Flight to Freedom (Flight Trilogy, Book 3) (2 page)

Unlike the commercial airliners Ryan had flown, the Gulfstream G550 was the epitome of luxury and considered the most technologically advanced business aircraft in the sky. The fifty million dollar twin-engine jet was capable of carrying eight passengers on nonstop legs of nearly 6,000 nautical miles at altitudes and speeds higher and faster than most commercial jets.

From the observer’s seat in the cockpit, Ryan Mitchell scrutinized the two pilots seated behind the flight controls. In these weather conditions, the thought of an emergency occurring during the takeoff roll—blown tire, bird strike, engine fire or failure—would be a life-challenging test of the pilot’s skills, knowledge, and crew coordination.

With the takeoff checklist complete, the Gulfstream stood ready at the runway hold line, waiting for clearance.

“November one two foxtrot, Atlanta tower, runway two seven right, taxi into position and hold.”

“Position and hold two seven right, one two foxtrot,” said the copilot.

The captain maneuvered the jet onto the runway. With less than 2,000 feet forward visibility, the takeoff into the black hole ahead required the faith and trust only years of experience could provide.

“One two foxtrot at the middle marker turn left heading two five zero, runway two seven right, cleared for takeoff.”

“Two five zero at the marker, cleared for takeoff two seven right, one two foxtrot.”

“Okay, we're cleared for takeoff,” the captain said, “Checklist complete. Lights are extended and on.” He eased the power levers forward, paused briefly to check the engine instruments, then pushed the levers to takeoff power.

Faster and faster down the runway the jet rumbled into the foggy darkness, straining against the pull of gravity, seeking to be free from Earth’s grip.

With his left hand on the control yoke and his right hand on the power levers, the captain focused intently on the beam of light carving a path in the foggy murk. Runway edge and centerline lights blurred as the jet’s speed increased. Loss of power on either engine or a blown tire before flight speed was reached would require a rapid yet smooth response from the captain to maintain control of the jet and stop it safely. The copilot crosschecked and analyzed instruments in the cockpit looking for any hint of a problem. Faster and faster they rolled—both pilots spring-loaded to react to a multitude of possible problems. Each second was critical in the event of an emergency.

At 60 knots, the copilot called out, “Power set.” A few seconds later, he called, “80 knots.”

Seconds prior to reaching takeoff speed, the jet jolted as simultaneous pops struck the cockpit windshield.

“Birds!” the copilot said. “We’ve been hit by birds!” The windshield held, but the nose of the jet yawed abruptly to the right. Fire bells and flashing, red, warning lights followed. “ENGINE FIRE! RIGHT ENGINE!”

The captain shoved hard against the rudder pedal with his left foot, bringing the jet’s nose back to the center of the runway. He simultaneously chopped the power levers to idle and added reverse thrust and braking. The jet slowed…85…70…slowed more…60…45…. “Silence the bell!” the captain said, as he wrestled the jet to a complete stop using rudder pedals, brakes, and nose wheel tiller.

Stopped on the runway, the captain called out, “Engine Fire Checklist.” As the copilot reached for the emergency checklist, the captain transmitted a call to the tower. “Atlanta tower, one two foxtrot has aborted takeoff and is stopped on runway two seven right. We have a fire on our right engine. We are requesting emergency equipment.”

“Roger, one two foxtrot. The emergency trucks are on the way.”

After completing the emergency checklist, the two pilots sat calmly, waiting.

Ryan said, “Excellent. That will finish us up for today. Let’s go debrief.”

Prior to their move to Georgia, Ryan had landed a job with an Atlanta-based company, Flight Tech International, Inc. (FTI), as a Gulfstream G550 simulator instructor. The FTI facility in Atlanta was one of the best of its kind in the world, specializing in corporate jet ground and flight simulator training. The company had contracts to train pilots working with Fortune 500 companies, foreign governments, and a select number of wealthy individuals who owned large private jets.

Ryan exited the simulator behind the two pilots. The captain, John Dross, turned to Ryan and said, “You ever think about getting back in the air?”

Why
does
every
student
think
I’m
serving
a
prison
sentence
working
as
a
simulator
instructor
?

“I’m pretty happy here with FTI.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know.” Captain Dross slipped Ryan a business card. Dross was in his late fifties and would have been perfect as Robert Young playing the role of Jim Anderson in
Father
Knows
Best
, or Hugh Beaumont’s character, Ward Cleaver, in
Leave
it
to
Beaver
. His brown hair was going to gray at the temples with a handsome, if not soft-featured face. He radiated quiet authority, yet was relaxed and mellow.

Ryan glanced at the white card with black print. The first word that came to mind was ‘homemade’.

MERCY FLIGHT, INC.

CAPTAIN JOHN DROSS

CHIEF PILOT

770-552-1015

Unless Ryan’s customers were pilots working for well-known dignitaries, celebrities, or billionaires, he typically didn’t ask about their employers. Otherwise, it was the usual chit chat about the crazy ways the “rich and famous” use their sixty-five million dollar toys to jet around the globe.

“Mercy Flight. What’s that all about?” Ryan said.

“We’re a nonprofit organization. We use the jets to shuttle doctors, primarily surgeons, nurses, and their teams all over the globe to perform medical procedures on people who can’t afford them. In most cases these patients would die if it weren’t for the benevolence of this group of unusual people.”

“Nonprofit?”

“Yeah. Everything we do is completely free.”

“That must take big bucks!”

“We are blessed to have been well funded by a very generous man.”

“Only one man? Who was he, Warren Buffett?”

“No. He was a quiet, unknown individual. You’ve probably never heard of him.”

“I assume he is no longer living.”

“He passed away many years ago.”

“He must have been an amazing man. Did you know him?”

“Yes, he and I were very close, and yes, he was an amazing man. He truly cared for others more than himself. His legacy carries on because of the group of unusual men and women that work with us. They represent every specialty in the field of medicine. When they are aboard, it feels like I’m in the presence of angels from Heaven.”

“Do these people get paid?”

“That’s what’s so unusual about them. Although there are quite a few extremely wealthy members in the group who can afford to volunteer their services, not all of the members are wealthy. Matter-of-fact, some choose to live modest lives just so they can donate more time to our cause.”

“Do you cover their expenses…like food and lodging?”

“In most cases, volunteers on the other end coordinate food and shelter for the workers by providing a host home. Even though conditions are pretty bad in some places, the workers never complain. They are passionately dedicated to what they do and more than willing to sacrifice to get the job done.”

What
drives
a
person
to
do
this
?

It all sounded “out of this world”. The money it must cost to fund an operation this big was mind blowing. “What about you? Does the organization pay you? Don’t tell me you work for free.”

“The flight crews are treated exceptionally well. They stay in the nicest hotels with an unlimited expense account. We want the flight crews to be rested and as stress-free as possible when they fly.”

“How many pilots work for Mercy Flight?”

“We have two crews per aircraft…”

“How many jets does Mercy operate?”

“Not all jets. We have three Gulfstream 550s, two Beechcraft King Air 350s, and two Sikorsky S-76 helicopters.”

Ryan did the math in his head. “Twenty-eight pilots total?”

“That’s right. Plus flight attendants, maintenance specialists, and assorted other support staff.”

“Wow! That is quite an operation.” Ryan glanced at Captain Dross’s business card: ‘Chief Pilot’. “Where do you hangar all these aircraft?”

“One Gulfstream, King Air, and helicopter are based at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, the same setup on the West Coast at John Wayne Airport in Orange County, and the last Gulfstream is kept here in Atlanta at Peachtree DeKalb Airport. Our corporate office is also here in Atlanta.”

“Where do you live?”

“I live up the road in Buckhead.”

“Pricy neighborhood.”

“Yes it is, but I’m not an owner.”

“Still, I’ll bet the rent is out of sight.”

“Well…I’m not a renter either. It’s complicated.”

Ryan could tell he had pushed a bit too far into John’s personal life. If he didn’t own or rent, now was not the time to unwrap the word ‘complicated’. “Buckhead is my old stomping ground. I grew up there.”

“Where do you live now?”

“We live in a condo complex off of Pharr Road.”

“I guess that makes us neighbors.”

Ryan checked his watch. “I need to finish up your debrief and let you guys hit the road.”

Ryan didn’t have much to critique about the training ride for John and his copilot; mostly because they did an excellent job, but partly because his mind was still processing John’s job offer. The idea of joining an organization like Mercy Flight was intriguing. Using his skills, talents, and experience as a part of a team doing amazing work, made him wonder if his entire journey in life might have been divinely orchestrated for this one final opportunity.

John
never
did
answer
my
question
about
pay
.

If the pay is less than what he currently made, it would definitely be a deal breaker. He and Keri were slowly whittling down their debt and had managed to buy a second car, but Keri still worked part-time and would need to continue until all of their debts were paid; hopefully, not more than a couple of years.

Leaving the briefing room, Captain Dross turned to his copilot. “Michael, we take Dr. Lang and his team to San Juan in the morning.”

“Right. I’ll be at the hangar by six.”

“See you then.”

The men shook hands and Michael rushed off. “So, Ryan, like I said, if you ever feel like you want to get back in the air, give me a call. I would love to answer any of your questions and see if we can work something out.”

“I’ll talk to my wife this weekend and see what she thinks.”

Should
I
ask
him
about
the
pay
?

“Sounds great! I’ll be out of town this week for a few days starting tomorrow, but you can reach me on my cell regardless of where I am. Call anytime.”

They shook hands and John left.

Ryan finished the paperwork and headed for the parking lot. It was Friday and he had the weekend off. Tonight was homemade pizza and movie night at the Mitchell house. Since they’d been in Georgia, Ryan had learned to toss a mean pizza. He left the movie selection up to Keri and the kids.

The more he thought about the job at Mercy, the more excited he became. He couldn’t wait to talk to Keri. If they paid him enough, she might be able to stop working.

I
forgot
to
ask
John
where
the
job
opening
was
located
.

Moving the family to New Jersey was out of the question, and Keri would never move back to Orange County. The mere mention of returning to California would horrify the entire family.

Maybe
I
should
wait
until
after
I
meet
with
John
before
I
tell
Keri
.

CHAPTER 3

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Friday
afternoon
—
August
2004

The drive home seemed quicker than normal. John Dross had stirred Ryan’s mind into a flurry of hopeful possibilities—a new job with a unique purpose, better pay allowing Keri to stop working, and a better life for the children.

But then there were the deal breakers—moving to New Jersey; moving back to California; numerous overnight trips; less or equal pay.

He turned off Peachtree Road, onto Pharr Road, then Pharr Court. The Habersham was a gated mid-rise condo complex with 194 residential units shaded by beautiful trees, nicely landscaped, with a secure entrance to the building. Keri was initially drawn to the place because of the name being the same as the street where she had grown up. Built as a cooperative in 1961 and converted to condos in 1983, the complex was located in a safe area on the fringes of Buckhead.

“Is the pizza ready?” Ryan said, as he walked in the door.

“Hi, honey,” Keri said, meeting him with a hug and a kiss. “The kids are starving. They’ve been asking me for hours when dad would be home.”

“Keri, you won’t believe what happened today at work. One of the pilots I was training…”

“Hi, daddy. I’m hungry,” said Martha.

Ryan turned to Martha and put his arm around her as she gave him a welcoming hug. “Well, you’re in luck,” he said. “I’m gonna cook the best pizza,
ever
, tonight.”

Keri said, “I went ahead and prepared the dough, so everything is ready. All you have to do is roll it out, put the toppings on, and toss it in the oven.”

“Fantastic! That’ll save us a couple of hours.”

“So, what happened at work today?”

“It can wait. Let me get cleaned up and we can put the pizzas in the oven.”

If
I
get
into
it
now
,
I
won’t
have
her
full
attention
.