figure out what the hell’s going on.’
3
SOUTH BIMINI ISLAND, BAHAMAS
June 27, 19:24
‘Bimini this is November two-seven-six-four-charlie, airborne and turning two-seven-zero in the climb.’
Captain James MacDonald clicked off the transmit button on his control column as he pulled back on the Grumman Mallard’s controls. The foamy white spray blasting past the windshield and
the rumble of water thundering beneath the fuselage gave way to smooth and subtle gyrations as the aircraft lifted off from the sparkling azure waters of the Florida Straits.
MacDonald turned and looked out of the cockpit windshield at the distant horizon, where the sun was sinking between soaring cumulonimbus clouds that glowed like the wings of giant angels.
‘Always looks good, doesn’t it?’
The voice of MacDonald’s First Officer, Sarah Gleeson, was followed by a bright smile as she gestured with a nod to the sunset as the Grumman climbed upward, its turboprop engines hauling
the vintage airframe ever higher.
‘Sure does,’ MacDonald agreed. He scanned the horizon for other aircraft, then checked his instruments and turned onto a new heading, locking his VOR radio-navigation frequency onto
Miami International Airport. ‘You’ll never get tired of this job.’
Sarah Gleeson had joined Bimini Wings just six months before, fresh out of getting her Commercial Pilot’s License and her water-plane qualification on the Grumman Mallard. MacDonald had
been tasked with seeing her through her first year of flying with the company, a task that he had undertaken happily. After thirty-four years of service he enjoyed seeing the next generation of
pilots coming up through the ranks.
He settled back into his seat, placed his flight notes in his lap and let Sarah handle the climb out and cruise. Miami was just sixty nautical miles away across the Florida Straits on their
westerly heading. Sitting behind them in the passenger cabin were a dozen scientists returning home after some kind of fieldwork exercise out on the coral reefs near Bimini, probably
conservationists or some such.
‘Last chartered trip of the afternoon,’ Sarah said. ‘You got anything planned?’
MacDonald shook his head. ‘Back home and a long shower.’
Sarah leveled the Grumman Mallard off at six thousand feet, MacDonald taking quiet pride in the fact that she ignored the autopilot and flew the aircraft by hand. A real pilot, not some overpaid
geek trained to press buttons. He ensured that she trimmed the aircraft perfectly, then looked out over the ocean to watch the scattered clouds floating serenely past below, casting blue shadows on
the crystalline ocean. Even after so many years flying in the Bahamas he still reveled in the unparalleled purity of the environment, especially on a day like today, with perfect conditions: CAVU,
as they called it. Clear Air, Visibility Unlimited. Damn, even the thermal currents rising off the warm water were gentle, just swaying the wings in a—
The aircraft lurched to the right with a violent shudder as though something had slammed into the tail. Sarah instinctively kicked hard at the left rudder as MacDonald grabbed the throttles in
anticipation of a sudden updraft or downdraft.
‘The hell was that?’ Sarah uttered as the aircraft settled again.
MacDonald scanned the instruments with practiced eyes, but saw nothing amiss.
‘Damned if I know.’
They both looked instinctively out of the windows. With Bimini far behind and Miami just over the horizon in the glowing golden haze ahead, they may as well have been a thousand miles from
anywhere.
MacDonald held the controls with a light touch and felt the tension slip from his body as he relaxed again.
‘Probably just a hole in the air, happens from time to time.’
MacDonald knew that aircraft had been known to plummet hundreds or even thousands of feet without warning when the lift beneath their wings was snatched away by invisible pockets of low
pressure.
3
SOUTH BIMINI ISLAND, BAHAMAS
June 27, 19:24
‘Bimini this is November two-seven-six-four-charlie, airborne and turning two-seven-zero in the climb.’
Captain James MacDonald clicked off the transmit button on his control column as he pulled back on the Grumman Mallard’s controls. The foamy white spray blasting past the windshield and
the rumble of water thundering beneath the fuselage gave way to smooth and subtle gyrations as the aircraft lifted off from the sparkling azure waters of the Florida Straits.
MacDonald turned and looked out of the cockpit windshield at the distant horizon, where the sun was sinking between soaring cumulonimbus clouds that glowed like the wings of giant angels.
‘Always looks good, doesn’t it?’
The voice of MacDonald’s First Officer, Sarah Gleeson, was followed by a bright smile as she gestured with a nod to the sunset as the Grumman climbed upward, its turboprop engines hauling
the vintage airframe ever higher.
‘Sure does,’ MacDonald agreed. He scanned the horizon for other aircraft, then checked his instruments and turned onto a new heading, locking his VOR radio-navigation frequency onto
Miami International Airport. ‘You’ll never get tired of this job.’
Sarah Gleeson had joined Bimini Wings just six months before, fresh out of getting her Commercial Pilot’s License and her water-plane qualification on the Grumman Mallard. MacDonald had
been tasked with seeing her through her first year of flying with the company, a task that he had undertaken happily. After thirty-four years of service he enjoyed seeing the next generation of
pilots coming up through the ranks.
He settled back into his seat, placed his flight notes in his lap and let Sarah handle the climb out and cruise. Miami was just sixty nautical miles away across the Florida Straits on their
westerly heading. Sitting behind them in the passenger cabin were a dozen scientists returning home after some kind of fieldwork exercise out on the coral reefs near Bimini, probably
conservationists or some such.
‘Last chartered trip of the afternoon,’ Sarah said. ‘You got anything planned?’
MacDonald shook his head. ‘Back home and a long shower.’
Sarah leveled the Grumman Mallard off at six thousand feet, MacDonald taking quiet pride in the fact that she ignored the autopilot and flew the aircraft by hand. A real pilot, not some overpaid
geek trained to press buttons. He ensured that she trimmed the aircraft perfectly, then looked out over the ocean to watch the scattered clouds floating serenely past below, casting blue shadows on
the crystalline ocean. Even after so many years flying in the Bahamas he still reveled in the unparalleled purity of the environment, especially on a day like today, with perfect conditions: CAVU,
as they called it. Clear Air, Visibility Unlimited. Damn, even the thermal currents rising off the warm water were gentle, just swaying the wings in a—
The aircraft lurched to the right with a violent shudder as though something had slammed into the tail. Sarah instinctively kicked hard at the left rudder as MacDonald grabbed the throttles in
anticipation of a sudden updraft or downdraft.
‘The hell was that?’ Sarah uttered as the aircraft settled again.
MacDonald scanned the instruments with practiced eyes, but saw nothing amiss.
‘Damned if I know.’
They both looked instinctively out of the windows. With Bimini far behind and Miami just over the horizon in the glowing golden haze ahead, they may as well have been a thousand miles from
anywhere.
MacDonald held the controls with a light touch and felt the tension slip from his body as he relaxed again.
‘Probably just a hole in the air, happens from time to time.’
MacDonald knew that aircraft had been known to plummet hundreds or even thousands of feet without warning when the lift beneath their wings was snatched away by invisible pockets of low
pressure.
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