In the Dark (27 page)

Hannah searched frantically and finally found it. "One hundred ten " she said.

"More throttle!"

Responding to his urgency, she jammed the throttles forward. The plane lunged, and the propeller noise became a scream.

"Easy, baby. Keep the handles about two-thirds of the way forward."

Hannah reduced power. She was having a hard time holding the plane level. Each increase or decrease of power made the nose rise and fall, and the pressure of the yoke was tremendous. "I can't hold it!" she cried, especially not while holding the mike, and she wasn't going to let go of that.

"Are you buckled in?"

"No." The plane was all over the sky, rising and falling like a roller coaster. How was she supposed to buckle herself in, hold the mike, and keep the controls steady all at the same time? "I can't let go!"

"Hannah, listen," Luther urged. "Do you see a sort of a wheel sticking halfway out of the center console, close to the throttles?"

"Yes."

"Which way is the plane trying to go, up or down?"

"Uh... down."

"Okay. Roll the wheel toward you until you feel the pressure on the yoke ease off to nothing."

Hannah obeyed, and to her huge relief, the nose rose gently. The control yoke was blessedly pressure-free.

"That's better" she breathed, freeing a hand to buckle herself into the pilot's seat. She clung to the mike.

"Now, find the rudders on the floor," Luther instructed, "and push the left one until I tell you to stop. You're a little right of course."

She did as he said, and the nose of the plane started skidding through the air.
Oh, my God.

"Now, release the pedal and have a look. Do you see the airstrip ahead of you?"

She'd kept one eye on it all this time. "I see it."

“Tap the right rudder with your toe and line yourself up exactly. Make small movements. You have plenty of time."

She heard him muffle the radio and issue orders to have the airstrip cleared; to have emergency vehicles standing by. Her heart clutched with dread at the thought of approaching the ground.

"I'm scared, Luther," she confessed.

"I'm scared, too, baby. But if anyone can do this, it's you. It's a piece of cake in a turboprop, trust me. I'm going to talk you right through it. Okay?"

She blew out a breath. "Okay."

'That's my girl. Now that you've sped up, I need you to slow down. Pull back on the throttle handles until they're about halfway back. As you slow down, the nose will drop. Roll the wheel back until it comes up level again."

As tense as a trapdoor, she followed his instructions. Like he'd said, the nose began to drop. She rolled the trim wheel back and the nose returned to the horizon. The white needle on the airspeed indicator began to drop. "It's dropped below a hundred fifty," she told him. "How am I going to hold this mike and land the plane at the same time?"

"You can put the mike down and still hear me," he reassured her. "Look down low to the left of the throttles. Do you see a handle with a top that's shaped like a wheel?"

It was practically under her hand. "Yes."

"That's the landing gear. Push it all the way down, then nudge the throttles forward just a bit."

"Right now?"

"Yes, now."

She did, and a mechanical sound followed. She sensed the plane slowing down, and she responded by nudging the throttles back up.

"What's the airspeed now?"   "One hundred."

"That's a little slow." He tried to mask the tension in his tone, but she heard it all the same. "Add a little more power and roll the trim forward just a touch."

She obeyed him, and the sound of the engines increased. The airspeed indicator began a slow climb up. She was conscious of the jacket of her yellow suit sticking to her back.

Having fun yet, Hannah?
she asked herself.

Surely her father had done this very thing while trying to land his floundering plane in a bit of open field. Only he'd hit the trees instead.
Oh, God, don't think of that!

"I'm back to one twenty" she volunteered.

"Perfect," Luther said, his voice steadier. "Now look along the top of the instrument panel. See the three green lights lit up?"

"Yes."

"That means the gear's down. Look on the face of the instrument panel near your right knee. Do you see another smaller handle shaped like the rear edge of a wing?"

"Yes."

"That's for the wing flaps. Pull it down to the first notch in the slot."

She did, and the plane began to slow again. The nose rose slightly.

"How's the airspeed?" Luther asked.

"Down to one hundred ten again."

"Hold it right there. If it tries to go slower, roll the trim forward to make the nose go down. If it tries to go faster, trim up. Remember this," he added. "It's important: You are going to control the speed by moving the nose up or down. You're going to control your altitude with the throttles. Got it?"

Speed nose. Altitude throttles.
"Got it."

"If you pull off power the nose will drop, and the plane will start to speed up. You have to counter that by raising the nose and holding speed at a hundred ten."

God, there was so much to think about at once! "I'm going to put the mike down now," she told him, needing to free her hands.

"Go ahead."

"Luther?" she added, thinking this might just be her last chance to communicate with him.

"Yes, Hannah?"

She hesitated. What could she say that would convey how much she'd loved every moment spent with him? "I've had fun," she said, disappointed that her words fell short.

He choked out a laugh. "Baby, your idea of fun is killing me."

"I know. I'm sorry." She put the handset down, determined to put him out of his misery.

She checked the airspeed indicator, the trim wheel, and the throttles, taking great care to keep the plane at an even speed and level.

Luther's voice came a moment later. "Okay, Hannah, push that wing-shaped handle down one more notch. Trim the nose so your speed stays at one hundred. Fortunately, the wind won't be a factor."

Hannah pushed the handle down again, and the plane reacted by raising its nose. The airspeed indicator started down, and she hesitated, thinking first, before rolling the trim wheel forward to increase her speed.

Looking out the windscreen, she cringed to see how close the ground was getting. At least she was centered on the runway. She tasted salt on her upper lip.

"Time to pull the flap handle to the last slot," Luther instructed. "You're going to slow down to ninety. Remember, control your speed with the trim and your distance from the ground with the throttle. Do it all very gently."

With her heart in her throat, Hannah pulled the flap handle back.

The plane reacted as it had before, slowing down and raising its nose. Rolling the trim forward, she tried to make the speed settle on ninety. Looking up, she saw that she was much too close to the ground, and the runway was still some distance away. Panicked, she shoved both throttles forward.

The engines roared and the nose rose abruptly.
Oh, God, she was losing control!

Luther's voice was a balm in her ears. "Gently, Hannah," he reminded her. "It doesn't take a lot of throttle to keep you up there."

She pulled the throttles back and the nose dropped again. She let it fall. Miraculously, the airspeed indicator settled on ninety. The ground came closer. She made a slight correction with her feet.

Suddenly the nearest end of the runway seemed to be approaching at blinding speed.

"You're doing great, baby," came Luther's voice, calm and fully focused. "You have a huge, long runway in front of you. Just let the plane settle in. When you get about twenty feet up, pull the throttles back, then as you sink toward the runway, pull back on the control yoke gently. Use the rudders to go straight. You can do it, Hannah. I love you."

Concrete was flashing underneath her now, and she seemed to be going so fast that there was no way she could survive contact with it.

"Throttles back," Luther instructed as the ground rushed up under her. The engine noise died away.

"Control yoke—gently!"

She pulled back on the yoke and then back some more. The pressure was tremendous, but she didn't dare let go to use the trim tab. The runway disappeared under the nose of the plane, and then there was the screech of rubber on cement, and she bounced in her seat.

One foot almost slipped off the rudder, but with a supreme effort of will, she kept the plane from veering off the runway.

"Good girl!" There was huge relief as well as jubilation in Luther's voice. 'The brakes are on the top of the rudder pedals. Push them gentry. Make sure that you keep going straight!"

Hannah depressed the brakes, and the plane began to slow. The end of the runway came into view, but it wasn't close enough to frighten her. She pumped the brakes until the plane slowed. At last it stopped.

Hannah let out a long, shuddering breath. Tears of relief flooded her eyes. She put her hands over her face. Oh, merciful God, it was over. And she was still alive.

For a long moment, she savored the sensation of being utterly motionless, while howls and cheers poured out of the radio.

Suddenly the plane began to move again. She jammed her feet back on the brakes and grabbed the mike. "Help! How do I keep it stopped?"

Her question prompted uproarious laughter from the control tower which made her furious.

Luther's voice, choked with emotion, came to her ears. "Sorry, baby. We're a little hysterical up here. Look on the far right side of the throttle console for two mixture controls. Pull them all the way back."

She did, and the whine of the turboprop descended a musical scale.

With badly shaking fingers, she followed his final instru
tions
to turn off the ignition. The instruments jumped and the lights on the panel dimmed. Hannah swallowed convulsively. With her adrenaline receding she was suddenly aware that her head was pounding and she felt more than a little nauseated.

She had fully expected to
die. It
had seemed inevitable, given her recurring nightmare. But with Luther metaphorically holding her hand, she'd managed to land the plane and give her dream a different ending. She couldn't have done it without him.

It suddenly occurred to her that Luther had slipped a rather profound confession into his last directions.

I love you,
he'd said.

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of that message steady her heart.
Oh, Luther, I love you, too.

She didn't have the strength to hide from that truth. Nor was she above basking in it while she could.

She was only human. And more than anything in the world she needed to feel Luther's arms around her, to know that she was safe and sheltered in his care.

Freeing herself from the seat, she headed for the exit, stepping distastefully over the drooling pilot and Uncle Caleb, who was curled up in a puddle of blood. Seeing him still conscious, she paused long enough to bend over him.

"You never loved my mother," she accused, her voice shaking. "Love isn't about owning someone. It's about putting their happiness first."

With that, she released the airtight lock on the exit, pushing it open and off to one side.

Without any consideration for her quaking legs, she leaped to the tarmac, several feet below her. Her knees buckled and she pitched forward, scraping her hands and knees so badly that she couldn't get up.

"Ow! Okay, that hurt." She rolled onto her backside and inspected her bleeding palms. Her head felt as if it had been split with an ax. Instead of getting up, she waited in the shade of the wing as emergency vehicles bore down on her with sirens screaming.

"Comfortable?" Luther asked, stroking a hand up and down Hannah's bare arm. She sat in her nightshirt on Luther's big green couch, basking in the heat of a fire. While Luther occupied the length of the couch, Hannah lay between his legs, her head resting on his chest, soaking up the blaze with her eyes closed.

"Comfy," she purred. She didn't want to think beyond this moment, beyond her gratefulness to be alive and, for the time being, happy.

"Are you still sore?"

"Very." There wasn't a muscle in her body that didn't ache, but if she held perfectly still, she felt fine.

"What are you thinking about?" he pressed.

Hannah sighed. Putting off their discussion any longer was pointless. She could sense Luther's agitation, his growing need for an answer. He'd told her today that he loved her, and that had come on the heels of his admission yesterday that he didn't want to let her go. He shouldn't have to wait.

But the day's fantastical events had prevented her from giving him an answer yet. The paramedics had swarmed her on the tarmac, arriving just before Luther and Kevin who'd run clear from the tower control building. Both of them had been gasping for breath, with tears in their eyes. They'd taken turns hugging Hannah while the paramedics tended to Newman and the pilot, who were rushed from the scene, escorted by an FBI agent.

Hannah had been whisked to the terminal building where the second FBI agent, Crawford, fielded the questions coming from the military police. She'd sipped the orange juice thrust into her hand and tried to calm her shaking and shuddering. Guessing her quandary, Luther had pulled her onto his lap, at which point Kevin's jaw had gone visibly slack. Bit by bit, Luther's warmth had invaded Hannah's shocked muscles, so that her shuddering subsided.

Now, with the heat of the fire upon her and some serious painkillers coursing her system, she felt so lethargic, she wasn't sure she could move. But the moment had come to push Luther gently away from her, even though every selfish bone in her body wanted nothing more than to take what he'd offered her and run with it. But like she'd told
Uncle
Caleb, loving Luther meant wanting his happiness. And he wouldn't be happy trying to make it work with her.

She straightened away from him, wincing at the pain it caused her. "Okay," she relented, "it's time to talk." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear.