, thick hose, and broad-based heels certainly added up. Yep, she had to be at least in her eighties, retired piano teacher, born in the good old USA, probably of British descent. Her name would be Maxine. She looked like a Maxine, and with her supposed British background, Frank thought this name would definitely be appropriate.

  Let’s see what Helen comes up with.

  Dodging legs and feet in the aisle, he made his way to the rear of the plane. Kimberly was there going over paperwork when Frank arrived. Because of his many sleepless nights on aircrafts, he had a great familiarity with this section of the airplane.

  “Anything I can do for you?” she whispered.

  “Water would be fine. Nothing else will help me sleep, right?” He was hoping this question would create a magic answer from her or, at least, an opening for a conversation to pass the time.

  “Sure.” She filled a coffee cup with bottled water and handed it to him then returned to her paper chores.

  Frank dallied in the rear for another three to four minutes, drinking slowly. He then waited for one of the bathroom doors to open and entered into the cramped cubicle. Ah, Homer would love to be in here, wouldn’t he? Just the right size for a Mr. Narcissist to live. After relieving himself and using the mirror to loosen his shirt and tie, he returned to his seat. Helen was awake and moved her legs gently aside to let him in.

  “So, can’t sleep, eh? Want to continue the game?” she inquired.

  He was never so happy to hear those words. “Sure, I can’t sleep anyway. You begin.”

  “Okay. How about that guy?”

  She pointed to a rather heavy-set, round-faced bearded man slouched in his seat. His tie was loosely fitted around his enormous bulging neck, sporting a thick, ballooning double chin. His hair rested irregularly on his head, highly suggesting a toupee gone awry. His arms extended well over the armrest, and he looked as if someone had tried to shove a round object into a square hole and succeeded in doing so. He was snoring with abrupt deep breaths followed by times of silence and then followed by a coughing episode. His neighbors were visibly annoyed.

  “Um, let’s see,” Frank said. “Fifty-two and married. Three kids. Salesman, named Ernie. Irish, Scottish descent. Alcoholic, maybe. Definitely sleep apnea.”

  “Nope. I agree with the age, but I think he owns a bar, maybe a few of them, divorced. Okay on the three kids, I guess. His name has to be Otto. Definitely of German descent. Too much spaetzle and potato pancakes in his diet,” Helen said.

  “Spaetzle? You mean those little German dumplings or noodles? Hmmm, could be, but I think you’re wrong. You could be so far off here. I’m going to win going away, Helen.”

  “How do you know you win? Do you interview these people after the flight?” she queried.

  “No. Never see them again. Just a game to pass the time away.”

  “Then don’t tell me you win,” she said without taking her eyes off him.

  “Damn, you are serious about this,” he said, raising his eyebrows and pointing his finger at her.

  “You know I’m going to win,” she said, laughing at his intent look.

  “All right then. The game is on, girl!” Frank said. “Who’s next?”

  “That couple there. Honeymooners, no doubt. Twenty-five for the woman and twenty-nine for the man. She’s a secretary, and he is in graduate school. His or her parents are paying for the trip. Nationality is an easy one. He’s Japanese and she Asian. Her name is…let’s say Soo Mi. I had a Korean at work by that name,” Helen rattled off.

  “Well, I can agree with most of what you said. Her facial contour definitely is Asian. He could be Korean, but I’m voting for Japanese, definitely a Yuto for the guy’s name. One more,” Frank said, smiling.

  “Really? Yuto? So lame! Where did you get that name?”

  “Well, it is one of the most popular Japanese names. Y-U-T-O.”

  “My, my, you sure know a lot. I would have never come up with a real name for him.”

  “So, we have one more?”

  “Let’s see. Jerko, the Jewish man, the heavy guy…the honeymooners, that’s only five. Wow, there’s two more,” Helen said, counting on her fingers.

  Realizing he had picked one already, Frank remarked, “Well, I did get one while you were asleep.”

 
; “Who?” Helen asked, looking around the side of her seat.

  “That elderly lady across the aisle, down about four rows.”

  Helen turned her head to look into the aisle, glanced down and spied the woman. “So?”

  “Eighties, retired piano teacher, British, Maxine,” Frank quickly said.

  “No way, Jose. Late seventies, retired but a private secretary for a corporate executive, and she is not a Brit. Italian, for sure, and her name would be…uh… Sofia. On second thought, maybe you have the upper hand here. Now that I see her profile better, definitely English. Piano teacher, maybe, who knows. Love the name Maxine. Gotta go with that.”

  “That’s only six people. Jerko, Israeli man, Maxine, the heavy guy, and the married couple. We need one more to complete the game,” he said, somewhat amazed that Helen had been taken so much by the game. “Okay. Kimberly, attendant, thirties. From Chicago. Danish. There, we’re done.”

  “No, French heritage. Way back, you know,” Helen said, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I guess you’re right. Well, at least we do know what her real name is, don’t we?” Helen continued to yawn. “I’m really getting heavy eyes, and there isn’t anything interesting written on the back of my eyelids to keep me up. Here I go.”

  “Well, I guess that’s it. It has been a pleasure playing with you. I’m going to try to get some shut-eye, but it’s going to be tough. Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Frank mused.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Mason.”

  “Frank! Goodnight, Ms. Hampton.”

  Frank glanced over to see her moving her head toward the aisle. She was asleep faster than anyone he had ever seen before. He was so jealous of this ability. He turned to the window, folded the pillow on itself, and pushed his head into it firmly. No sooner had he closed his eyes, he opened them to realign the pillow and shift his body in the seat. This scenario continued off and on for the next twenty minutes, much to his angst. It was as if he had ‘restless body syndrome’, somewhat akin to the ‘restless leg’ one. He would wiggle his ankle as fast as he could as if exercising would make him tired. This never helped, but he always tried it. There was not much room on these economy seats to do anything else. Then he tried pumping his knee up and down followed by the other, and then folded his arms across his chest.

  Crap! Nothing’s happening!

  Geez, I hate this.

  He thought of Kate again. How was she doing? She should be asleep now. Oh, how he wished he could be by her side. He loved her warm body next to him, and the smell of her hair always captivated him. The warmth of their comforter added to their snuggling, altogether a feeling of safety and love nurturing them until morning. Nothing could make him fall asleep better than this wife by his side and in his own home. With this image in his head, he was actually finally able to fall asleep on a plane for once.

  Chapter Six

  Captain Swanson and Crenshaw were comfortably seated while Jane Hodges was checking her records of the flight. The big Airbus was on autopilot, and it was time for each to take time out of the cockpit for a bathroom break, a drink, and something to munch on. Billy took the first break, and he nodded to Joe and Jane to take over.

  “Everything seems great, don't you think, Joe?” Billy remarked as he left.

  “Don’t see any problems. Just another routine jaunt, I suspect,” Joe said.

  Jane moved over to Billy’s seat and began to check the instruments. She looked out her window into the beautiful night sky. The low level of lighting in the quarters allowed her to see millions of stars. She motioned to Joe and pointed them out. He smiled and watched for a few moments, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

  A small vibration jolted Jane from her vision of the stars. It did not last long, but, to be certain, Jane scanned the entire instrument panel looking for any signs of danger. She saw none, remained vigilant for any minor or unusual oscillation, but relaxed after a few minutes. Then, there was another sound similar to the first, lasting a bit longer. This time, she alerted Joe from his slumber. He perked upright and proceeded to search for any signs of trouble. The jerking sensation soon stopped. Joe and Jane looked at each other, both shrugging it off as the sound had disappeared and the plane was running smoothly.

  “I’ll tell Billy as soon as he comes back. Couldn’t have been turbulence since it seemed to only be on your side of the plane,” Joe said. “Anything on your wing?”

  Jane leaned forward and visually inspected the left wing. “Everything seems okay there.”

  As she sat back, a low-pitched thump was audible and felt by Jane.

  “Damn, what was that?” Jane snapped.

  “Haven’t heard anything like that before,” Joe responded.

  Jane checked the wing. “Not a thing there. The wing isn’t vibrating, the engine shows no sign of a wear, and no smoke or fire.”

  “Could anything like that sound be coming from the belly of this beast?” Joe asked.

  “No freaking idea, Joe,” Jane replied.

  “Well, it sure is running smooth right now,” Joe said, still glancing over the panel in front of him.

  Billy soon returned to chewing on a sandwich with a cup of juice in his hand. He stood at the door, discarded his cup, and swallowed his last bite. Jane got up and returned to her seat.

  As soon as Billy got into position, Joe said, “We’ve had some weird noises and vibrations since you left. They didn’t last long. One tiny vibration, another one, and a thump. All on the left, it seems. The last could have been left belly. Right, Jane?”

  “Yeah, weird, for sure. Never heard that thump before,” Jane concurred.

  “You say everything’s on the left?” Billy asked as he scanned the left wing and partially stood up and looked back to see as much of the junction of the wing and the plane as possible. He started eyeing each specific instrument in front of him and Joe. “All seems intact.”

  Over the next fifteen minutes, no other reverberations or unusual sounds were felt or heard. The crew could only speculate as to the origin of them but were relieved that everything was calm. Jane got up and motioned that she was taking her break.

  “Just in, there’s storm activity being reported now just east of the islands, mostly over Puerto Rico. Evidently, some lightning and heavy winds, but I think we can avoid it by revising the route more east of P.R. and then get back on course once passed it. What do you think?” Billy asked.

  “Seems routine to me. I’m looking at that info right now. Seems to me that we may have to go pretty far east to avoid it all, but I don’t see any problem with that decision,” Joe responded.

  The door to the cockpit opened, and Jane returned to her seat. Billy and Joe both went over the rerouting of the flight pattern with her, and once she concurred, the coordinates were programed into the computer to bypass the weather ahead. An ever so slight banking of the Airbus could be felt as it responded to its instructions. Once it leveled off, Billy placed the A330 on autopilot again and relaxed in his seat, awaiting the next few hours for the usual brilliant sunrise in the east.

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  A yellow hue had now appeared on the eastern horizon. Joe yawned, stretched, unbuckled his seatbelt, and started to get up when a huge tremor followed by a large explosion on the left wing broke the silence. The plane lurched to the left, throwing Joe against Jane as she was just getting her gear on. Billy immediately took control of the plane, switching off the autopilot while Joe was trying desperately to get to his co-pilot position. Jane was pushing him up and forward off her lap so she could be free to help out.

  “Transmit our position and keep transmitting. I’m losing control of this bird slowly but surely. We’re going down, guys. Let’s try to do it so some of us have a chance to survive,” barked Billy, fighting desperately with the control yoke and the rudder pedals.

  The vibrating aircraft was definitely in trouble. Billy leaned forward and looked out at the left wing. The engine was on fire, and the front half appeared to be severely deformed and charred from the
raging flames. He could just make out what seemed to be extensive damage to the wing. Parts of the wing were curled up and flapping as the air passed irregularly over the airfoil.

  “Damn, I think we had a compressor blade failure. It’s destroyed that engine and cut up the wing big time. This is really screwing with any control over the plane for sure. Some of the engine parts must have penetrated the fuselage, and now we have a fire that’s getting bigger and bigger,” Billy said in a controlled but worried voice.

  “The right engine looks good, but that fire is going to take us down. The fire extinguishing bottles didn’t do a thing to that engine fire. We’re at thirty-four now,” Joe replied.

  “I can feel the heat. Keep transmitting. Just keep it up. Joe, notify the attendants and the passengers,” Billy said.

  Billy set the transponder to 7700, and Jane keyed her microphone repeating, “May Day, May Day, May Day, Air USA twenty-two twenty-two. I repeat, May Day, May Day, May Day, Air USA Flight twenty-two twenty-two. Left engine explosion, fire, and losing altitude.”

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  “Everyone, fasten all seat belts, we have no left engine, we will need to ditch into the sea. FASTEN SEAT BELTS! ASSUME CRASH POSITIONS!” a voice bellowed over the intercom system.

  The attendants were scurrying up and down the aisle, awakening passengers who did not respond to the orders. Other passengers had been aware of the sudden explosive sound and subsequent relentless rattling and awkward tilting of the aircraft. Screams and audible, fearful voices were increasing in intensity as passengers grasped desperately at the seats in front of them, heads darting every which way to see what others were doing.

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  “Wake up, Frank. Be sure your seatbelts are on and tight,” Kimberly said. “We are having tremendous problems right now, be alert. Assume your crash positions. An engine’s on fire. We’re losing altitude, and we’re crash-landing into the sea.” Kimberly was shaking Helen and prodding Frank and forcefully speaking to them. “Hurry up!”