Runway Zero-Eight Read Free Page A

itself free of the clinging drops. “With a bit of luck it’ll be a clear run through,” he commented. “The met report was reasonable for a change. Not often you keep to the original flight plan on this joyride.”
    “You said it,” agreed the first officer. “In a month or so’s time it’ll be a very different story.”
    The aircraft began to bump and roll a little as she hit a succession of thermal currents and for a few minutes the captain concentrated on correcting her trim. Then he remarked, “Are you planning to take in this ball game in Vancouver, if there’s time to rest up first?”
    The first officer hesitated before answering. “I don’t know yet,” he answered. “I’ll see how it works out.”
    The captain looked sharply at him. “What d’you mean? See how what works out? If you’ve got your eyes on Janet, you can take them off again. She’s too young to come under the corrupting influence of a young Casanova like you.”
    Few people looked less deserving of this description than the fresh-faced, thoughtful-eyed first officer, still in his twenties. “Go easy, skipper,” he protested, coloring. “I never corrupted anyone in my life.”
    “Jeepers, that’s a likely story. Well, don’t aim to start with Janet.” The captain grinned. “Half the airlines personnel of Canada regard it as a permanent assignment to try to make her. Don’t make life hard for yourself, you chump.”
    Twelve feet away from them, on the other side of a sliding door, the subject of their conversation was collecting orders for the evening meal.
    “Would you like dinner now, sir?” she asked quietly, bending forward with a smile.
    “Eh? What’s that? Oh, yes please.” Baird slipped back into the present and nudged Spencer who was practically asleep. “Wake up, there. Want some dinner?”
    Spencer yawned and gathered himself together. “Dinner? I sure do. You’re late, miss, aren’t you? I thought I’d missed it long ago.”
    “We were held up in Toronto, sir, and haven’t served dinner yet,” said Janet Benson. “What would you like? We’ve lamb chop or grilled salmon.”
    “Er — yes, please.”
    Janet’s smile tightened a little. “Which, sir?” she asked patiently.
    Spencer came fully awake. “Oh, yes — I’m sorry, miss. I’ll have lamb.”
    “Me too,” said Baird.
    Back in the galley, Janet was fully occupied for the next half hour in preparing and serving meals. Eventually everyone who felt like eating had been served with a main course and she was free to pick up the telephone in the galley and press the intercom buzzer.
    “Flight deck,” came the voice of Pete.
    “I’m finally serving dinner,” said Janet. “Better late than never. What’ll it be — lamp chop or grilled salmon?”
    “Hold it.” She could hear him putting the question to the captain. “Janet, skipper says he’ll have the lamb — no, just a sec, he’s changed his mind. Is the fish good?”
    “Looks okay to me,” said Janet chirpily. “Had no complaints.”
    “Skipper will take salmon, then. Better make it two. Big helpings, mind. We’re growing boys.”
    “All right — double portions as usual. Two fish coming up.”
    She quickly arranged two trays and took them forward, balancing them with practiced ease against the almost imperceptible movements of the aircraft. Pete had come back to open the sliding door for her and relieved her of one tray. The captain had completed his switchover to automatic pilot and was now halfway through his routine radio check with Control at Winnipeg.
    “Height 16,000,” he continued, speaking into the tiny microphone held before his mouth on a slender plastic arm. “Course 285 true. Air speed 210 knots. Ground speed 174 knots. ETA Vancouver 05.05 Pacific Standard. Over.”
    He switched from transmit to receive and there was a clearly audible crackle from his earpiece as the acknowledgment came on the air. “Flight 714. This is Winnipeg Control. Roger.