Airframe (33 page)

She paused to put on her goggles, and turned on the CD player. Immediately a diagram of the aft accessory compartment hung in space before her eyes. She could see through the diagram to the actual compartment behind. The rectangular block marking the QAR was outlined in red on the diagram. In the actual compartment, the space was taken up by an extra readout meter: hydraulic pressure for a flight control system.

Ron was right.

There was no QAR here.

Casey climbed back down the stairs to the floor, and walked beneath the plane to the forward accessory compartment, just behind the nose wheel. It, too, was open. Standing on the ground, she shone her flashlight up into the compartment, and flicked to the correct manual page. A new image hung in the air. It showed the QAR located in the right anterior electrical rack, next to the hydraulic activator buses.

It wasn’t there. The slot was empty, the round connector plug exposed at the back, the shiny metal contact points glinting.

It had to be somewhere inside the plane.

She headed off to the right, where a roll-up staircase led up thirty feet to the passenger door, just behind the cockpit. She heard her feet ring on the metal as she entered the aircraft.

It was dark; she shone her flashlight aft, the beam moving over the cabin. The passenger cabin looked worse than before; in many places her beam caught the dull silver of the insulation pads. The electrical crews had pulled the interior panels around the windows, to get at junction boxes along the walls. She noticed a lingering faint odor of vomit; someone had tried to mask it with a sweet floral spray.

Behind her, the cockpit suddenly glowed. The overhead map lights came on, softly illuminating the two seats; then the row of video display screens, the twinkling lights of the overhead panels. The FDAU printer on the pedestal buzzed, printing out a couple of test lines, then was silent. All the cockpit lights went out.

Dark again.

Cycling.

Immediately, the forward galley lights just ahead of her came on; the illuminators for heating and microwaves flashed; the overheat and timer warnings beeped. Then everything went off. Silence.

Dark again.

Casey was still standing just inside the door, fiddling with the CD player at her waist, when she thought she heard footsteps. She paused, listening.

It was difficult to tell; as the electrical systems cycled through, there was a continuous succession of soft buzzes and clicks from relays and solenoids in the avionics racks around her. She listened hard.

Yes, she was sure of it now.

Footsteps.

Someone was walking slowly, steadily, through the hangar.

Frightened, she leaned out the door and called loudly, “Teddy? Is that you?”

She listened.

No more footsteps.

Silence.

The clicking of the relays.

The hell with it, she decided. She was up here, alone inside this torn-up airplane, and it was getting on her nerves. She was tired. She was imagining things.

She walked around the galley to the left side, where the display showed an additional electrical storage panel, down near the floor. The panel cover had already been removed. She looked at it through the transparent diagram. This was mostly taken up with secondary avionics boxes, and there was little room …

No QAR.

She moved down the cabin, to the midships bulkhead. There was a small storage compartment here, built into the bulkhead frame, just below a slot for magazines. It was a foolish place to install a QAR, she thought, and she was not surprised when she didn’t find one there, either.

Four down. Twenty-six to go.

Now she moved toward the tail, to the aft interior storage compartment. This was a more likely place: a square service panel that was just to the left of the rear exit door, on the side of the aircraft. The panel didn’t screw down; it flipped up on a hinge, which made it more accessible for crews in a hurry.

She came to the door, which was open. She felt a cool breeze. Darkness outside: she couldn’t see the ground, forty feet below. The panel was just to the left of the door, and it was already open. She looked, seeing it through the diagram. If the QAR was there, it would be in the lower-right corner, next to the breaker switches for the cabin lights and the crew intercom.

It wasn’t there.

The wing tip lights came on, brilliant strobes flashing repeatedly. They cast harsh shadows in the interior, through the open door and the row of windows. Then off again.

Clink.

She froze.

The sound had come from somewhere near the cockpit. It was a metallic sound, like a foot kicking a tool.

She listened again. She heard a soft tread, a creak.

Someone was in the cabin.

She pulled the goggles off her head, leaving them hanging around her neck. Silently, she slid to her right, crouching behind a row of seats at the rear of the plane.

She heard footsteps coming closer. A complicated pattern of sound. A murmur. Was there more than one?

She held her breath.

The cabin lights came on, first in front, then midships, then aft. But most of the ceiling lights were hanging, so they cast odd shadows, then went off again.

She gripped the flashlight. The weight felt comforting in her hand. She moved her head to the right, so she could peer between the seats.

She heard the footsteps again, but could see nothing.

Then the landing lights came on, and in their reflected glare, a row of hot ovals appeared on the ceiling, from the windows along both sides. And a shadow, blotting out the ovals, one after another.

Someone walking down the aisle.

Not good, she thought.

What could she do? She had the flashlight in her hand, but she had no illusions about her ability to defend herself. She had her cell phone. Her beeper. Her—

She reached down, and silently flicked the beeper off.

The man was close now. She edged forward, her neck aching, and she saw him. He was almost to the rear of the plane, looking in every direction. She could not see his face, but in the reflected landing lights, she could see his red-checked shirt.

The landing lights went out.

Darkness in the cabin.

She held her breath.

She heard the faint
thunk
of a relay, coming from somewhere in the forward compartment. She knew it was electrical, but apparently the man in the red shirt did not. He grunted softly, as if surprised, and moved forward quickly.

She waited.

After a while, she thought she heard the sound of footsteps on the metal stairs, going down. She wasn’t sure, but she thought so.

The airplane was silent around her.

Cautiously, she came out from behind the seat. It was time to get out of here, she thought. She moved to the open door, listening. There was no question, the footsteps walking away, the sound diminishing. The nose lights came on, and she saw a long streak of shadow. A man.

Walking away.

A voice inside said,
Get out of here
, but she felt the goggles around her neck, and hesitated. She ought to give the man plenty of time to leave the hangar—she didn’t want to go down and find him on the floor. So she decided to look in another compartment.

She pulled on the goggles, pressed the button on the unit. She saw the next page.

The next compartment was nearby, located just outside the rear door, where she was standing. She leaned out the door and, holding on with her right hand, found she could easily look into the panel box. The cover was already open. There were three vertical rows of electrical buses, which probably controlled the two rear doors; they were overrides. And at the bottom …

Yes.

The Quick Access Recorder.

It was green, with a white stripe around the top. Stenciled lettering: MAINT QAR 041/B MAINT. A metal box about eight inches square, with a plug facing outward. Casey reached in, gripped the box, and pulled gently. With a metallic
click it came free of the inner coupling. And she had it in her hand.

All right!

She stepped back inside the doorway, holding the box in both hands now. She was so excited she was trembling. This changed everything!

She was so excited, she did not hear the rush of footsteps behind her until it was too late. Strong hands shoved against her, she grunted, and her hands slipped away, and then her body fell through the door, into space.

Falling.

To the floor thirty feet below.

Too soon—much too soon—she felt a sharp pain on her cheek—and then her body landed, but something was wrong. There were strange pressure points all over her body. She was no longer falling, but rising. Then falling again. It was like a giant hammock.

The webbing.

She’d hit the safety webbing.

She couldn’t see it in the darkness, but the black safety webbing was hung beneath the plane, and she had fallen into it. Casey rolled over onto her back, saw a silhouette at the door. The figure turned and ran through the airplane. She scrambled to her feet, but it was difficult to balance. The webbing was slowly undulating.

She moved forward, toward the dull metal expanse of the wing. She heard footsteps clattering on the metal stairs, somewhere forward. The man was coming.

She had to get out.

She had to get off the webbing before he caught her. She moved closer to the wing, and then she heard a cough. It had come from the far edge of the wing, somewhere off to her left.

Someone else was here.

Down on the floor.

Waiting.

She paused, feeling the gentle swaying of the webbing beneath her. In a moment, she knew, more lights would come on. Then she could see where the man was.

Suddenly, the hot strobe lights above the tail flickered rapidly. They were so bright, they illuminated the entire hangar.

Now she could see who had coughed.

It was Richman.

He wore a dark blue windbreaker and dark slacks. The lazy, collegiate manner was gone. Richman stood near the wing, tense, alert. He looked left and right carefully, scanning the floor.

Abruptly, the strobe lights went out, plunging the hangar into darkness. Casey moved forward, hearing the webbing creak beneath her feet. Would Richman hear? Could he figure out where she was?

She came to the wing, stretching forward in darkness.

She grabbed it with her hand, moved outward to the edge. Sooner or later, she knew, the webbing would end. Her foot struck a thick cord; she bent down, felt knots.

Casey lay down on the webbing, gripped the edge in both hands, and rolled over the side, falling. For a moment she hung by one arm, the webbing stretching downward. She was surrounded by blackness. She did not know how far it was to the floor: Six feet? Ten feet?

Running footsteps.

She released the webbing, and fell.

She hit the ground standing, dropped to her knees. Sharp pain in her kneecap as she banged into concrete. She heard Richman cough again. He was very close, off to her left. She got up and began to run toward the exit door. The landing lights came on again, harsh and strong. In their glare she saw Richman throw up his hands to cover his eyes.

She knew he would be blinded for a few seconds. Not long.

But perhaps enough.

Where was the other man?

She ran.

She hit the wall of the hangar with a dull metallic thud. Someone behind her said, “Hey!” She moved along the wall feeling for the door. She heard running footsteps.

Where? Where?

Behind her, running footsteps.

Her hand touched wood, vertical runners, more wood, then the metal bar. The door latch. She pushed.

Cool air.

She was outside.

Teddy turned. “Hey, babe,” he said, smiling. “How’s it going?”

She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Teddy and the electrical guy came running over. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

They were standing over her, touching her, solicitous. She tried to catch her breath. She managed to gasp, “Call Security.”

“What?”

“Call Security! Someone’s inside!”

The electrical guy ran to the phone. Teddy stayed with her. Then she remembered the QAR. She had a moment of sudden panic. Where was it?

She stood. “Oh no,” she said. “I dropped it.”

“Dropped what, babe?”

“That box …” She turned, looking back at the hangar. She’d have to get them to go back inside, to—

“You mean the one in your hand?” Teddy said.

She looked at her left hand.

The QAR was there, clutched so tightly her fingers were white.

“Come on, now,” Teddy said, arm around her, walking her into the bedroom. “Everything’s fine, babe.”

“Teddy,” she said, “I don’t know why …”

“We’ll find out tomorrow,” he said soothingly.

“But what was he doing …”

“Tomorrow,” Teddy said.

“But what was he …”

She couldn’t finish her sentences. She sat on the bed, suddenly feeling her exhaustion, overwhelmed by it.

“I’ll stay on the couch,” he said. “I don’t want you alone tonight.” He looked at her, chucked her on the chin. “Don’t worry about a thing, babe.”

He reached over, and took the QAR out of her hand. She released it unwillingly. “We’ll just put this right here,” he said, setting it on the bedside table. He was talking to her as to a child.

“Teddy, it’s important …”

“I know. It’ll be there, when you wake up. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Call if you need anything.” He left, closing the door.

She looked at the pillow. She had to get out of her clothes, to get ready for bed. Her face hurt; she didn’t know what had happened to it. She needed to look at her face.

She picked up the QAR and stuck it behind the pillow. She stared at the pillow, then lay down on it, and closed her eyes.

Just for a moment, she thought.

Something was wrong.

Casey sat up quickly. Pain streaked through her body; she gasped. She felt a burning sensation in her face. She touched her cheek, and winced.