Different Circles

“Positive rate of climb,” Jake said, watching as the altimeter began to wind upward. He reached down and flipped up the lever for the landing gear. The sound of machinery winding began from beneath and behind. By the time he got lights out on the gear, they were seven hundred feet above the ground, well beyond the perimeter fence, and climbing at twenty-five hundred feet per minute.

Jake was pleased with the takeoff. It had gone smoothly, and, despite the high altitude, he was still climbing more than fifty percent faster than his Chancellor had been capable of even at sea level takeoff and traveling nearly twice as fast as the Chancellor could even dream of on climb-out. He turned to the right, marveling over how nicely the aircraft handled, watching as the compass spun to the heading of 350. After rolling out of the turn, he retracted the flaps, which brought the nose down a bit, settling them into a climb of two thousand three hundred feet per minute. A glance forward told him he was in no danger of not clearing the high terrain ahead as long as this rate of climb was maintained.

Guaymaral Approach handed him off to Bogota Center. He gave his position and they confirmed it matched with what their radar was getting from his transponder. They directed him to turn to 005 and to climb to flight level 200 for now but to expect to climb out to flight level 310.”

“Three one zero?” Laura asked, once again violating the sterile cockpit rule but they were well past ten thousand feet now, so it did not really matter much. “That’s thirty-one thousand feet, right?”

“That’s right,” Jake confirmed. “We’re in the freakin’ stratosphere now, hon. Literally.”

“Cool,” she said, genuinely impressed.

As soon as they intersected Airway J9, which led to the CVD VOR station just across the Venezuelan border, the point in their flight plan where they would make a left turn toward Caracas, Jake turned on the autopilot and let it take over. He set the auto-throttle for 220 knots and then turned on the GPS navigation and the flight director. The plane obediently heeled over a bit and lined up exactly with the airway, continuing to climb to the altitude he had set. Though the autopilot was using GPS to find its way, Jake kept the nav radio programmed to switch to each upcoming VOR on their route as a backup. When they reached flight level 200, they were directed to climb to flight level 250. He adjusted the altitude setting accordingly and they continued their assent. Once they reached 250, he was directed to climb and maintain flight level 310. He programmed that in, and they ascended some more. Finally, when they reached 310 sixteen minutes after liftoff, he set the auto-throttle to 235 knots indicated—the most fuel-efficient setting at that altitude—and they began to pick up speed. 235 knots indicated at 31,000 feet equated to a true airspeed of 350 knots, or about 400 miles per hour over the ground at a throttle setting of only sixty-two percent.

“That’s pretty fast,” Laura remarked when he explained that to her.

“Yep,” Jake agreed, still a bit nervous about the upcoming descent and landing at SBIA but feeling much more confident now that he had got them airborne and on course without even a minor incident.

“The scenery is incredible,” Laura said.

And it was. They were flying over the Tropical Andes Mountains—the northernmost section of the largest mountain range on Earth. Below, as far as the eye could see in every direction, was a huge expanse of peaks ranging from fifteen to twenty thousand feet in elevation. Snow capped most of the taller peaks but down lower was dense tropical rainforest. Steep canyons cut over millions of years by the flowing rainwater could be seen between the peaks, their rivers twisting and turning, occasionally forming small lakes. Clouds drifted in between the peaks just below the snowline.

“Yeah,” Jake agreed. “You can’t get a view like this through the little window on a commercial jet.”

“Nope,” she said. “It is a little bumpy though.”

That was true as well. They were flying over a huge mountain range in a plane that was considerably smaller than an airliner. The turbulent air being pushed upward by wind flowing over and through the mountains was making them bounce and bump around considerably.

“It’ll smooth out once we get over the plains,” Jake promised, his eyes still taking in the view. “You know, this is why I really love flying. Not just because it gets me where I’m going fast, but because I get to see things like this. I get to see how big our planet really is and how much empty, desolate space there is down there.”

“That’s deep, sweetie,” Laura said, reaching over and patting his leg. “I wish I had some smoke so I could ponder that properly.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought it might be a bad idea to bring marijuana from Colombia into Venezuela when we have to go through a customs check in a plane we just purchased from an alleged Colombian drug lord.”