Missing in Flight

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT ANNA

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

A NNA

“You never told me what you’re naming your daughter,” Anna says.

It’s no time for small talk, and any non-flight-related talk below ten thousand feet goes against FAA regulations—especially in a situation like this—but if she doesn’t talk about something normal, she’s afraid she’ll throw up. As they descend through thick, gray clouds and the blur of heavy rain, the visibility outside is next to nothing, but after taking off her full-face mask, she’s glad to have her peripheral vision back.

“Scarlet,” Miguel finally says.

“That’s beautiful.”

As they descend beneath the lowest patch of clouds, the lights of the Manhattan skyline come into view. The city is a gray blur beneath the downpour. She spots a dark patch where there are no lights and makes out the Hudson River.

“Pacific Air 7038, how long of a final do you need at LaGuardia?” the New York Approach controller asks.

A gust of wind hits the airplane, raising the nose. Miguel pushes forward on his side stick. Anna glances at Miguel’s knuckles turning white as he tightens his grip on the stick once he gets the airplane back on the assigned altitude.

“Tell him twenty miles,” Miguel says to her through the interphone.

“Altitude!” Anna exclaims, seeing the altimeter dip three hundred feet below their assigned altitude of three thousand feet.

“I’m trying!” A bead of sweat drips along Miguel’s jaw beneath his headphones as the nose of the airplane slowly responds to his control inputs.

Anna keys her microphone. “Pacific Air 7038, we’re requesting a twenty-mile final.”

“Pacific Air 7038, roger. Turn left heading one five zero, I’ll bring you in about ten miles outside of CHALN.”

“Left, heading one five zero,” Anna replies.

The airplane bounces in the turbulence as they make the gentle left-hand turn around the lighted skyscrapers of Manhattan Island. Anna cross-checks their altitude. Three thousand feet. Good.

Wondering how Miguel is possibly going to be able to keep the airplane under control in this wind makes her pulse race. The pitch of the airplane seems to be totally at the mercy of the storm, which gives her no confidence. She strains to see LaGuardia through the wet, gray blur from the storm. A ripple of fear runs down her spine.

She feels the sudden urge to call Carter, aware of her phone in her pocket. It strikes her that last month, he had a rare three days off in a row. He suggested they go to their favorite pizza place in Hell’s Kitchen. Had she planned for it, they could’ve been off together. Instead, she traded for a trip to meet Joel in San Fransisco.

What the hell was I thinking? She’s assaulted by the thought of all that she’d lose if she goes through with her affair. It strikes her how little she even knows Joel.

Carter isn’t the only one to blame for their drift apart. She longs to hear his voice—just in case—but there’s no time. It’s going to take their total focus to attempt a safe landing.

“I was planning to have an affair,” she blurts into her mouthpiece. “Today. I was going to meet with another pilot after we landed while my husband is at work.”

Miguel’s eyes meet hers for a moment before he refocuses on the control panel.

“Now all I can think about is my husband. There are things I wish I could tell him.” Her voice cracks.

He turns to Anna. There’s a hyperfocused intensity in his eyes now, but no trace of the fear she saw in them earlier.

“You can tell him in person after we land,” he says, then adds, “and I’m going to the hospital to see my daughter be born.”

“Pacific Air 7038, New York Approach. You’re ten miles from CHALN. Turn left to zero two zero. Maintain two thousand until established, cleared for the RNAV Zulu 31 Approach. You can contact LaGuardia Tower now on one one eight decimal seven.”

“Roger,” Anna responds. “Left heading zero two zero, two thousand until established, switching to tower now. Pacific Air 7038.”

She flips the switch to the tower frequency she’d already placed in the standby position of the radio. “LaGuardia Tower, Pacific Air 7038 is with you, emergency aircraft; please have the equipment standing by.”

“Pacific Air 7038, LaGuardia Tower, roger your emergency. The equipment is standing by. The wind is two niner zero, variable three three zero, at twenty-five gusts to thirty-two. You are cleared to land runway 31.”

“Cleared to land runway 31, Pacific Air 7038,” Anna acknowledges.

She’s barely able to make out the runway lights at LaGuardia as Miguel continues to struggle with the controls. He reaches up and switches the windshield wipers to slow and holds the “Rain Repellant” button.

“Ah, that’s much better,” he announces as the runway becomes clearly visible ahead.

Anna decides to do the same. “Yes, much better. Runway in sight.”

“Coming up on CHALN. Landing gear down. Landing checklist,” Miguel commands through the interphone.

Anna reaches forward as another gust of wind lifts the nose of the airplane, making it difficult for her to grasp the landing gear lever. After a short struggle, she places it in the down position and feels a slight bump when the nose gear drops into position.

“Landing checklist,” Anna repeats as she reads off from the list. “Cabin crew—advised. Auto Throttle—off. Autobrake—medium set. ECAM MEMO—landing, no blue. Signs—on. Cabin—ready. Landing gear—down. Final flaps. Standing by final flaps.”

“Flaps full,” Miguel says.

Anna places the flap lever to the full position and continues with the checklist. “Flaps—landing. Speed brake—armed. Landing checklist complete.”

Miguel strains to maintain the glide path, constantly moving the thrust levers forward and back to try to maintain the approach airspeed. Their speed drops below the target speed.

“Airspeed!” Anna yells.

Miguel slides the thrust levers forward. “Correcting!”

The engines howl as they speed up in response. The airplane pitches in wild movements. Anna’s heart races with adrenaline amid the rush of the wild approach. Miguel fights to maintain the glide path to the runway.

“Five hundred,” the loudspeaker announces when they pass below five hundred feet above the runway.

Rain pounds against the windscreen, blurring their visibility again.

“Turn my wipers to fast!” Miguel yells.

Anna reaches over and switches his wiper setting. The whir of the wipers is distracting, and their visibility barely improves. Beyond the windscreen, the runway lights are still a bright blur.

The nose pitches up and then down as Miguel struggles not to overcontrol.

“One hundred,” the computer voice announces as the nose drops. “Sink rate, sink rate!” blares over the speaker.

Anna notes the vertical speed indicator. “Sinking eight hundred, sinking nine hundred!”

Miguel gives a sharp pull on his side stick, slowing their rate of descent—but not enough.