Killer

Kate turned, went back into the cabin, and flopped into the outer of the two seats at the front on the left. She was uneasy. Her father looked across the aisle at her.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. It’s all right now . . .” The engines coughed.

The plane did not shudder or break in any way its smooth progress; only the steady note of the twin jets broke briefly and distinctly, each jet coughing individually, modestly, as though clearing its throat before an audience. Then the plane began to gain height in a smooth, shallow curve.

The intercom crackled across the silence in the cabin like a nail squealing on a board.

“Sorry about that, lady and gentlemen: a little trouble with the . . .”

The engines coughed again, more persistently, as though trying to gain attention.

“Anti-icing,” snapped the pilot, not bothering to switch off the intercom. “Give her to me.”

Preston released his control column, his hands shaking slightly. “Fuel filter anti-icing on. Intake icing on.”

Beneath the engines, in the area between the throttle controls and the jets themselves, were the fuel filters. In these, the fuel was passed through an extremely fine-mesh filter element. The filters were warmed by oil. This warmth was enough to keep the fuel flowing freely under all but the most bizarre circumstances. These circumstances now obtained.

“I see ice building on the intakes, Ed,” the co-pilot said, “but the system seems to be coping OK.”

Around the filter the oil circulated, warming the fuel as it passed through the fine mesh. In the wings, full of fuel, and in the inch-wide pipes beneath the sealed envelope of the cabin, the fuel moved steadily, like blood. In the fuel, however, through a chain of circumstances stretching far back in time, there was water. Unavoidably, in all fuel, a tiny amount of water was found, and this collected in the bottom of the fuel tank. The tank should have been drained regularly, or the water would accumulate in dangerous quantities. Possibly this had not been done.

Furthermore, at Fairbanks they had not been allowed up to the loading bays because they were carrying dynamite. They were therefore refuelled by barrels brought out to them, and there may have been water in the fuel in those barrels. Either way, for one reason or another, or perhaps both, there was now water in the plane’s fuel system. And under the deadly influence of the freezing north wind, this water was turning to tiny grains of ice. The grains of ice were being tumbled through the system to clog up the filters far beyond the capability of the warm oil to melt and disperse them. Against the fine mesh they built like blood clots, cutting off fuel to the jets, waiting to give the engines their final seizure.

The coughing persisted, openly mocking now.

“Passengers, please fasten your seat belts. No smoking. Remove spectacles and sharp objects from the clothing. Be prepared to lean forward, foreheads on arms crossed on knees. Hiram – get me Barrow, then try to help me keep her up.”

The co-pilot was speaking into the radio now, his voice rising with concern at some hissing reply to his message, as he passed it on to the pilot. “Ed! Barrow’s blacked out, visibility below minimum and still falling. Christ! How did that happen?” The engines continued to choke.

The passengers numbly prepared themselves as directed. Kate put her practical handbag on the ground and leaned forward until the belt cut into her stomach. She looked to her right, and saw her father blinking like an owl. Someone was whispering; Job, she thought, praying. Her mouth was dry. Above her, the pilot continued his conversation with the co-pilot, both, seemingly, able to do many things at once.

“It’s ice, Hiram. Where else could we have ice?”

“Filter anti-icing?”

“Light’s on. Should be OK.”

“Water in the system?”

“Doubt it. When did you last do a routine check for water in the tanks?”

“Dunno. Ground fitter did it last servicing I suppose . . .”

“Well, there you are then. Mind you, I think maybe I did hear something, once . . .”

“Hello, Barrow? Barrow, this is . . .” The rest of the conversation was cut off as the engines gave a full-throated roar, the nose of the plane angled up slightly once again.

At no time had it felt as though the plane were going to crash.

Kate lifted her head out of her lap, so relieved that she felt a giggle rising in her throat. She caught her father’s eye and smiled.

Then the engines went dead. One moment they were shouting with their new-found power, the next they were absolutely silent.

“That’s right, Barrow, following the pack . . .” The floor canted gently downwards. The wind hissed over the wings. “Emergency landing, Barrow, will advise final position.”

“This is not an emergency landing, Hiram; this is a crash!”