ARIA (11 page)

“Hell, you’re right. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve had a funny head all day. Got a feeling that LaGuardia Airport has sick-building syndrome.”

“I know what you mean. Do you want to have a lie down for ten? I’ll let you know if any gremlins try to take over.”

“I’m not tired. Just can’t wait to get to...Paris.”

“Paris? When’s that then, Gilmore? I thought you were booked to fly the return trip tomorrow.”

The captain, confused, tapped the flight schedule.

“Of course, Heathrow. You know, Linus, maybe I will take a nap. I should wake up as sharp as this Dreamliner’s nose.”

L
INUS
LOOKED
CONCERNED
for the pilot but also for himself. Joking aside, he’d never been affected by the constant drone and vibration of jet engines. At thirty-three, twenty years the junior of the captain, the stresses in the job didn’t get to him in the same way. Maybe his blood pressure and pulse rate leapt when taking off and landing, but not as much as the worry of his wife finding out about Hazel Draper. How could any red-blooded man resist her? She wouldn’t win beauty contests, but she’d win any contest for Miss Lust-After. Her sleek, long, black hair, full, sensuous airline-pink lips, and deep, come-to-bed eyes drew out Linus’s primitive urges. And she knew it.

He pressed the buzzer, calling for her.

Closing the cockpit door behind her, she looked around.

“Hey, this is a bit much; throwing the captain overboard just to grab some nooky with me.”

“Yeah, I gagged and tied him up in the officers’ rest room. Now come and sit on the co-pilot’s lap and loosen some clothing, you minx.”

“I don’t think your wife would approve. In any case, we have a problem with some of the passengers.”

“Not again. Another riot over wrong cheese in the sandwiches?”

“If only. Several of them acted confused when they boarded then one, a Mr Cowley, insisted we take him off because he had a funeral to go to upstate.”

“You’ve dealt with weirder situations...”

“But his business partner with him said he went to the funeral last week. Others are missing a lot more of their memories and don’t remember booking this flight. I wish I hadn’t come on it now.”

“Well, you are allowed to give difficult passengers sedatives. Get the other cabin crew to help you; the sedative in the sweets should help them sleep off the rest of the flight.”

“Okay. Linus, what’s going on? The crew aren’t so hot either. No jokes.”

“I suppose I’d better put my smart hat on and do a captain-like reassurance tour then.”

“Excuse me, you are not supposed to leave the cockpit unattended even if you don’t do anything useful all flight.”

“It’ll be all right for a few minutes. We are on autopilot and Gilmore’s only having a brief nap behind the curtain there.”

L
INUS
HADN
’
T
ANTICIPATED
the ugliness of passengers when they were confused. One red-faced bully of a woman insisted they continue their flight to Chicago even after he’d explained their schedule. In desperation, Hazel sought his help to stop an old man from repeat-swallowing beta-blockers. Linus took the old man’s tablets off him and told Hazel to lock them up until they landed. The old chap’s wife just muttered away in Russian.

A distraught mother hit him with a rolled up in-flight magazine because it must be his fault that her two-year-old son had forgotten how to talk sense. He didn’t help the situation by pointing out her boy had teenaged before his time. Linus hadn’t welcomed the sanctuary element of the cockpit so much.

He should wake the captain and let him placate the passengers. Gilmore had that mature ship’s captain air of comfort and experience that quelled any brewing unrest. First, he’d like to check on their progress, see what near misses they might have had. Now, where were they going?

He decided to fly the Dreamliner on manual for a few minutes. He leant forward to flip off the autopilot. It wasn’t there. He sat back, reddening, feeling his face heat from his neck upwards. There on the control panel, a green-lit LED shone at him. Of course some were proximity-sensor operated these days. He shook his head. Fancy thinking he was back in the older 747s.

The aircraft belonged to him as he took control. She handled beautifully. Even on manual, most of the adjustments depended on computerised actuators and relays. He couldn’t crash this bird into another aircraft, mountain, or office block. A lot of failsafe engineering would have to be disabled for a pilot to have complete control these days.

A few more slow deviations to port and starboard, not so much to spill the ever-higher-percent alcohol drinks no doubt being served behind him but enough to satisfy Linus he could fly. As long as he stayed in the air.

I
T
WAS
CLEAR
G
ILMORE
DID
NOT
WANT
TO
WAKE
UP
even though Linus shook his shoulder.

“Ah, you’ve caught me red-handed. Just a few hops in a crop sprayer near Sacramento.”

“Captain, I need you awake.”

Gilmore continued talking in his sleep. “What, me?” followed by a soft laugh.

“I envy your bliss of ignorance, Cap’n, but please wake up.” Linus, stood for another moment before resorting to using a cup of iced water. Through his fuzzy headache, he listened to the drone of the aircraft, some muffled shouting, and the secondary cabin door slamming. He’d locked the security door to the cockpit. He wished it would all go away.

“Captain...Captain...Gilmore, I need you awake now. Ah, there you are. Do you feel better now? Only I could use another brain to deal with some pesky passengers.”

“I’m all right, er, Lin...Linton. Give me a few moments to clear my head.” His half-open eyes betrayed his confused state.

“Captain, we have a problem.”

“Go on then, L—er, I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Linus Bingham, your co-pilot. What’s your surname, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“What? Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yes, of course, Captain, but weird things are happening and—”

“I am Gilmore Drayton. Get it?”

“Relieved to hear it. You have no idea the madness going on, Captain Drayton. Can I ask another question?”

“Hurry up then, man, we have a plane to fly.”

“Okay. Where are we flying to?”

The captain evil-eyed the co-pilot long enough for another ten miles of the Atlantic to pass beneath them.

“Damn you.”

“You are not on your own, Gilmore. That’s why I woke you. At least half the passengers don’t understand why they’re flying at all. I’m your co-pilot Linus. We are on schedule to Heathrow. I had to check to remind myself.”

“Linus, I have no memory of you. Nor coming on board.”

The co-pilot put a hand to his head. “You aren’t the only crazy bastard on board, sir, if you excuse me.”

The captain found a cup of cold coffee and drained it. “Have we any Pro-Plus?”

A knock and the cabin door admitted Hazel, after Linus tapped a key. Some strands of hair loosened from their earlier tight creation, Hazel’s eyes fear-widened.

“Captain, they want you to turn back.”

Gilmore staggered from such a shocking revelation, and the plane chose that moment to skid over some turbulence. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Hazel modified her news. “Not all of them, sir. But most have their homes back in the States rather than Europe. I know it sounds far-fetched but hardly anyone remembers why they’re flying at all. They assume they are on holiday or visiting old family, a few might be on business, but only a handful are sure why and where they are going.”

“That’s interesting,” Linus said. “In these situations, it is the anomalies that give clues to the big picture.”

Hazel looked at him with surprise. “You’ve met this situation before then?”

“Ah, not that I remember.”

Hazel and Gilmore looked at each other before she said, “I was referring to those who have diaries, NoteComs. Having said that, I suppose it might be worthwhile asking if any of the 250 passengers are definitely not affected. Are we turning back?”

“Certainly not,” said Captain Drayton. “To break from a logged flight plan needs all kinds of permissions from air traffic control.”

Linus, hands gripped on the control stick, spoke up. “Gilmore, I have a feeling this computerised aluminium tube won’t let us do a one-eighty on its pre-programmed course. Not that I’m in agreement with turning round.”

“This whole situation is terrible,” the captain said, collapsing into his plush pilot’s chair.

“Hey, Gilmore, keep it together.”

“We should inform the authorities we have a medical emergency,” Gilmore said.

“Maybe and maybe not.” But before Linus could explain, the cockpit door received a battering.

Hazel opened it before the two men could stop her.

A group of irate passengers shouldered each other and shouted.

The captain attempted wild-animal control.

“We want to go back home,” bawled a beefy, grey-suited passenger, as if he led the rest.

“Home is in Europe for some passengers,” Captain Drayton said, keeping calm. Linus was impressed.

“They want to go back to New York too.” The lumberjack in a suit looked beyond reason. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Shall we sit down in the premier suite so I can lay out the options?” said the captain.

“No. Just fucking turn this crate around or I will,” said the huge man.

“Reassuring though it is that a passenger can fly this complex Dreamliner, Mr...?”

“Rogers, not that my name is important.”

“Mr Rogers, if we don’t get clearance for altered flight plans and landing rights, we could—”

“They’re not going to shoot us down.”

“I am glad you have had personal assurance of that, Mr Rogers. You’ve not heard of the Home Defence Anti-Hijack Strategy then? Since 9-11, if we attempt to enter US air space without permission, we certainly will be shot out of the sky.”

With that, the crowd hushed but not for long. A more articulate, pushy passenger with a shock of red hair tried again.

“Then get your frigging permission.” A chorus of yeses followed.

“You tell them, Julia,” said another passenger.

“Or we’ll force you to turn and we’ll land in the Caribbean,” said Rogers, regaining dominance. But a small voice dissented behind the baying crowd.

“Some of us want to go to London.” The woman then stood, but a large man rose from the seat behind and brought both hands clenched together on her head. She crumpled.

Gilmore tried to step forward “Hey, that’s enough of—”

“You saw a glimpse of the future, Captain,” sneered Rogers. Hazel pulled at him to edge back to the cockpit door.

“I’m worried about the cabin staff, sir.”

“Rogers, where are the flight attendants?”

“You look after us, Captain, and we’ll look after them.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Gilmore’s voice belied the weakness in his position. Linus could see him shaking, but he continued, “What’s the point, Rogers, in landing anywhere in the world...as a criminal? And the rest of you would be accomplices.” His speech slowed them. He turned and whispered to Linus, “How far are we out?”

Linus checked the console. “Point of no return coming up in five, Captain.”

He thought he’d said it too hushed for Rogers to hear.

Rogers roared, angry with the assumption that the Captain had played them for suckers with delaying tactics. To the shouts of “No!” from Gilmore, the mob surged forward. Gilmore didn’t have a chance to get out of the way before Rogers used a fire-extinguisher to dent his head. Linus was pushed into the pilot’s seat, too shocked to speak, and then he passed out.

Thursday 23 April 2015:

Flying over the Atlantic.

R
OGERS
STOOD
LOOKING
AT
THE
CONSOLE
, puzzled at the relative lack of buttons and instruments. He’d always seen the airplane movies where the number of dials rose in direct proportion to years passing.

“Now what?” Julia said to Rogers, having pushed Hazel back out into the main cabin.

“This is going to be easier than I thought,” he answered as he pointed to the digital compass and the autopilot sensor. They pulled the limp Linus out of the pilot’s seat and dumped him in the co-pilot’s chair. Rogers glanced at the captain, alive or dead on the floor. Rogers settled in the chair and flexed his large hands.

“Are you sure about this?” Julia asked, at last demonstrating worry.

“You kidding? It’s sure now or never.”

He jabbed at the autopilot’s green-lit rectangle, not knowing it only needed the heat from his finger rather than be broken by a hard poke. The light turned red and the plane lurched four degrees to the left.

Rogers grabbed the half-moon joystick and turned it clockwise 45 degrees. The Dreamliner yawed right and dipped its nose. Panicking, he yanked the stick-wheel back, but too much. The plane dipped its nose more and started a roll. The engines screamed, matched by the passengers who fell forward into the cockpit, which was crowded when it contained four well-behaved crew.