Category Five (23 page)

Lauren looked out at the clouds as they broke into the clear morning sky. She couldn't shake the sick feeling in her stomach about her mother and daughter. What was happening? Her mother didn't have a cell phone, or Lauren would be trying to reach her on
Galileo's
satellite phone. Perhaps she could relay a message through Calvin. Maybe he could find out if they were going to make it out of Newark.

Abruptly, her thoughts shifted to Donovan. She couldn't shake the look on his face, the betrayal in his eyes. What in the world had spawned such a total reversal from Saturday? Waves of regret washed over her as she thought of all the times she'd almost called him, the nights when she wanted nothing more than to go to him. Now he was in trouble, and he'd accused her of something she knew nothing about.

“Dr. McKenna,” Carl's voice sounded through her headset. “Lauren…we're coming up on the first dropsonde point.”

“So soon?” Lauren leaned forward as she checked the time. She chastised herself for letting her thoughts distract her. Their scientific work began in earnest once the first of many dropsondes were released from the Gulfstream. Suspended from a small parachute, the instruments in the dropsondes would relay barometric pressure, temperature, and wind flow. They would also measure the dew point and the GPS Doppler frequency shifts, which in turn would give her the best information about the horizontal and vertical wind components. The data would then be forwarded back to DIA for further analysis. In the end, the crew of the B-1 bomber would have what they needed to deliver their package.

“We're still fifteen minutes from the eye,” Carl reported. “But I'm going to start my telemetry readings.”

Lauren's eyes danced around her instruments. They were level at 45,000 feet. The clouds seemed to boil just beneath them. She guessed the tops were around 43,000 feet or so, far higher than most hurricanes.

“Something is happening to
Jonah
,” Carl announced as he began furiously to type on his keyboard.

Lauren's practiced eye scanned her computer screen looking for the cause of the problem.

“I've lost
Jonah
.” Carl held his hands out in disbelief.

“Don't move, Carl!” Brent threatened. “Raise your hands and put them behind your head.”

Startled, Lauren looked up to see that Brent had a gun pointed at Carl.

“Stay where you are, Lauren.” Brent moved from behind his console.

“Brent, what's the meaning of all this?” Lauren's eyes went from the gun to the determined expression on Brent's face. “What are you doing?”

“Carl just shut down
Jonah
. I watched him send the commands.”

Lauren looked at Carl. “Did you?”

“I didn't do anything!”

“I'm with Internal Investigations.” Brent kept the gun trained on Carl's chest. “I've been monitoring your actions since we left Dulles. I saw what you did, Carl. Now I need you to move slowly away from the console.”

“Do it, Carl.” Lauren felt her anger began to rise. She knew him well enough to believe the flushed look on his face was one of guilt.

“Fine!” Carl pulled his girth up from his chair. “But you're both wrong! I wasn't doing anything I wasn't supposed to!”

“Move down the aisle toward the rear of the plane.” Brent gestured with his pistol. “Lauren, I want you to try to retrace his steps on the computer. Back up anything you find.”

Lauren nodded as she unfastened her seat belt. Her mind was racing. She couldn't even begin to process the implications if Brent's allegations were true. All she wanted at this point was to get
Jonah
back up and running. Everything depended on that information.

“Now, Carl. Move it!” Brent stepped back to make more room in the aisle.

Lauren stepped quickly to the vacated position and began to type commands into Carl's computer. Before she could pull up the first page, she caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. With more speed than she would have thought possible, Carl lunged at Brent, a beefy hand locked over the pistol. Lauren shot from her chair and raced forward. She knew she had no chance of helping Brent fight Carl.

Lauren yanked open the cockpit door. “I need help!”

“What the—” Michael snapped his head around at the sudden intrusion.

“Carl disabled
Jonah!
He attacked Brent! Hurry!”

“Go!” Michael barked at Randy, even though the copilot was already half out of his seat.

Lauren was about to lead Randy to the back of the plane when a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She was held firmly in place as Randy raced past her.

“Stay here.” Michael ordered. “What the hell is going on?”

Lauren looked past Michael. In the distance she could make out a slight depression in the blanket of clouds. It was her first glimpse of Helena's eye.

“Lauren, I want some answers!”

“Carl attacked Brent.” Lauren broke her gaze with Helena and looked at Michael. “We think he sent some unauthorized commands to
Jonah
. Brent is with Internal Investigations. He tried to arrest Carl…then there was a fight.”

“I'm turning this thing around.” Michael shook his head. “This mission is over!”

Lauren was about to try to convince him otherwise when a sharp report sounded from the back of the plane. Michael grabbed for the controls at the same time a larger explosion rocked the
Galileo
. Lauren heard herself scream as she was thrown up against the side wall. Outside, the horizon tilted crazily as Michael fought for control of the jet. In front of her, a dozen red lights flashed on the panel, and the sound from a warning horn filled her ears. Her fear rose as the jet raised up on one wing. She was suddenly terrified they were going to flip upside down.

“GET IN THE SEAT! PUT YOUR OXYGEN MASK ON!” Michael yelled above the warning horn, both hands on the controls trying to control the wildly unstable Gulfstream.

Lauren did as she was told. The cockpit masks were the same as the ones in the back. Her initial training in the aircraft came back to her as she slid the mask over her head. She winced as the seal bit hard into her skin. Michael had brought the Gulfstream back from the brink; the wings were almost level again. She watched as his hands flew around the cockpit. First, he slipped on his own mask, then reached up and silenced the warning horn. Without hesitation, his hands brought back the right throttle. Lauren could read a series of warnings illuminated on the center cathode ray tube. From the cryptic abbreviations, she saw they were losing cabin pressure. The air in the cockpit had turned ice cold and her eyes were suddenly assaulted by the bone-dry air. She sat helpless and watched in horror as more lights came to life: a fire in the right engine, low oil pressure, low hydraulic pressure. Michael reached out and pulled a red handle next to her knee, and twisted the lever.

They'd descended out of 45,000 feet. She could see Michael's jaw working; his finger was mashed on the push-to-talk switch on the controls. Lauren could see the whites of his knuckles as he held the Gulfstream against invisible forces. Lauren looked to her right and found Randy's headset. She slipped it on and heard an air traffic controller's urgent words.

“Eco-Watch 01. This is New York Center. We copy your Mayday. You're cleared to do anything you need to do. There are no other airplanes in my airspace.”

“The fire is out. I'm pretty sure we've had an uncontained turbine failure,” Michael replied calmly. “We're through 44,000 feet and descending.”

Lauren's eyes grew large as she looked down at the churning mass of clouds beneath them. With each passing second, they were drawing closer.

“Roger, Eco-Watch 01. New York center clears you to descend at your discretion. Keep us advised of your intentions. When you can, we need number of souls on board and fuel remaining.”

Lauren looked at the control wheel. There was a button marked ICS—she knew it was for the intercom system. She pushed the switch.

“Michael, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Michael nodded and turned toward her. “Get your seat belt fastened!”

“What about Randy?”

“If he were coming back, he'd have been here by now. Buckle up!”

Lauren reacted numbly as Michael's statement soaked in. What was going on in the back of the plane? Were Randy, Brent, and Carl still alive? Lauren shook off her grisly thoughts as she pulled the straps tight around her hips. She saw the swirling tops of Helena reaching up for them.

“Michael, we can't go into the hurricane. We have to level off!” Lauren's eyes grew wide with fear at the thought of the jet descending into the teeth of the violent storm.

“We don't have a choice!” Michael pulled his own harness tighter. “We've had some kind of catastrophic failure of the right engine. This plane won't stay up here on only one engine. We're losing cabin pressure. Somewhere back there, the pressure vessel has ruptured. If I don't get us down we'll all die when the oxygen runs out.”

Lauren scanned the horizon. She was disoriented. A quick look at the compass told her they were now headed south. She stretched, trying desperately to look out Michael's side window.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“Where's the eye? We can descend into the eye of the hurricane. The air is relatively calm. If we go into the storm itself I don't think the airplane will stay in one piece. As of yesterday, even the NOAA planes suspended their operations. The last Hurricane Hunter flight reported turbulence of almost 5 Gs as they tried to get out of the storm. Can we take that kind of punishment?”

“Not even close.” Michael gently banked the airplane back to the north. “I can see the depression of the eye, but we're not going to get in clean. We're going to have to penetrate the clouds and come in from the side.”

“Oh my God.” Lauren remembered the last image she'd seen from
Jonah
, the vivid echoes of the towering thunderstorms. “I have to get to the back. I think I can get us a better picture of the storm from there.”

“You can't,” Michael said, quickly. “Nothing back there is working. When we're down to one generator, all the scientific equipment shuts down automatically. It's designed to protect the essential aircraft systems.”

“Michael,” Lauren said, suddenly. “Can I link up with DIA headquarters from up here?”

“I'm not sure what's working and what's not. You're best bet is the satellite phone. What have you got in mind?”

“If I can talk to them, they might be able to help thread us through the worst of the weather.

“Do it!” Michael ordered. He reached up and adjusted the
Galileo's
weather radar.

Lauren reached for the phone, thankful she had a dial tone. She quickly dialed a number from memory. She brushed
Michael's hand from the radar controls. She could work the radar just as easily as he could and it would allow him to concentrate on flying the crippled jet. She adjusted the tilt on the Honeywell radar mounted in the nose of the
Galileo
. The screen lit up with angry bands of precipitation echoes. The radar was working, but it was primitive compared to the resources at the DIA. If she worked this right, they could use the Doppler from
Jonah
, and infrared images from the DMSP-3 satellite to weave their way to the safety of the eye.

“I think we should turn to the left. We need to avoid this cluster of thunderstorms.” Lauren pointed at their radar screen.

“I'm trying.” Michael replied.

Lauren urged someone to pick up the phone. She could picture the scene in her lab at DIA headquarters. Steven Hughes would be the specialist on duty. Steven was the definition of nervous energy. He'd be studying Helena, constantly running his hands back through his thinning brown hair. At his side would be a huge plastic cup. Lauren had given up trying to keep track of how much Dr. Pepper Steven drank in one day. But Steven was bright, and would instantly know what they needed.

“Hello! Steven?” Lauren demanded the instant the phone was answered. The world outside went gray as the Gulfstream plummeted into the clouds. The first tremor of rough air rocked the airframe.

“Yeah. Who's this?”

“Steven. It's Lauren McKenna. We have an emergency. Listen carefully; I only have time to say this once. I'm in the Eco-Watch jet. We've had an engine failure, and we're descending into the hurricane. We have to try to make it to the eye. I need your help!”

“Oh, Christ! I'm right here at the primary station. Give me your position.”

Lauren was buoyed by the fact that Steven had instantly grasped the situation, but she wasn't sure exactly where they were.

“Never mind,” Steven said. “I just found your heat signature on the infrared satellite picture. Hang on while I pull up an overlay. Give me your heading and altitude.”

“We're through 40,300.” Lauren's eyes darted around the panel. “We're on a north heading.”

“Okay. Got you. Turn left, twenty degrees. You're going to need that heading for the next eleven miles.”

Lauren relayed the information to Michael, who quickly turned the Gulfstream to the new heading.

“Okay, Dr. McKenna. This could get a little ugly. For some reason we've lost contact with
Jonah
, but I think I can do this with the satellite image. Have you ever worked one of those mazes where the key is to get from point A to point B without touching any of the lines?”

Lauren knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yes,” she replied.

“I'm pretty good at those. This is going to be a three dimensional version of the same game. In eight miles, I'm going to want a hard thirty degree turn to the left.”

“Then what?” Lauren asked. The Gulfstream's radar showed only varying shades of red and purple.

“I got to tell you this really sucks,” Michael added as he fought the turbulence.