B006U13W The Flight (Jenny Cooper 4) nodrm Read Free

seafood bar. At the very front of the aircraft were six self-contained ‘ultra suites’ – glorified versions of the first-class pods – separated from the main cabin by sliding perspex doors.
    Jimmy Han usually made do with the relative comfort of a regular pod, but it had been a hectic few days in which he had already travelled more than halfway across the globe. As soon as he slid the door of his suite shut and drew the blind he knew that he had made the right decision. Kicking off his shoes, he eased into the seat and adjusted it just so, stroking the controls until it moulded to the small of his back. Today was a rest day, a time for reflection. He closed his eyes and recalled a long-forgotten moment from his childhood: his father had kicked a stray dog that lay sunning itself in the street outside their drab apartment building. When he had asked why, his father had said, ‘Because he looks more comfortable lying on the hard ground than I’ll ever be.’ Han smiled. Even now he wasn’t as relaxed as that flea-bitten bag of bones; but he was worth more than 700 million dollars.
    At eight-fifty the last of the sixteen cabin doors was secured and Captain Murray turned the simple ignition switch which commenced the automatic start-up of the four Rolls-Royce Trent engines. He watched the changing images on the engine screen as the aircraft’s computers started each of them in turn and pressurized the hydraulic systems. Sophisticated sensors relayed a constant stream of information: the computers finessed the many interconnected electrical and mechanical processes in a way no human ever could. It was as if the vast machine had a life of its own.
    The ground crew disconnected the push-back tractor and radioed the cockpit to set the brakes to ‘on’. The aircraft’s computers calculated where its centre of gravity lay based on the size and distribution of the payload, and decided on the correct angle at which to attack the air: too shallow and it would struggle to leave the ground, too steep and the centre of lift would slip behind the centre of gravity, risking a disastrous stall. The wing flaps and stabilizer (the horizontal section of the tail) adjusted themselves accordingly. On older planes the pilot would feel his way into the air, instinctively responding to the feedback on his centre stick and the pressure on his rudder pedals, but the Airbus pilot had no feedback, no tactile sense of the air pressing against the flying surfaces. He relied instead on the streams of information on his visual displays. Among the many acts of faith the aircraft demanded, those required on take-off were the most profound.
    First Officer Stevens received the go-ahead from the tower and Captain Murray manoeuvred the Airbus towards the start of runway two. Inside the cabin passengers temporarily denied the comfort of electronic distractions buried themselves in newspapers or uttered silent prayers. In the cockpit the pilots’ focus narrowed to the rigid procedure that lay ahead. The Boeing 777 directly in front of them sped off along the greasy tarmac, passed the point of no return and lumbered into the air, shearing a little to the left as the pilot compensated for a sudden gust of cross-wind. Thirty seconds passed; the tower confirmed cleared for take-off and Captain Murray pushed the thrust levers fully forward to the take-off-go-around setting.
    The aircraft started to accelerate; the windshield streaked with rain. First Officer Stevens called out, ‘Eighty knots.’ Both pilots cross-checked their airspeed instruments; both were in agreement. Had they not been, take-off would have been aborted immediately. Upwards of eighty knots the pilot was obliged to ignore any minor faults and abort only to avoid imminent disaster. An automated voice called out, ‘V1’, indicating that the critical speed of 122 knots had been reached. Captain Murray removed his hand from the thrust lever, now committed to take-off. As they reached 141