Mayday at Two Thousand Five Hundred Read online

  Mayday at Two

  Thousand Five Hundred

  THE COOPER KIDS ADVENTURE SERIES®

  Flying Blind

  The Legend of Annie Murphy

  The Deadly Curse of Toco-Rey

  The Secret of the Desert Stone

  (Available from Crossway Books)

  Trapped at the Bottom of the Sea

  The Tombs of Anak

  Escape from the Island of Aquarius

  The Door in the Dragon’s Throat

  The Cooper Kids

  Adventure Series®

  Mayday at Two

  Thousand Five

  Hundred

  Frank E. Peretti

  © 1997 by Frank E. Peretti

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, with the exception of brief quotations in reviews.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Scripture quotations are from the International Children’s Bible®, New Century Version®, © 1986, 1988, 1999 by Tommy Nelson®, a division of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Peretti, Frank E.

  Flying blind / Frank E. Peretti.

  p. cm. — (The Cooper Kids Adventure Series® ; 8)

  Summary: When the small plane which his uncle allows him to fly tumbles out of control, fourteen-year-old Jay relies on God’s help to land the aircraft safely.

  ISBN 978-1-4003-0577-3

  [1. Aircraft accidents—Fiction. 2. Survival—Fiction.

  3. Christian life—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Series: Peretti, Frank E. The Cooper Kids Adventure Series® ; bk. 8.

  PZ7.P4254F1 1997

  [Fic]—dc21

  97–24275

  CIP

  AC

  Printed in the United States of America

  08 09 10 11 12 QW 12 11 10 9 8

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  The Cooper Kids Adventure Series

  ONE

  Jay Cooper sat in the 182 Skylane’s right seat, his hand on the control yoke, watching the horizon over the plane’s nose and enjoying the view of the Cascade Mountains passing below. A gentle wind from the Pacific Ocean was rippling over the snowfrosted peaks like river water over smooth stones, making the airplane’s wings rock lazily and its nose nod and wag in little yeses and nos. With gentle corrections to the control yoke, Jay held the plane on course and maintained a steady descent rate of five hundred feet per minute. At fourteen, he was three years too young to be a licensed pilot. But he’d flown often enough with his father to know how to handle an airplane. When he turned seventeen, he would get his license. His mind was made up on that. For now, his Uncle Rex was sitting in the left seat as pilot-in-command, letting him take the controls for a while.

  It was supposed to be a pleasure trip. The Coopers were in Seattle visiting Dr. Cooper’s sister, Joyce, and her husband, Rex. Rex thought the kids might like to “take the plane up” for the afternoon. Of course, it was just an excuse to fly—a pilot is always looking for one. Jay’s sister, Lila, passed. Jay leaped at the chance.

  It was supposed to be a pleasure trip, just a scenic flight around Mount Rainier to take pictures, then a leisurely return to Boeing Field in Seattle. It would be a chance for Rex to get in some flight time and for Jay to gain a little more flight experience.

  And it was a nice trip—for the first hour and ten minutes.

  They’d circled Mt. Rainier, snapped some spectacular pictures, then practiced some maneuvers for Jay’s benefit. When clouds began to build around the mountaintops, they decided it was time to turn for home and start the descent toward Seattle.

  Skylane N758YT—the N was always pronounced “November,” the Y and T were always pronounced “Yankee Tango”—had that typical Cessna light plane shape familiar to almost anyone near any airport in America. Its wings were on top of the airplane’s body or fuselage, its two main wheels were on thin, springy legs sticking out just under the cabin, its one front wheel was under the nose, and it had one engine and propeller up front.

  It had room for four people and several suitcases and was painted white with racy red stripes on the sides and wings.

  And like most small, single-engine airplanes, “The Yank,” as Uncle Rex liked to call it, was noisy inside. The 230-horsepower engine was spinning the propeller at more than 2,000 revolutions per minute while a 140-knot wind rushed over the airplane’saluminum skin, creating a roar like the ocean. So as Jay and Rex flew, they chatted with each other through their headsets, speaking into the tiny black microphones in front of their mouths and listening to each other through the big noise-deadening earphones. Without the headsets they would have to yell to be heard.

  “I first flew in the service,” Rex was explaining. “Got it in my blood and had to keep it up after I got out. The thrill isn’t exactly the same, but it’ll do. Yes sir, it’ll do.”

  Jay smiled. Rex was a large, bearded man, who weighed about 230 pounds and all of it was muscle. He’d flown fighter jets in the Air Force and often told tales of tight maneuvers, aerobatics, G-forces, and throwing up. His flying stories always made Lila cringe, but Jay thought it was great stuff.

  “My Dad learned while he was going to college,” Jay replied. “I guess he figured he’d need an airplane if he was going to go out on archaeological digs.”

  “His is a 182, right?”

  “Yeah, a lot like this one, only his is a little older and a little beat-up. It’s been a lot of places, and some of the places weren’t very nice.”

  Rex raised his eyebrows. “Oh, he’s told me about some of the places you’ve been, how you’ve been stranded, shot at, chased, captured. I don’t think I’d want that kind of work.”

  Jay shrugged. “Aw, you need a little excitement once in a while.”

  Rex laughed. “Yeah, roger that.”

  They had descended to four thousand feet. Belowthem, logging operations had scarred the Cascade foothills like hundreds of bad haircuts; gray highways with ant-sized vehicles wound through the valleys; brown logging roads wriggled like snakes up the contours of the mountain slopes. Twenty-five miles to the northwest, the city of Seattle stretched out like a layer of coarse gravel on green felt. Beyond that, Puget Sound shimmered blue and glassy smooth, and beyond that, the Olympic Mountains formed a majestic, sawtoothed horizon.

  “Woo!” Jay exclaimed. “Those mountains are looking good!”

  Rex nodded. “Much better weather to the west. I’m glad we’re going that way.”

  At that very moment, at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport just south of Seattle, a WestAir Boeing 757 had finished boarding passengers, and a flight attendant was sealing up the big cabin door. On the flight deck, Captain Jess Crylor was going through the engine start-up checklist as the two big jet engines came to life with their deafening whine.

  “Seattle Ground,” he radioed the tower, “WestAir 271 ready for push back.” He was talking to the man in the tower who directed airplane traffic on the ground.

  “WestAir 271, Seattle Ground,” came the reply from the tower. “You are clear for push back, follow the Northwest 727 to 16 Left.”

  The ground controller was giving him permission to push back from the gate and tellin
g him to follow another airliner, a Northwest Airlines 727, that was already on the taxiway. Runways at airports are numbered according to the direction they are pointing in compass degrees, leaving off the last zero. North on a compass is 360 degrees, so a runway pointing straight north would be called Runway 36. South on a compass is 180 degrees, so a runway facing south would be called Runway 18. Seattle-Tacoma has two runways side by side, situated at 160 degrees, called 16 Left and 16 Right. Both airliners would be taxiing to runway 16 Left for takeoff.

  Captain Crylor radioed back, “WestAir 271.” Every time a pilot receives instructions from a control tower he or she responds by saying the number of the aircraft. That way, the controllers can be sure the right person received the right instructions.

  There was a slight bump as the powerful ramp tractor hitched onto the 757’s nose gear and started pushing the airliner back from the gate.

  In the cabin, the flight attendants got out their demonstration seat belts and oxygen masks in preparation for the safety instruction routine. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. If you’ll direct your attention to the flight attendant standing at the front of the cabin, we will go over the safety features of our Boeing 757 aircraft. To be sure your seatbelt is fastened. . . .”

  On the flight deck, Captain Crylor and his copilot were reading off checklists, twisting knobs, and flipping switches, checking out all the aircraft’s systems. Everything was checking out okay. They were expecting a routine flight to Salt Lake City.

  And it would be a routine flight . . . for the first thirty seconds.

  Rex and Jay were approaching Seattle’s outskirts, dropping down to fifteen hundred feet. Rex took the controls of The Yank and set his radios.

  “We’re going by the Auburn airport. Think I’ll tune them in and see if there are any other planes flying around I should know about.” Then he perked up with an idea. “Listen, we have to come into Boeing Field from the north. How about we swing around north and take a quick tour of downtown Seattle?”

  Jay nodded happily. “Sounds good.”

  “Great. Well, we’ll just hang a left here.”

  Rex turned The Yank to the left and set a course that would pass a few miles south of Seattle-Tacoma International. He was careful to keep the airplane at fifteen hundred feet, a legal and safe altitude that would keep him down low, out of the way of the big jets departing from that airport.

  WestAir 271 taxied into position on runway 16 Left and immediately received clearance from the tower, “WestAir 271, you are clear for takeoff.”

  Captain Crylor gave the throttles a firm, evenadvance, the engines’ whine rose to a roar, and the big bird began to speed down the runway.

  Just then, Rex and Jay heard a voice through their headsets. “Auburn traffic, Piper Cub eight eight niner on forty-five to right downwind, one six, Auburn.”

  Rex grinned as he radioed, “Hey Chuck, is that you?”

  Chuck’s voice came back, “That sounds like Rex Kramer. How you doin’?”

  “Fine as frog’s hair, buddy. Just took my nephew on a little trip around Mount Rainier.”

  “Good day for it.”

  “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Rex told Jay, “That was Chuck Westmore. He flies a little Piper Cub out of Auburn Municipal.” Suddenly he pointed. “Hey, there he is at two o’clock.”

  Jay knew that his uncle wasn’t telling him what time it was, but what direction to look, based on the idea of a clock face. If you were to lay a huge clock down flat and then stand in the center of it facing the twelve, then twelve o’clock would be straight ahead, six o’clock would be straight behind you, three o’clock would be directly to the right, and nine o’clock directly to the left. Since Uncle Rex said two o’clock, Jay looked to his right and a little ahead, and sure enough, there was a small yellow airplane heading for its airport.

  “The Cub’s a nice little airplane,” said Rex. “You could just about land it in your driveway.”

  In the short moment they were watching the Cub, Jay and his uncle did not notice the huge jet lifting off from Seattle-Tacoma. On their present course, they would be flying directly beneath the airliner’s flight path. On any other day, under normal circumstances, the jet would be so high above them there would be no danger. But not today.

  The WestAir 757 was heading skyward like a rocket, climbing through 500 feet, 1,000, 1,500. . . .

  ALARMS! The plane shuddered. Red lights flashed on the instrument panel. The 757 lurched to the right.

  Captain Crylor corrected with the control yoke and jammed on the left rudder pedal as he scanned the engine instruments and adjusted the throttles.

  “Loss of fuel pressure, right engine.”

  “Pump malfunction,” the co-pilot shouted, his hands darting all over his control panel, “switching to auxiliary, manual override. . . .”

  The airliner’s right engine was winding down, losing power. With only the left engine running, the aircraft was slowing, shuddering, weaving crazily, and finally forced to the right. Crylor kept his foot on the left rudder pedal to hold a straight course. He pushed the yoke forward, lowering the nose to pick up some speed. It would cost him some altitude but he had to keep the airplane flying.

  Chuck Westmore was purring lazily along in his Piper Cub, getting ready to land, when the huge jet caught his attention. He’d lived, worked, and flown near Seattle-Tacoma for years. He knew what the takeoff of a big jet was supposed to look like. When he saw the 757 wobbling and dropping instead of climbing, he immediately knew something was wrong.

  He canceled his landing, applied power, and circled around to keep the jet in view. It was in trouble, all right. It was losing altitude, wobbling, and exhaust was coming from only one engine. The other must have malfunctioned. If the pilot didn’t get control soon. . . .

  Oh no! Chuck thought his heart would stop. Was that little white speck over there Rex Kramer’s Skylane? The 757 was heading right for it!

  Chuck fumbled for his handheld radio microphone. Was Rex still on the Auburn frequency?

  “Rex! Can you hear me?”

  Rex’s voice came back, “Yeah, Chuck?”

  Chuck thought. “Heads up, Rex,

  Thank God! there’s a jet coming at you at three o’clock! He’s low. He’s really low.”

  Rex and Jay looked to the right in time to see a string of black jet exhaust trailing out of sight above their right wing. A shadow swept over them. Theycaught just a glimpse of a wingtip bigger than their whole airplane.

  Quicker than their next thought, the horizon went crazy, the ground and sky traded places, and the walls and ceiling of the cockpit came at them with freight train force, bashing their skulls.

  “NOOO!” Chuck screamed as he saw the Skylane flip over like a leaf in the wind, tumbling totally out of control. “Dear God, no! Rex! Rex!

  Can you hear me?”

  On the flight deck of the 757, Captain Crylor and his co-pilot didn’t see or feel a thing.

  “Negative function, Cap,” reported the co-pilot.

  “The right engine is out cold.”

  “Roger that,” said Captain Crylor. He’d been trained to handle the loss of an engine on takeoff and had already made the necessary corrections. The big jet stabilized, flying on one engine. “Easy does it. We’re low, but we’re flying. We’ll take her back around for an emergency landing.”

  The copilot noticed the rooftops not so far below. “We’ll give the people in those houses a scare, I suppose.” He radioed the Seattle-Tacoma tower. “Seattle Tower. Emergency. WestAir 271 has lost an engine.”

  Jay felt numb, dizzy, sleepy. No pain, no fear. Looking straight ahead through the windshield, the roofs of a suburban neighborhood seemed to be spinning, coming closer and closer. It wasn’t real. It seemed more like a movie playing in front of his dazed eyes. Wow, he thought.

  Then everything went black.

  As Chuck watched in horror, the big jet continued on, climbing slowly, una
ffected, like a big truck that has just run over a small animal and left it tumbling onto the road’s shoulder. The 757 had not touched Rex Kramer’s plane. It didn’t have to. Just as the wake from a big ship can upset a canoe, so the terrible wake turbulence kicked up by such a monstrous aircraft can wash like a tidal wave over a light plane close behind and below it.

  The Skylane was right side up again after flipping completely over, but now it was banked sharply to the left with the nose down, spiraling in a tight, corkscrew turn.

  “Rex!” Chuck shouted. “Rex! Can you hear me? You’re spiraling, Rex! You’re going to crash! Rex, come in!”

  No answer.

  The plane just kept circling tightly, dropping lower and lower toward the rooftops.

  TWO

  Chuck flew closer and kept calling over the radio, “Rex! Rex! Please answer, can you hear me? Rex, you’ve got to pull up or you’ll rotate into the ground! Rex, you hear me?” Then he silently prayed, Dear Lord, please wake him up, nudge him, get him on those controls!

  Aboard the Skylane, Jay was asleep, dreaming about riding a merry-goround and hearing somebody yelling for his Uncle Rex. Whoever it was just kept yelling and yelling and Jay started wondering, Why doesn’t Rex answer?

  Then he became aware of noises: the rush of wind, a loud engine revving and shaking, metallic vibrations and rattles getting louder and louder.

  Jay felt sick, like he’d been on the merry-go-round too long.

  “Rex!” There was that voice again. “Rex, please answer me!”

  “Uncle Rex,” Jay muttered, “somebody wants you. . . .”

  “Rex!” came the voice through his headphones.

  Jay’s hand went to his ear and bumped into the large ear protector of his headset. It finally registered in his mind: It’s the radio! Somebody’s calling us!

  “Level the wings, Rex! Get that nose up! Come on now!”

  Jay’s mind cleared enough to think, Oh man. Something isn’t right here. We’re in trouble. What’s happened?

  Fear stung him through the heart. The dream was over and he’d awakened to a nightmare. He groped for the control yoke, found it, and pulled back.