"Capital Offense" - читать интересную книгу автора (Antrim Kathleen)TWELVEA small figure huddled in the bar beside the terminal at the Sedalia Memorial Airport. The air was still as the Asian woman watched the keepers of the rural airport shut down for the evening. Once the small staff left, she slipped out to a lone plane parked near the runway. Clad in dark clothing, she stealthily moved up the left side of the Cessna 210 to the door. She pulled a thin tool from her pocket and picked the lock. Swinging the door open, she leaned into the cockpit, clicked on her flashlight, and verified the plane’s registration taped to the visor, then popped the latch to the cargo hold. With a gloved hand, she tucked a strand of her long black hair behind an ear, then checked her watch. Minutes, she had only minutes before she ran the risk of discovery. She shut the door, then moved to the cargo hold, pulled out the portable ladder, set it by the wing, and climbed to the top. Reaching the gas tank, she opened the lid, pulled a bag of sugar from her duffel, and then poured the contents into the tank. She stuffed the empty sugar bag back into her duffel and jumped off the ladder before moving to the second wing and repeating the exercise. Her task complete, she neatly folded the ladder back up, set it inside the cargo hold, and locked the door. With speed and grace, she stepped to the right wing. Blandishing a number two Phillips screwdriver, she removed the inspection plate under the wing, exposing an eighteen-gauge galvanized aircraft wire. She pulled out a wire cutter, then squeezing it with both hands, severed the cable controlling the right side flap deployment. She glanced around to assure herself that she was alone before replacing the inspection plate and disappearing into the night. Ron Spietzei and his family strolled across the tarmac of the Sedalia Memorial Airport. “It’s a beautiful night. Perfect for flying,” Ron said. “Thank you for the lovely dinner.” Molly reached up and kissed Ron’s cheek. Ron, his wife Molly, and her parents, Howard and Joanne Moore, walked the remaining distance to their Cessna 210. “Whose turn is it to fly us home?” Molly asked the others. “I will.” Howard volunteered. “Dad, you flew us here!” she pointed out. “Yeah, Howard, it’s my turn.” Ron replied. “Ronny, you flew last time. It’s Mom’s turn,” Molly said. “Let Ronny fly the plane home. I’m tired. anyway,” Joanne said. “It’s settled. I’ll fly,” Ron said. “Molly, sit in back with your mom. Howard, you’re my copilot. I’ll just be a few minutes while I do the pre-flight. You guys get comfortable.” Ron reached for the door to the cabin and opened it for his wife. He paused. “That’s strange. I was sure I locked this door.” Molly shrugged, then climbed into the backseat of the plane. She and her parents chatted while Ron walked around the plane with his flashlight, giving a cursory check. These outings were regular events. Two or three times a month they’d get together and fly to dinner, weather permitting. All four of them were avid pilots. After pre-flighting the Cessna and climbing into the left seat, Ron shouted. “Clear.” Then, he started the engines. With three clicks of his mike button, the runway lights illuminated, and he guided the Cessna down the path and into the air. “Nice roll-off, Ron.” Howard said as they took to the sky and the landing gear retracted. Ron smiled while enjoying the view. Twenty minutes later, they were cruising at an altitude of fifty-five-hundred feet and following the river basin that led straight into the Jefferson City Airport. “We’re starting our descent. We should make the Jeff City Airport in about twelve minutes.” Ron said. “Good, it’s a school night and we need to get the baby-sitter home early.” As Molly spoke the plane’s engine coughed and sputtered, then resumed its normal hum. “What was that?” she asked. “I’m not sure.” Ron said, eyes darting to the gauges. “Are we low on gas?” Howard asked. “We can’t be. I had the tanks filled before we left,” Ron said. Molly unbuckled her seat belt and leaned forward to look over Ron’s shoulder. They all had been flying for years, but he knew she preferred to be in the pilot’s seat. He often teased her that it was her compulsion for control that made her tense unless she was at the throttle. “It seems fine now. Just relax, honey.” Molly turned to her mother. “So finish your story about-” Suddenly the engine quit, and the plane yawed to the left, slicing through the sky and dropping. Ron grasped the yoke firmly with both hands, struggling to bring the nose up and straighten the plane. “Oh shit!” Unable to buckle her seat belt in time, Molly was thrown against her mother. Then the force of the dive tossed her up off the seat. Her head slammed into the ceiling. She fell back to the seat unconscious. “Molly. Molly!” Joanne, shook her daughter’s shoulder. “Oh my God. Molly’s hurt – she’s unconscious!” Ron managed to right the plane. Howard turned around in his seat as Joanne tried to straighten Molly’s slumped figure. Joanne looked up, terror shining through the tears in her eyes. “Help me, Howard. I can’t get Molly to sit up. HELP US!” She pulled her daughter’s limp body into her arms. “Joanne, you have to get her buckled into her seat belt.” Howard shouted. “Please. “Howard, the engine’s frozen. It won’t turn over.” Howard spun his attention back to Ron at the panicked note in his voice. “Bleed off your airspeed and maintain your altitude.” “We’ll overshoot the airport if I do that. I’ve got to bring us down in order to land on the runway.” Beads of sweat had collected on Ron’s brow. “I’m trying to get us into a solid glide.” “Try switching to the other gas tank. If the gas is contaminated, it may be gumming up the engine,” Howard said. “You do it.” Ron shouted back. “I’m afraid to let go of the yoke. I barely have control now.” Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. With a trembling hand. Howard flipped the level to the second gas tank, but the engine remained silent. “Try the auxiliary pump.” Ron’s heart was in his throat as he watched Howard move in what seemed like slow motion. Howard reached for the switch and moved it to the ON position. The pump started immediately. “There we go, baby, there we go,” Ron encouraged, but the engine failed to respond. Howard leaned fond and tapped the fuel gauges. The dial on both tanks showed full. “This doesn’t make sense. Switch back to the primary tank,” Ron said, fighting to hold the plane steady. Howard switched back, but the engine was dead. “You’re right, we’re too high.” “Son of a bitch,” Ron said “I’ll have to slip her down. Everybody prepare for a rough ride. Joanne, how’s Molly?” “Unconscious, Ron, but I can feel a pulse.” Joanne replied shakily. “She’s buckled in.” “Howard, turn the radio to the emergency frequency for me, one-two-one-point-five.” Howard did as instructed. “Mayday, mayday, Columbia Flight Service, this is Cessna three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, plane in trouble. I repeat, we’re in trouble!” Behind him, Ron could hear Joanne saying the Hail Mary. ‘Three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, copy your mayday. Transponder code five-five-two-two and ident.“ Howard leaned over, programming the Transponder and activating the identification button. “ Columbia, copy your five-five-two-two and ident,” Ron radioed back. “Three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, we do not read your Transponder. Please ident.” “ Columbia, we have. It must not be working,” Ron’s voice rose with fear. “Three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, can you give us your location?” “Four to five miles from the Jeff City Airport coming in from Sedalia.” “Copy, three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, four to five miles west of the Jeff City Airport. State your emergency.” “We’re in a glide without power, but our altitude is too high. I’m going to try slipping her down for a landing, and we need an ambulance.” Ron felt the plane shudder as he nosed the plane downward while pushing his left foot down on the rudder pedal and applying the right aileron. “Copy, three-eight-six-seven Whiskey. Ambulance requested. Jeff City Airport.” “You’re gaining airspeed, Ron. Watch your airspeed. We’re dropping too fast,” Howard urged. “I know. I know,” Ron responded, his voice cracking. “Use your flaps! Slow us down!” The airport loomed ahead. “We’re almost there,” Howard encouraged. “Just use the flaps.” Ron leached for the flap lever and gave the plane ten degrees of flaps. Suddenly, the plane rolled hard to the right. “Ron, the flaps are split!” Howard screamed. The stall horn sounded in the cockpit as the plane flipped and dove. The Jefferson City Democrat October 15,1990 Plane Crash Kills Four |
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