Stranded in Paradise Read Free Page B

change your mind . . .”
    â€œI know where to find you,” she finished and Beeg chuckled.
    â€œIn the meantime,” Beeg said, “why don’t you go find some nice big rocks to throw at that window? Boulders, maybe.”
    After she hung up the phone, Tess returned to her ice cream and sat at the kitchen table as she ate. It had been at least six years since she’d seen Bee Gee Harris. No one had ever been a better friend to her.
    She held her spoon up, gazing at her reflection in the concave surface that made her nose look disproportion- ately large. She laughed aloud, then realized how hollow it sounded in the silence of her home.
    Maybe it would be good to go see Beeg, she thought. At least she’d have someone to have a good cry with. Who knew, maybe some time on a Hawaiian beach would give her the direction she needed.

    Jan. 14, 2:30 P.M.
O’Hare International Control Tower
    Carter McConnell sat at his terminal and watched snow blowing in driving sheets against the tower windows. Perched in the glassed-in birdcage, weary air traffic controllers gazed at their radar monitors.
    It had been one of the worst nights anyone could remember. During the past few hours they had efficiently handled close to four hundred incoming and outgoing flights. Planes were sitting at gates, others systematically landing and taking off, but the rush was nothing compared to what it had been earlier.
    From his vantage point high atop the airport terminal, Carter focused on the red beacon lights moving about the runway. He wished he was home. His head ached and his throat felt scratchy and tight. He wanted to kick back, relax, give his dog, Max, a tummy rub, and eat a nice bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. But he still had an hour before his shift was over.
    He glanced at the ground-surveillance radar and suddenly sat up straighter. A quick reading on the bright display indicated that a United Boeing 727, still ten miles out, was coming in fast. Carter quickly flipped a switch on the panel in front of him.
    â€œApproach, this is Ground. Clipper 242 looks to be coming in hard. Does he have a problem?”
    â€œGround, this is Approach. Yeah, he’s picking up heavy ice. He’s been cleared to land on Runway 36.”
    Carter glanced at the ground radar again and frowned. If Tim Matthews, the approach controller, had accurate information, they were in trouble. Carter’s ground-surveillance screen indicated an unidentified airplane taxiing toward the approach end of Runway 36.
    Carter grabbed the binoculars and scanned the snow-covered tarmac. His jaw clenched when he saw the lighted tail section of a Global Airways DC-9 disappearing toward the runway.
    â€œGlobal, this is Ground—” The sharp crackling at the other end took Carter by surprise. “Global, this is Ground. Do you read me?” The question was met with an ominous silence. Flipping a second switch, Carter shouted, “Local, we’ve got a problem. I’ve got a Global Airways DC-9 taxing on Runway 36 and a Boeing 727 about to land on him. He’s not responding!” His voice rose another decibel.
    â€œWhat’s he doing out there?” a voice screeched over the airwaves.
    â€œThat’s what I’m trying to find out. Advise the Clipper.”
    â€œRoger.” Max Lakin flipped a switch on his panel.
    â€œClipper 242 be advised we have a no-radio Global DC-9 taxiing southbound on Runway 36. Be prepared for a go-around.”
    The Clipper’s pilot came back. “Local, what’s the Global doing out there?”
    â€œBeats me. We’re trying to reach the aircraft.”
    â€œI’m low on fuel. You’re gonna have to get him out of there!” The United pilot shot back.
    Carter listened as he kept a close eye on the runway visual-radar indicator. Visibility was down to 2,400 feet. For the past four and a half hours the pilots had been relying solely on instruments.
    The