The look was entirely flat. That's a violation of my privacy. I own the jet, the Wi-Fi, and the payroll company that cuts your $15 an hour checks. Privacy is an illusion. Diana crossed her arms.
You were a C-17 commander. You flew combat drops in the Korengal Valley. You were the chief pilot for Horizon Tech. Evans turned his head so fast his neck popped. He stared at Arthur, his mouth slightly open.
The guy who emptied the lavatories was aviation royalty. Was, Arthur said quietly. Past tense. Now, I scrub bugs off the radome. Why didn't you just take a desk job?
Diana asked. It wasn't an interrogation anymore. It was genuine, baffled curiosity. A dispatcher, a simulator instructor. You could be making six figures on the ground.
Simulator instructors work rotating shifts. Dispatchers work nights, Arthur said. He reached forward and tapped a dial on the altimeter, a purely habitual gesture. Lily's school gets out at 3:15. My shift at the FBO ends at 3:00.
I pick her up. We do homework. I make dinner. I know she's safe. You can't buy that kind of schedule in aviation.
So, you threw away your entire life? No. Arthur finally turned his head, looking right at her. His eyes were heavy, carrying a grief so dense it had its own gravity. I kept the only part of my life that survived.
Diana felt a strange, uncomfortable tightening in her chest. She had sacrificed everything for Mercer Industries. Her marriages, her friendships, her youth. She looked at Arthur and for the first time in her career wondered if the view from the top was worth the climb. Before she could form a response, the primary flight display chimed softly.
Captain Evans said, his voice instantly dropping the fanboy awe and reverting to professional tension. We're 200 mi out from Zurich, approaching top of descent. Arthur turned back to the instruments. The human moment was over. The machine demanded his attention.
Get the ATIS weather for Zurich, Arthur ordered. Let's see what the Alps have waiting for us. The descent into Switzerland was a master class in energy management. Arthur pulled the throttles back to flight idle, letting the heavy jet slide down from 40,000 ft in a smooth, continuous arc. Below them, the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Alps pierced through a thick layer of broken clouds.
Zurich approach control vectored them through the valleys, handing them off to the local tower. Delta Mike, Zurich tower. Cleared for the ILS approach, Runway 16. Winds calm. Cleared the ILS 16, Delta Mike, Arthur read back.
He disconnected the autopilot at 10,000 ft. He wanted to feel the airframe. The jet responded to his inputs with heavy, sluggish obedience. The air down here was thick, cold, and dense. Flaps 15, Arthur said.
Evans moved the flap lever. The electric motors whined and the jet pitched up slightly as the lift increased. Localizer captured. Glide slope alive, Evans called out, reading the instrument needles aligning perfectly on the screen. Gear down.
Flaps 30. Evans reached up and pulled the heavy landing gear lever down to the deploy position. Beneath them, the heavy hydraulic doors opened. The wind roared against the belly of the plane. The nose gear clunked into place, sending a shudder through the floorboards.
The left main gear followed a second later. Arthur looked at the gear indicator panel on the center dash. Three lights were supposed to turn brilliant green. The nose gear was green. The left main was green.
The right main gear was red. In transit. A yellow master caution light illuminated on the glare shield. A synthesized voice cut through the cockpit speakers. Gear disagree.
Gear disagree. Evans froze, staring at the red light. We don't have three green. Right main is unsafe. Diana leaned forward against her shoulder harness, the blood draining from her face.
What does that mean? It means exactly what I told Harris at 5:00 this morning, Arthur said. His voice was frighteningly calm. The strut was weeping fluid. When we climbed to altitude, the ambient temperature dropped to minus 60 degrees.
The seal shrunk. The pressure blew out. And we dumped our right side hydraulic fluid into the slipstream over the Atlantic. He didn't panic. He reached up and pressed the transmit button on the yoke.
Zurich Tower, Delta Mike, we have a gear indication issue. Going missed approach. Requesting a holding pattern over the VOR at 5,000 ft to troubleshoot. Delta Mike. Roger.
Climb and maintain 5,000. Turn left heading 090. Arthur pushed the throttles forward. The engines spooled up and the aircraft pitched up abandoning the runway. Evans, run the checklist for alternate gear extension.
Arthur commanded. Evans scrambled for the quick reference handbook, his hands shaking slightly. He flipped to the emergency section. Okay. Airspeed below 200 knots.
We're at 180. Pull the alternate extension T-handle. Arthur reached down to the center console, flipped a red guard up, and grabbed the heavy metal T-handle. He pulled it hard. This bypassed the hydraulic pumps relying on compressed nitrogen to physically blow the gear down and lock it.
A loud hiss echoed under the floor. They waited. 5 seconds, 10 seconds, the light stayed red. No joy. Arthur said, his jaw tightening. The locking pin is frozen.
Without hydraulic pressure to force it, the nitrogen isn't enough to snap it past the ice. So, we land on two wheels? Diana asked, staring at the red light like it was a bomb. Can the plane survive that? The plane will scrape the right wing off, spin out of control, and likely rupture the wing tanks.
Arthur said bluntly. We'd be a fireball. Evans was hyperventilating now. Captain, we have to declare an emergency. Get the crash tenders on the runway.
Not yet. Arthur looked at the fuel gauge. They had enough jet fuel for 45 minutes of flight. I'm not putting this bird in the dirt. He gripped the yoke with both hands.
Evans, secure loose items in the cabin. Miss Mercer, tighten your harness until it bruises you. What are you doing? Diana demanded. Physics, Arthur said.