Chapter 4 - THE EYE OF THE STORM
The maneuver bought them precious seconds, but the danger was far from over. The aircraft leveled out of its death spiral at twelve thousand feet, yet they were now barreling straight into the heart of a severe maritime squall line—a wall of black clouds, torrential rain, and violent wind shear that threatened to rip the wings off the crippled airframe.
"We've got severe wind shear ahead at four o'clock, and the landing gear won't lock manually!" Miller shouted, wiping blood and sweat from his forehead. "If we hit the water or try to land at the emergency strip in the Azores without gear, we'll cartwheel!"
"We aren't ditching in the water," David said coldly, his eyes fixed on the hazy horizon visible through the rain-lashed windshield. "Look at the vector readout on the mechanical compass. There's an abandoned military airstrip on Terceira Island three miles north of our current bearing. Short runway, no radar guidance, but it's paved."
"That strip is decommissioned! The crosswinds there will blow us right into the cliffs!"
"I landed black-hawk transports on carrier decks narrower than that strip during sandstorms in the Horn of Africa," David replied evenly, his hands moving across the throttle quadrants with hypnotic precision. "Trust me, Captain. Keep your hands on the flaps and feed me airspeed data. I'm flying this bird home."
Back in business class, the panic had shifted into a stunned, breathless silence. The oxygen masks had retracted, but nobody was talking. Victoria Sterling sat frozen, her mascara slightly smeared, her chest heaving as she stared at the closed cockpit door where the "regular" dad had vanished. The humiliation she had inflicted just twenty minutes ago now felt like a neon sign flashing her own profound ignorance. She had judged a man by his off-the-rack shirt, his oversized luggage, and his daughter's pink backpack, never knowing she was sitting inches away from the only human being on the planet with the skill set required to keep her breathing.
Up front, David’s face was illuminated by the amber glow of the emergency compass. His breathing was slow, measured, and absolute. He wasn't thinking about the CEO throwing champagne, or the people mocking him in the aisle. He was thinking of Olivia’s voice, and the promise he made every time he zipped up his flight suit.
"Gear down—manual drop!" David commanded.
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Miller yanked the heavy mechanical emergency lever. With a loud, shuddering thunk that rattled every seat in the plane, the landing gear locked into place just as the runway lights of the hidden island broke through the sheets of torrential rain below.
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