Chapter 13 - Flying Blind

Silence after constant radio traffic felt unnatural.

The Cessna suddenly became what it had been before all of this.

A small airplane.

Two engines.

One pilot.

Open sky.

Except two Raptors remained outside my windows.

Daniel pointed forward.

Then tapped his helmet and shook his head.

No communications.

I nodded.

The external jammer had isolated me.

But it hadn't disabled my analog controls.

Not yet.

I held the heading toward Langley.

Daniel raised three fingers.

Then pointed down.

Three thousand feet?

No.

He repeated.

Three.

Then drew an invisible line.

Thirty miles.

Probably distance to coastline.

We reverted to visual signals older than either of us.

Technology failed.

Pilots remained.

My mother would have appreciated that.

The Gulfstream stayed several miles away.

Its job was accomplished.

Isolate me.

Make me easier to manipulate.

Then my right engine faltered again.

This time analog fuel pressure dropped too.

Real problem.

I switched tanks.

No improvement.

Fuel gauges showed adequate quantity.

The engine coughed violently.

I feathered the propeller.

The Cessna yawed.

Daniel immediately moved alongside.

His gloved hand pointed downward.

Land.

Not yet.

A Cessna 310 could fly on one engine if conditions were right.

But heavy load, altitude, and whatever modifications had been made to the aircraft complicated everything.

I reduced drag and began a shallow descent.

Ten thousand.

Nine-five.

Nine.

Daniel stayed with me.

Maya disappeared ahead.

Probably clearing the route.

Then something moved behind my passenger seat.

The document case.

It slid during turbulence and opened.

My mother's photograph fell onto the floor.

I glanced down.

The UV writing remained faintly visible.

THE CARRIER IS NOT THE TARGET.

I suddenly realized there might be more.

Using one hand, I lifted the UV flashlight again.

More text appeared along the photograph's edge.

Tiny.

Almost hidden.

OLD MACHINES DON'T LIE FOR NEW MEN.

I stared.

Not my mother's handwriting.

Nathan's.

He had known.

Paper chart.

Analog gauges.

Old Cessna.

The aircraft's age wasn't incidental.

Maybe Nathan chose this airplane specifically because part of it couldn't be remotely controlled.

My left engine surged unexpectedly.

Then throttled back.

Digital interference.

I pulled the circuit breakers feeding the electronic engine-control augmentation installed during restoration.

The engine stabilized.

So did the right.

I unfeathered cautiously.

Fuel pressure returned.

Both engines came back.

The modifications had been manipulating the readings and perhaps servo controls.

Once disconnected, the original mechanical systems worked.

I laughed aloud.

Old machines don't lie for new men.

Daniel saw both propellers turning again and gave me a thumbs-up.

I returned it.

Then I considered the jammer.

External.

Magnetic.

Probably battery powered.

Could I remove it?

Not in flight.

But maybe I didn't need to.

The hidden military transceiver was blocked.

My ordinary VHF might still work at another frequency if the jammer focused on specific bands.

I started cycling radios manually.

Static.

Static.

Static.

Then a faint voice.

“…Cessna… hear…”

I adjusted.

“Station calling Cessna, repeat.”

Daniel's voice.

Weak.

He had switched to a lower-output backup channel.

“Sarah?”

“I'm here.”

“Thank God.”

“Jammer isn't covering everything.”

“Your engines?”

“Someone installed electronic manipulation into the upgrades. I disconnected them.”

“Can you make Langley?”

“Yes.”

A new voice appeared.

Not Shaw.

Not Ortiz.

Nathan.

Very faint.

“Sarah, listen.”

“Where are you transmitting from?”

“Closer than you think.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look north.”

I looked.

A dark helicopter appeared several miles away.

Civilian-style Sikorsky.

Nathan's voice:

“That's me.”

For five years, I had imagined what meeting him again would feel like.

I expected relief.

Anger.

Questions.

Instead I felt suspicion.

“How do I know?”

“You don't.”

Exactly the right answer.

My mother would have approved.

Nathan continued.

“I can remove the jammer.”

Daniel immediately objected.

“No.”

“He has equipment.”

“He also admitted using Sarah as bait.”

Silence.

Daniel had been listening carefully.

Nathan didn't defend himself.

“Fair.”

I made the decision.

“No air transfer. No approaching my aircraft.”

“Sarah—”

“Stay visible. We land together.”

Another pause.

“Understood.”

That mattered.

People who respected boundaries earned trust slowly.

People who demanded trust lost it.

Langley's coastline appeared ahead.

For the first time all morning, land felt comforting.

Then Daniel transmitted:

“Sarah, Langley just canceled your landing clearance.”

My stomach dropped.

“Why?”

“A directive from Washington.”

“Signed by whom?”

He hesitated.

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