�So, how long has this friend of yours been flying?� Betty Jones asked from the back seat of the taxi cab they had summoned to carry them to the airport. She had made it abundantly clear that she was not enthusiastic about the idea of flying to Phoenix in a small airplane. Envisioning the cramped quarters inside the private plane she had taken once with her father-in-law, Barnaby Jones, she would much rather have taken a first class seat in a 727 jet. It had been J.R., the son of Barnaby�s cousin, who had suggested the commuter plane.
�Well, he isn�t exactly a friend,� J.R. Jones responded from the seat beside her as he dragged his open fingers through his unruly mop of dark hair. �He�s more of an acquaintance. I used to date his sister, and I met him a few times.�
Betty laughed softly, and patted him affectionately on the arm. �You�ve dated everyone�s sister, J.R,� she teased.
�Now; I haven�t either,� he said in his defense. �Not all of them, but I�m working on it.� He paused briefly, smiling his most charming smile, then responded to her question, �Don�t worry. He�s a very experienced pilot. He�s been flying since he was a teenager, according to Pam. He owns his own commuter service. Most of his clients are business travelers, like us. He was going to Phoenix anyway, and offered to take us along at a reduced rate. Barnaby will thank you when you get the bill, I promise.� Before she could answer, J.R. said, �Driver, turn right at the next intersection, please.�
Following his instructions, the taxi driver made a right turn at the next intersection, and within a mile the private airport came into view.
An uneasy feeling had found its way into the pit of Betty�s stomach, but she kept it to herself. J.R. was very proud of himself for securing a deal that would save them a considerable amount of money in airfare, and very enthusiastic about the flight. Even at the age of thirty years, J.R. expressed a boyish exuberance that was difficult to ignore, and she could not deny that Barnaby would be pleased with the rate. The rate was so low, in fact, that she knew the pilot was making little money on the trip. Still, she could not shake that strange anxious feeling, even though she had no basis for its source.
Without J.R.�s knowledge, she had checked the commuter service out on her own, using several of her abundant contacts, and according to her sources the pilot was indeed skilled and by all indications, completely reliable. He had a good reputation and an excellent safety record. There was no need for worry, her inner thoughts insisted. Still, that worried knot in her stomach continued to twist. What was it Barnaby always said? If it looks too good to be true, then it probably is!
J.R. moved forward on the seat so that his arms were folded on the backrest of the front seat for a better view of the hangars and the airplanes. �Hangar two,� he instructed, pointing to the building as the driver pulled into the gate. He stopped the vehicle beside the building with a large 2 stenciled on the side.
J.R. and Betty opened their respective doors, and stepped out onto the tarmac. The hangar doors were wide open, revealing the collection of private airplanes that were sheltered there. Many more airplanes had been parked on the tarmac outside, and J.R. gazed toward these aircraft, his attention settling on two men standing beside one of them. They were engaged in conversation, but one of the men noticed him and waved a greeting, which J.R. promptly returned.
�That must be it,� he said.
Betty followed his gaze, observing the white airplane with interest. It wasn�t quite as small as she had feared it would be. That was a plus. �Who�s the other guy?� she wondered aloud.
�Must be one of those guys who fuel the engine or check out the plane or something,� he replied, then added with a smile, �You�re asking me? I don�t know any more about planes than you do!�
The taxi driver opened the trunk, and retrieved the luggage, placing them on the asphalt beside the vehicle. J.R. withdrew his wallet from a side pocket on his duffel bag and paid him.
After the driver had left the lot, J.R. opened his wallet again and gazed wistfully into it, taking particular notice of the rapidly diminishing number of bills that were kept there. He sighed, but it sounded more like a moan to Betty.
She smiled, amused. It seemed that J.R. was always short of cash. �Are you living beyond your means, J.R.?� she teased.
�Think maybe Barnaby would consider this a business expense?�
�Maybe you should occasionally take your dates on picnics instead of to the fanciest restaurant in town,� she suggested.
He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye, but did not respond vocally. Instead, he returned the wallet to the side pocket, picked up his duffel bag and Betty�s suitcase and they started walking toward the plane.
Jeffrey Whitworth and Tyler Abbott watched as the younger man and the woman approached.
Whitworth expressed his disapproval with a disparaging shake of his head. �I don�t like this, Abbott. I don�t like it at all. It�s too dangerous.�
"Everything will be fine, I promise. This is the perfect set up. It�s a perfectly legitimate flight; legal business. No one will suspect that we have a little more in the cargo compartment than just suitcases.�
�And what if those two take a peek inside the cargo compartment, huh? What if they see what you�re carrying?�
�They won�t. I�ll be the only one opening and closing the compartment. They�ll have no reason whatsoever to look inside it, and even if they did, they wouldn�t recognize it for what it is. It�s concealed inside a suitcase, so they�ll just think it�s just my luggage. Stop worrying!�
�What about Hendrix? If he sees you arrive with a couple of passengers, he�s likely to ---�
�He won�t do anything. Look, all I�m going to do is fly them to Phoenix. They�ll be long gone before Hendrix comes to get the stuff. No one will suspect anything, plus the money the Joneses are paying me will offset the cost of the flight. Everyone wins.�
Whitworth was silent for a moment, nervously chewing his lip. �What about Larry? He wasn�t happy when you decided to strike out on your own. You heard him as well as I did; he threatened to get even with you. He may show up in Phoenix with a couple of his gorillas.�
�Larry�s all bark and no bite,� Abbott said with confidence.
�What about the plane? Did you check it out good?�
�Spent all yesterday afternoon going over it with a fine toothed comb, and I gave it a quick once-over this morning. Everything checks out. Will you stop worrying?� Dismissing his jittery partner, he stepped forward, his hand extended, toward his passengers. �J.R., how nice to see you again! I couldn�t believe it when you called the other day!�
Grinning broadly, J.R. set down his duffel bag and shook the hand of his former girlfriend�s older brother. �Tyler, it�s good to see you again. How�s Pam doing?�
�She got married a couple of months ago.� In response to J.R.�s surprised expression, he added, �You didn�t know?�
�No, but I guess there�s no reason why she would let me know. I haven�t seen her in over a year, now.�
�Yeah, she married a rich banker. Don�t care too much for him, myself, but she seems to like him. Bankers and lawyers; as far as I�m concerned, you just can�t trust either of them.�
�Hey!� J.R. protested with a smile.
�Oh, I forgot. You still have your sights set on becoming one of those bloodsuckers? I thought you were better than that!� He turned to Betty, who had remained silent as she listened to the friendly bantering with a polite smile.
�Oh!� J.R. exclaimed, having temporarily forgotten that she was there. �Betty, this is Tyler Abbott, Pam�s brother. You remember Pam? Tyler, Betty Jones.�
�Nice to meet you, Betty.�
�Pleasure meeting you, too, Tyler,� she responded with a smile.
Hanging back near the plane, Whitworth had been listening with great interest, and upon hearing the introductions, he asked, �Jones? As in Barnaby Jones?�
�Yeah,� J.R. replied, his eyes settling on the other man. He was tall and slender and sported a scraggly, unkept beard that he nervously twisted between his thumb and forefinger. �He�s my cousin. Betty�s his daughter in law.�
Whitworth gave Tyler a wilting glare, which was ignored. His friend had failed to mention the fact that his passengers worked for one of the state�s most notoriously efficient private investigators!
J.R., however, saw the distinctly disapproving expression, and his brow puckered slightly in reaction to it. Something about this guy wasn�t sitting well with him, and it seemed peculiar that Tyler had not bothered to introduce him. �So, are you going to be traveling with us?� he asked, his dark eyes moving from one to the other in a curious fashion.
Whitworth jumped as if startled, and he jerked his hand away from the beard as if realizing that his behavior was attracted unwanted attention. �Oh, no. I�m just helping Tyler fuel up.� He backed away, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans. �Well, I�d better be going. I�ll catch you when you get back, Tyler.�
�Sure thing,� Tyler responded.
J.R. watched him walk away, taking long rapid strides, as if eager to be away from there. Halfway back to the pickup truck parked near the hanger, Jeff cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, then quickly faced front again when he saw that he was being watched. �He seems rather nervous, don�t you think?� he observed, his eyebrows lifting inquisitively as he shifted his eyes back to the pilot.
�Oh, don�t mind Jeff,� Tyler said with an vague wave of his hand, as if attempting to brush the subject away as insignificant when in reality he felt his heart rate step up a bit at the detective�s interest.
�And he seemed even more nervous when he found out we work for Barnaby,� Betty agreed, her curious eyes fixing on their pilot in an intense gaze.
With both Joneses staring at him quizzically, Tyler�s mind worked frantically, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. It was obvious that his passengers were very suspicious of Jeff�s edgy behavior, and he supposed he couldn�t blame them. In their place, he would probably react the same way.
�All right,� he said at last, deciding that partial truth was better than an outright lie. �If you must know, he had a run-in with the law awhile back, and he�s a little on edge around people who represent the establishment.�
�Drugs?� J.R. guessed.
Tyler blinked, silently cursing J.R.�s perception and his own lack of it. Of course, drugs would be the automatic assumption. �Uh, no. Auto theft,� he lied. �I�m just helping him out by giving him a second chance to earn a respectable living. He�s completely reformed, and he�s very good at what he does. I trust him completely.�
�Hey, we�re not judging,� J.R. said, quickly. �I�m all for giving a second chance to those who have earned it.� He grinned, broadly. �He has nothing to fear from us, unless he does something illegal!�
Tyler knew that the comment was intended to be simple light humor, but he felt his stomach turn over with a sickening plop as the possible ramifications of his risky enterprise began to hit home. For the first time, he began to consider the notion that Jeff might be right. As an accomplished investigator, J.R. was naturally suspicious, and he would notice things that the average individual would ignore. The last thing Tyler needed was to fall under the scrutiny of an enthusiastic private detective! Forcing the corners of his mouth to turn up in something that resembled a smile, he uttered a small laugh that sounded tense, even to his own ears.
J.R. heard the strained quality to Tyler�s laugh, and presumed that Jeff was not quite as reformed as Tyler was stating, but chose to let it pass. Tucking it away in the back of his mind, he decided that he could mention it to Detective Biddle later on, if it became apparent that his suspicions warranted further investigation. �So, where do you want our luggage?� he asked.
�Just leave it there. I�ll stow it in the compartment with my bag,� he replied, grateful that J.R. had abruptly changed the subject. �You two go on up and find some comfortable seats, and I�ll be along shortly.�
�Okay.�
J.R. and Betty walked to the hatch door, which had folded out behind the port-side wing to form the stairs, and they made their way up.
Betty entered first, and stopped to view the King Air�s interior. Behind her, J.R. looked over her shoulder, more pleased than ever with his selection of a commuter service. Damn, I�m good!
Although providing sufficient headroom for persons of average height to stand comfortably, it was like being inside a cylinder, for the ceiling and walls were curved rather dramatically. A single narrow aisle ran down the center separating the ten individual seats, five on each side of the aisle beneath the windows. Farther back was another set of windows and two fold-down seats that would be used by stewardesses. Betty knew from her working experiences that some high-end executives expected to be constantly attended on business flights, and obviously Tyler Abbott provided them upon request. Behind them, at the rear of the plane was the closed door to the lavatory.
At the front of the plane was the open cockpit, displaying the pilot�s and co-pilot�s seats and the complicated instruments that neither she nor J.R. were qualified to understand.
�Wow, this is nice,� J.R. commented, placing his hand on one of the backrests that was covered in plush tan vinyl.
Betty nodded, approvingly. �Yes, it is,� she agreed, obviously impressed.
�You sound surprised,� J.R. observed.
She shrugged. �Well, if you must know, I am a bit surprised. When you said you�d found us an inexpensive shuttle service, well . . . I�m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but it certainly isn�t this.�
�What? You thought we were flying all the way to Phoenix in a crop-duster or something?�
�Something like that,� she admitted.
�You have no faith in me, woman,� he quipped, feigning offense. �How long have you known me, eh? You should know I can operate on a tight budget!�
She smiled, the nervous fluttering in her stomach beginning to ease with the knowledge that their plane was very modern and apparently well-serviced. �Is that why you�re always asking Barnaby for an advance on your paycheck?�
Beneath them, they heard the luggage compartment door close. Ignoring Betty�s comment, J.R. said, �Looks like we�re about ready.�
A moment later, Tyler trotted up the stairs. �You�re my only passengers today, so just take any seat you want.� He pulled up the hatch, and secured it, then went to the cockpit and sat down in the pilot�s seat. Looking back over his shoulder, he added, �Oh, by the way, there�s a cooler at the rear of the plane with some soft drinks and candy bars. We don�t have the luxury of a stewardess today, but since we�ll be in the air for several hours, I thought you might like a snack.�
�I noticed that you have seating for stewardesses,� J.R. said as he took a seat at the second window. Betty sat down across the aisle from him. �Do you keep one on call?�
�Yeah, my girlfriend, Crystal, is a commercial stewardess. If she�s off-duty, she flies with me when I have really big executive clients. They�re the most difficult to please, you know, and she has a talent for keeping them pacified. You�d think they were royalty, the way they expect to be treated,� he added with a note of disgust. �She�s on duty this week, so I�m on my own. Anyway, once we�re in the air, feel free to help yourselves to the cooler.�
�Thanks.�
J.R. and Betty fastened their seat belts as Tyler started the engine, and they taxied onto the runway. When they received clearance from the tower, they sped down the runway. Moments later, the hard asphalt of the runway was replaced by a floating sensation as the wheels lifted from the ground. The small aircraft banked sharply as it turned east, offering J.R. a splendid view of the ground below, then it leveled off again as it continued to gain altitude.
J.R. pressed his forehead against the hard Plexiglas window and watched as the houses and businesses of the city of Los Angeles were left farther and farther below as the plane continued its ascent. As they moved out of the city and into the deserts of Southern California, the landscape became barren and brown with scattered clumps of dry shrubs.
Finally, Tyler called over his shoulder, �We�ve reached cruising altitude, so if you want to get up and move about, feel free to do so.�
�Thanks,� J.R. said. Releasing the buckle on his seat belt, he stood up. �Want a soda or anything?� he asked, pausing at Betty�s seat.
She turned away from the window and shook her head. �Not right now. I think I�ll lean back and see if I can take a nap.� She pressed the button on the side of her arm rest with her thumb, and her seat back reclined.
J.R. reached into the small overhead compartment and located a pillow, which he passed to her. �It isn�t worth much,� he said of the small rather flat pillow, �but maybe it�ll make you a little more comfortable. Need a blanket?�
She accepted the pillow, but declined the blanket. �Thanks,� she said as she tucked the pillow beneath her head.
J.R. proceeded to the rear of the plane where the cooler was strapped securely into one of the stewardess�s seats. He popped open the lid, and peered eagerly inside. Nestled in a deep bed of ice were several brands of popular soft drinks and several varieties of chocolate candy bars protected inside a plastic bag. He looked them over and selected a Pepsi, and removed a Three Musketeers bar from the plastic bag. As he walked back to his seat, he pulled the tab and heard the delicious carbonated �whoosh� as the contents of the can equalized with the open air.
He took a sip, then sat down and placed the can in the holder while he removed the wrapping from his candy bar and took a bite. �Mmm,� he said. �I love these things cold like this. You sure you don�t want one?�
�Mm-hmm,� Betty murmured, already half-dozing.
J.R. glanced at her and smiled, realizing that she hadn�t even understood what he had asked. There were no magazines available, and he had not bothered to bring a book, so he finished his Pepsi and his candy bar in silence as he gazed out the window at the desolate Southern California landscape below. With nothing interesting to look at, his eyes began to grow heavy and he yawned repeatedly. Finally, he pressed the button that reclined his seat, and he leaned back and closed his eyes, intending to pass some time by napping.
He was uncertain how long he had been asleep when he was jerked wide awake by a brief but alarming sensation of weightlessness. An instant later, his body slammed hard into his seat, effectively driving away any lingering sensation of drowsiness, and he realized with a jolt that the plane had dropped so abruptly that it had lifted him right out of his seat.
Across the aisle from him, Betty had also been roused from her sleep, and they sat up, exchanging concerned glances as the plane vibrated so roughly that the compartments and doors were shuddering noisily. Outside the windows, they heard the engine sputter.
�What�s wrong?� J.R. called to the pilot.
�I�m not sure,� Tyler replied, his experienced eyes quickly scanning the instruments and indicators. �The engine is running hot. And we�re losing oil,� he added, tapping one of the gauges.
J.R. placed his hands on the armrests of his seat as if to rise, but he did not get up; there was no place to go. He felt totally helpless, experiencing a desperate need to help in some way, but not knowing what to do.
�I don�t understand this,� Tyler was saying, more to himself than his passengers. �We shouldn�t be losing oil. I checked everything out myself yesterday afternoon. Everything on this plane is brand new!� He tapped the gauge again, hoping in vain that it was reading incorrectly. The needle continued to move slowly but steadily, demonstrating a definite loss of oil.
�What � what are we going to do?� J.R. asked. �Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, I�m not a pilot or anything, but . . . Do you think we can we make it to the next town?�
��Fraid not. We�re a long way from civilization. A long way,� he added for emphasis.
With the illegal cargo he was carrying, Tyler was facing a serious situation, something he had not counted on when this flight had been mapped out weeks earlier. This was supposed to have been a simple run; deliver the goods, collect the fee, and fly home a lot richer. If he survived the crash, he would be arrested as soon as the goods were discovered in the suitcase. His only option was to hide the suitcase before rescue personnel arrived, which meant he needed take the plane down before it crashed to minimize the possibility of serious injury.
�I�m going to set it down before we crash,� he announced. �Better strap your seatbelt on again. It�s going to be a rough landing.�
J.R. instantly grabbed the ends of his seatbelt and snapped them together and pulled the strap to tighten it. Betty verified that her belt was securely fastened, then she reached across the aisle and took J.R.�s hand, seeking comfort. He tried to smile reassuringly, but his expression was grim. There was no way to predict what fate would befall them.
The airplane began to descend at a reasonably controlled angle, but it suddenly occurred to J.R. that Tyler was not on the radio informing the nearest town of the dilemma that they were facing. He waited anxiously for the pilot to alert the traffic controllers that they were going down, and when it became apparent that he was not going to do that, he could remain silent no longer.
�Tyler, I know you�re busy, but shouldn�t you let the nearest tower know our coordinates?�
�We�re being tracked on radar,� Tyler replied. �They�ll know when we drop off the screen that we�re in trouble.�
With a puzzled frown etched on his handsome face, J.R. glanced at Betty, and realized that she was as suspicious as he was of the strange response. �Yeah, but you can save them some time if you give them the coordinates, can�t you? I mean, why leave it to chance?�
Tyler spun around in his seat, annoyed that he was being interrogated and frustrated that the situation was deteriorating rapidly. �You want to fly this plane?� he snapped.
J.R.�s frown deepened as he exchanged another troubled glance with Betty, but he made no comment.
Tyler turned back to his instrument panel, his heart pounding wildly with an anxiety far greater than that inspired by the impending crash-landing. He was walking a tight-rope, and he knew it. One wrong step, and he was doomed.
They dipped beneath the radar. In his headset, he could hear the air traffic controller frantically calling to him for a response, but he ignored him. Within moments, the controller would be reporting that he had a plane down, and a search party would be sent out to locate the downed aircraft.
Knowing that the search would start at the point where the plane had disappeared from the radar screen, Tyler pulled back on the yoke in an attempt to keep the plane in the air for as long as possible, trying to buy some time by flying beneath the radar for as long as possible. While he wanted to be picked up just as much as J.R. and Betty, he needed time to figure out what he was going to do about the contraband in the suitcase. He knew the search area would be increased when the original location failed to turn up the airplane.
He was aware of the fact that his two passengers were dissatisfied with refusal to contact the tower, but even that was minute compared to what would happen if the illegal goods were discovered. There would be an FAA investigation into the cause of the crash, and the plane would be thoroughly searched for evidence. The cargo might also be investigated. Even as his hands were occupied with the task of controlling the plane, his mind was working furiously to come up with a plan to avoid a jail sentence. Somehow, once they were on the ground, he would have to get the suitcase out of the luggage compartment and hide it without J.R. or Betty noticing. Then, he would have to come back at a later time to retrieve it.
The plane abruptly faltered again, and his two passengers gasped in alarm, but he managed to steady the aircraft again. The yoke was shuddering violently in his hands, and he knew he would be unable to maintain altitude much longer. Just a little farther, he begged silently. Just a little farther!
Turning his head toward the window, J.R. became aware that the plane had leveled off again and was remaining in a consistent altitude a short distance above the ground. Pressing his forehead against the Plexiglas, he stared at the rugged terrain below, assuming that Tyler was attempting to find a level stretch of land suitable for landing.
Tyler glanced at the oil gauge again. The needle had almost reached EMPTY on the indicator, and the engine gauge was still reading hot.
Spying a long level stretch of open ground, J.R. pointed toward it, his finger tapping urgently on the window. �Tyler, there�s a flat stretch over there on the right.�
Tyler looked toward it and recognized that it would indeed be a suitable place to land, but there were no rocky outcroppings or similar geographic features in which he could conceal his suitcase. He needed to find a location that was better suited for his own needs. �I don�t think so,� he replied with a feeling of regret that he was risking human lives in exchange for a great deal of money. When had money become more important? he wondered.
�What?� J.R. exclaimed in disbelief. �What are you talking about? It�s perfect! It�s level and flat and it looks solid.�
Tyler could feel J.R.�s eyes boring into the back of his head, and could easily imagine the stunned expression that must have crossed his face. Unable to efficiently explain his reasons for bypassing the level stretch of ground, he remained silent.
J.R. stared at him for a long time, unable to imagine what reasons Tyler could have for bypassing what appeared to him to be a perfect place to set the plane down. Still, since he had no aviation experience, he was willing to accept that the pilot might have legitimate reasons for seeking a different site. �What are you looking for?� he asked.
�I�ll know it when I see it,� came the ambiguous response.
�Well, if you tell me what to look for, maybe I can help you find it,� J.R. persisted.
�It�ll be easier if I look for it.�
Again, J.R. cast a glance across the aisle at Betty. It was becoming obvious to him that their pilot was deliberately taking them farther away from the point where the search party would start looking for them. Leaning closer to her, he said quietly, �Something is up with this guy.�
�I was thinking the same thing,� she responded. �What do you think it is?�
He shook his head, slowly. �I don�t know, but we�re flying below the radar and he doesn�t want to notify the air traffic controllers of that fact. The search party is going to start looking for us miles from where we finally land.� He looked up the aisle at the pilot, who continued to stare out the front windshield, unaware of the quiet conversation behind him. �And he just bypassed a level stretch of ground for no apparent reason.�
�What reason could he have for that?� Betty wondered.
J.R. shook his head, slowly. �I don�t know. But I intend to find out.� If we survive the crash!
Turning back to the window, he watched as the level stretch of ground on which they could have landed moved out of sight behind them, replaced once again by rocky uneven terrain that was totally unsuitable for a landing.
The airplane was becoming harder to handle. The yoke jerked and shimmied in the pilot�s hands, and the engine, deprived of the lubricating oil, repeatedly sputtered. It was only a matter of time now before the engine quit completely. Removing one hand from the yoke, he wiped away the sweat that had popped out on his forehead with his sleeve. He knew he was tempting fate by remaining in the air, but in his own twisted sense of priorities, he believed he had no choice.
Finally, another possible landing sight came into view, one more suited to concealing illegal goods, and Tyler decided he had better use this one, for another one might not present itself in time. With a new feeling of optimism, he lowered the landing gear, and pushed forward on the yoke, and they began to descend again. The plane wobbled and dipped as if caught in the turbulence of a terrible storm, when in reality there was no wind, only the hot, still air of the Mojave Desert.
Confidence soared. The plane responded to his controls, descending steadily. The wings were level; the gear was down and locked. It looked to be a textbook landing. Then the unthinkable happened. The engine sputtered once and then quit! Nerve shattering silence replaced the drone of the engine. With the flaps already at the proper position, the plane did not nosedive, but fell heavily on its belly.
They hit the ground so hard that J.R. feared the landing gear would collapse beneath them and the plane would go skidding out of control. Instead, they heard a muffled bang as a tire blew, and in that instant Tyler lost control of the plane. Skidding sideways, a wing tip made contact with the ground, sending the airplane into a cartwheel.
End over end, the plane catapulted along the desert floor digging up great clumps of dirt from their landing strip and hurling them far from their original position. Restrained by their seatbelts, the passengers were violently slammed against the windows and the bulkhead and the seatback in front, but neither was ejected from their seats.
Finally, the disabled airplane skidded to a bone-jarring halt sending a cloud of dust into the hot air.
GO TO ACT 2