Nelson DeMille, Thomas Block
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Twelve miles above the Pacific Ocean, a missile strikes a jumbo passenger jet. The flight crew is crippled or dead. Now, defying both nature and man, three survivors must achieve the impossible. Land the plane. From master storyteller Nelson DeMille and master pilot Thomas Block comes Maydaythe classic bestseller that packs a supersonic shock at every turn of the page....the most terrifyingly realistic air disaster thriller ever. Like a growing tidal wave, the escaping air was gathering momentum. A teenaged girl in aisle 18, seat D, near the port-side aisle, her seat dislocated by the original impact, suddenly found herself gripping her seat track on the floor, her overturned seat still strapped to her body. The seatbelt failed and the seat shot down the aisle. She lost her grip and was dragged after it. Her eyes were filled with horror as she dug her nails into the carpet, as the racing air pulled her toward the yawning hole that led outside. Her cries were unheard by even those passengers who sat barely inches away from her struggle. The noise of the escaping air was so loud that it was no longer decipherable as sound, but seemed instead a solid thing pounding at the people in their seats......
he can home in. Hang in there, Peter.” “Roger.” The rushing sound of the open transmitter filled Room E-334 again. Sloan looked at his countdown clock, which had been set at Matos’s estimated forty-five minutes of flying time. It read fourteen minutes. Fourteen minutes to keep this incredible juggling act with the dead, colored interphones, with Hennings, with the live, gold inter-phone to the bridge, and most of all with Lieutenant Peter Matos. A lesser man than himself would have fallen apart
Homeplate?” “Roger, three-four-seven. Preliminary target acquisition. Proceed. Out.” Lieutenant Matos punched a console button, then raised his eyes toward the firing control processor. An electronic symbol slewed to the target’s blip. Matos watched the screen for a few seconds. Suddenly, another blip appeared. Matos blinked. He looked again. The second blip looked weaker and smaller. It was directly behind the first one. False image, Matos thought. Some screwy transistor or diode a tenth of a
grandmother lives in a small apartment on the south side of the city. She’s going to take custody of Linda now, but she is very concerned about being able to raise a young girl by herself. When I told her I’d like to help out, she was very happy.” “I’d like to help out too, if I could.” “Sure.” Neither of them spoke for some time, then Berry said, “Golden Gate Park reminds me of Central Park.” Crandall smiled. “Does it?” She closed her eyes and stretched out in the grass and kicked off her
estimated present position. A few dispatchers reluctantly left the room to attend to other flights and answer the madly ringing telephones. People from other sections drifted in and were promptly asked to leave. It seemed that Flight 52 was taking a long time to answer, but each man knew what the pilot was going through as he tried to reach a decision. Miller drummed his fingers nervously on the edge of the keyboard. The bell rang to signal the incoming message, and everyone turned to the video
had kicked off her shoes and was peeling off her panty hose. She pushed by him without a word and tied the feet of the hose around the small broken latch, then pulled on them. Berry grabbed the top of the panty hose and stretched them out. He looked around quickly for something to fasten it to. Fingers and hands curled around the edge of the door, trying to pull it open. Berry pulled harder on the hose, drawing the door tight against the probing fingers. He found a cross brace on the left