A flight attendant hurried from the galley.
“Delaney!”
She whispered something.
Delaney's face changed.
“What?”
“The captain wants everyone seated.”
Ethan heard it.
Then another sound.
A faint mechanical whine.
His eyes sharpened.
“What altitude?”
Delaney hesitated.
“Thirty-seven thousand feet.”
Ethan nodded.
“What's the airspeed?”
She didn't know.
“Get me the cockpit.”
“No.”
“Then tell the captain you have a former military pilot who needs five seconds with him.”
That sentence traveled through the cabin.
Former military pilot.
Margaret stared at Ethan.
For the first time, uncertainty replaced contempt.
The Cockpit Door
The cockpit door opened three inches.
A man's face appeared.
“Who are you?”
“Ethan Carter. Former Air Force pilot.”
The captain's eyes narrowed.
“How many hours?”
“Two thousand two hundred combat.”
The captain opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
Delaney looked stunned.
Ethan entered.
The first officer was sweating.
Warnings filled the instrument panel.
The captain pointed.
“Engine two is giving us inconsistent thrust.”
Ethan studied the displays.
“Fuel?”
“Normal.”
“Hydraulics?”
“Dropping.”
Ethan looked at the attitude indicator.
Then the airspeed.
Then the engine parameters.
“Don't fight the aircraft.”
The captain looked at him.
“What?”
“She's compensating.”
“For what?”
Ethan pointed.
“Your left elevator trim.”
The first officer stared.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
Ethan leaned closer.
“It's stuck.”
The captain's face went pale.
A control surface had jammed.
At thirty-seven thousand feet.
Over the Atlantic.
They weren't simply experiencing engine trouble.
The aircraft was fighting itself.
Ethan spoke calmly.
“What's your nearest diversion?”
“Bermuda.”
“How long?”
“Forty-eight minutes.”
Ethan nodded.
“Then you have forty-eight minutes to keep her stable.”
The captain stared at him.
“And you?”
Ethan looked toward the cockpit window.
“I'll help you.”
The Woman in 3B
Margaret sat frozen.
She could hear voices through the cockpit door.
Ethan's voice.
Calm.
Measured.
Certain.
The man she had called dangerous was now inside the cockpit helping keep more than two hundred people alive.
She looked at his empty seat.
The leather jacket.
The scarred hands.
The patch.
For the first time, she wondered what the patch actually meant.
Walter leaned toward her.
“You all right?”
Margaret couldn't answer.
“What did he mean?” she whispered.
Walter frowned.
“What?”
“When he said he'd flown combat missions.”
Walter looked toward the cockpit.
“He meant exactly that.”
Margaret swallowed.
“I didn't know.”
Walter's expression softened.
“That's the problem.”
She looked down.
“I thought…”
“You thought the jacket told you everything.”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“My husband used to say that.”
Walter glanced at her.
“Say what?”
“Never trust a man by his uniform.”
She laughed bitterly.
“He was a Navy mechanic.”
Walter nodded.
“Sounds like he was smarter than both of us.”
Another violent tremor shook the aircraft.
Margaret grabbed the armrest.
A child screamed.
Then Ethan's voice came through the cabin.
“Everyone stay seated!”