"No. A bomb."

"Oh, God!"

Sharon Crandall stepped out of the elevator and brushed by Stein. She turned and looked down the length of the cabins. "Oh my God, oh no! Barbara! Barbara!"

Barbara Yoshiro came quickly out of the elevator and stood behind Crandall. She screamed, a long primal scream that died in her throat as she blacked out and collapsed into Stein's arms.

Sharon Crandall put her hands over her face and took a series of short breaths. She turned quickly toward Stein. "The pilots. The pilots!" The pilots!"

"Dead. Well . . . unconscious. But there's a passenger who's a pilot. Come on. We have to get out of here."

"What's happened to these people?' people?'

"Brain damage. . . . Oxygen loss. They might get violent. Come on!"

A dozen passengers began walking up the aisles toward them. A few more passengers near them tried to stand, but their seat belts held them down. But through trial and error, or because of some vague recollection, some people were beginning to unfasten their belts and stand up. A few of them moved into the aisles. A tall man stood up right next to Stein.

Stein was becoming frightened. "Go ahead! Go first!"

Sharon Crandall nodded and moved quickly up the stairway. Stein dragged Barbara Yoshiro toward the stairway. A male passenger suddenly stood in his seat and stepped into the open area in front of the staircase. With his free hand, Stein straight-armed him and the man spun away, wobbling like a malfunctioning gyroscope.

Stein, dragging the unconscious flight attendant, took the stairs slowly. Someone was behind him. A hand grabbed his ankle. He kicked loose and moved faster up the spiral stairs, almost knocking Crandall over as he reached the top. He laid Barbara Yoshiro on the carpet and slumped over the rail. A half-dozen grotesque faces stared up at him. He thought he saw the top of his wife's head, but he couldn't be sure. His breathing was heavy and his heart raced wildly in his chest. "Get away. Go away!"

Sharon Crandall looked around the lounge. "Oh my God!"

Stein stood by the staircase and wrapped the belt around his hand. "I'll stay here. Go into the cockpit."

Berry looked over his shoulder into the lounge. "Come in here!"

But Sharon Crandall's attention was focused on the flight attendant sitting on the carpet with her legs spread out. "Terri!" She ran over to the girl and knelt beside her. "Are you okay? Terri?"

Terri O'Neil opened her eyes wide and looked toward where the sound had come from. It was an involuntary response to the auditory stimulus. Her rational mind had been erased by the thin air at 62,000 feet. The sight of Sharon Crandall's face meant nothing to her. The memory of the hundreds of hours they had flown together had evaporated from her brain like water from a boiling kettle.

"Terri!" Sharon shook her friend's arm.

"Forget it!" yelled Berry. "Come in here!" Sharon glanced into the cockpit and saw a man sitting in the captain's seat. His voice was vaguely familiar. But she was too shocked to think clearly. She ignored Berry and moved back past the stairwell over to the sprawled bodies of Stuart and McVary beside the piano. She shook the pilot's shoulders. "Captain Stuart!"

Stein watched as a man in the main cabin mounted the spiral staircase. Another man, then a woman, followed. Soon a line of people were walking clumsily up the circular steps. "Go down! Down!"

"Aaahh!"

Stein braced himself on the rail and brought his foot down on the head of the first man.

The man fell to his knees and toppled back, sending the whole line stumbling and falling backward.

Linda Farley knelt beside Sharon Crandall. "They're very sick. I tried to help them."

Sharon glanced at the girl blankly, then looked at Harold Stein by the rail and the unconscious body of Barbara Yoshiro. She walked to the bar and recovered a first-aid box. She carried a vial of ammonium carbonate to Barbara Yoshiro, broke it, and held it under the girl's nose. "Easy, now."

Barbara Yoshiro made a gasping sound, then opened her eyes. Crandall helped her sit up.

The two flight attendants held onto each other, Sharon Crandall comforting Barbara Yoshiro as she began sobbing. "Easy now, Barbara. We're going to be all right."

Stein looked down at them. "Go into the cockpit and see if you can lend a hand there. Okay?"

Crandall helped Yoshiro to her feet and steadied her as they walked toward the cockpit. "Don't mind these people. Come on. Into the cockpit."

Berry glanced quickly over his shoulder. "Do either of you know anything about the cockpit?"

"I thought you were a pilot," said Crandall.

"Yes, I am," answered Berry. "But I'm not familiar with this craft. I can fly it with a little help. Do you know anything anything about the cockpit?" about the cockpit?"

"No," said Crandall. She helped Yoshiro into Fessler's seat. They both noticed the blood on the desk but didn't comment on it. "How bad are the pilots?"

"They'll be okay."

"There's no need to lie to us," said Crandall.

"They're brain damaged. Maybe-just maybe-the copilot will come out of it with enough faculties left to help."

Crandall considered this for a long few seconds. She'd liked McVary. Liked all of them, actually. Now they were all gone, including the other flight attendants she'd spent so many hours with. Flight crews rarely spoke about accidents, but she had heard talk about decompression incidents. "What exactly happened?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make a lot of difference, does it?"

"No."

Berry turned and looked at Barbara Yoshiro. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm feeling better."

Berry nodded. He had the feeling, no more than intuition, that she would remain calm from here on. It was a good thing to know, and it didn't especially matter if it was true or not. He asked her, "Do you know the cockpit at all?"

Yoshiro shook her head. "I usually stay downstairs in the kitchen. Below the main cabin."

Crandall spoke. "I come to the cockpit often, but I never really noticed much."

"You probably know more than you think. Sit down."

Sharon Crandall sat in the copilot's seat. "This is not going to help."

At first Berry had no special recollection of her, but as he looked at her profile closely, he knew who she was. He felt a smile form on his lips. He was happy that she had made it. It was a conversation that had taken place a century ago, but it had brought him a few minutes of pleasure and he was happy to pick it up where it had ended. "Do you remember me?"

She looked at him. "Yes. Of course. The salesman. I was going to sit with you." Crandall paused. "You're not a pilot."

"Yes, the salesman. I fly, too."

"Fly what?"

"This and that. My company airplane. I can handle this." He had suddenly become an old hand at keeping everything calm. Perhaps he was being too reassuring. He guessed that no one would stay calm for very long once they watched him attempt to fly the airliner. "Where were you two when the decompression began?"

Yoshiro answered. "We were both in the lower kitchen."

Berry nodded. "There must have been pressure trapped down there. The three of us were in lavatories."

"That's what the other man told us," Yoshiro replied. "I guess there might be others."

"Yes. That's why I sent Stein down." He lowered his voice. "His wife and two children are down there. The girl's name is Linda Farley. Her mother was near the hole. I'm John Berry."

"Barbara Yoshiro. You know Sharon."

"Yes," said Berry.

"Look," Sharon Crandall said, "call Trans-United Ops. They'll give you a course to fly, and then coach you through the landing."

Telling him to use the radio was not the sort of information he had been looking for. "Good idea," said Berry. "But the radios don't work."

There was a long silence in the cockpit. Berry broke it. "I'm going to turn and put us on an approximate heading for California. If the fuel lasts, we'll decide then if we should look for a landing area or put it down near the beach. Maybe I can raise someone on the radio when we get closer. How does that sound?"

The two flight attendants said nothing.

Barbara Yoshiro stood. "I'm going below to see if anyone else is . . . sane."

"I wouldn't do that now," said Berry.

"Believe me, Mr. Berry, I'd rather not go. But there were two of our company pilots aboard-going on vacation with their wives-and I have to see if they're alive and sane. And I'm still on duty and I have an obligation to the other passengers."

Berry refused to get excited about the possibility of finding real pilots who could fly the Straton. "The passengers are dangerous."

"So am I. Black belt, judo and karate. And they're not very coordinated, I assume."

"There are three hundred of them."

Crandall turned in her seat. "Don't go, Barbara."

"If it looks really bad, I'll come back." Berry glanced at her. "I can't let Stein go with you. He has to stay at the top of the stairs to keep anyone from coming up."

"I didn't ask for company."

Berry nodded. "All right, then. Call at the flight-attendant stations every few minutes. If we don't hear from you . . . well, if we can, we'll come after you."

"Okay." She walked quickly out of the cockpit.

Berry turned to Sharon Crandall. "Lots of guts there."

"More than you know. She doesn't know any more about judo or karate than I do. She's trying to make it up to us for fainting. But there are are two of the company's pilots back there. We both spoke to them. And I hope to God they're all right." two of the company's pilots back there. We both spoke to them. And I hope to God they're all right."

"Me, too."

He tried to picture Jennifer doing something selfless, noble. He almost laughed. God, if only he could get back and tell her what he thought of her.

Crandall picked up the copilot's microphone and held it awkwardly. "I've used this a few times." She held down the button. "Trans-United Operations, this is Trans-United Flight 52. Do you read me? Over."

They both waited in the silence of the cockpit.

Berry looked at her as she sat with her head tilted, waiting for the speaker to come alive the way it always had. "Forget it," he said.

She put down the microphone.

The minutes ticked by. Suddenly, the interphone buzzed. Sharon Crandall grabbed the phone from the console. "Barbara!" She listened. "All right. Be careful. Call in three minutes. Good luck." She replaced the phone and turned to Berry. "The pilots. They're both dead." She added, "It's your ship, Mr. Berry."

"Thanks."

Crandall thought about the government-approved procedures in her manual. It was technically her her ship, or, more correctly, Barbara Yoshiro's. Barbara was the senior surviving crew member. What difference did it make? Barbara's ship, or Sharon's? Impossible. Absurd. ship, or, more correctly, Barbara Yoshiro's. Barbara was the senior surviving crew member. What difference did it make? Barbara's ship, or Sharon's? Impossible. Absurd.

Berry tried not to show any emotion. "All right. Let's talk about this cockpit. Is there some sort of emergency signal device, for instance? Here . . . what's this?"

She looked at the red button he was pointing to and shook her head. "I don't know."

Berry decided to let her sit and think. He mentally sectioned off the cockpit into six areas and began examining the first one to his lower left, switch by switch, button by button, gauge by gauge. There were things he knew and a lot more he didn't know. He began memorizing locations of the instruments and control devices.

"What about the data-link?" she said.

"What?"

"The data-link. Did you try that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The data-link data-link. This thing." She pointed to a keyboard mounted between the pilots' seats and slightly below the radios. "I saw the crew use it a lot of times. They type on it. Messages come in, too." She pointed to a small video screen on the lower center of the panel. "It's linked to the Operations Center in San Francisco."

Berry stared at the device. He had looked at it before but dismissed it as just another gang of unknown buttons. He thought the screen was some sort of radar. Now it was making sense. He had read about data-links-a discreet electronic screen for sending individual messages to various aircraft. Most airlines had them to link their aircraft together without having to broadcast over the airwaves. He turned to Sharon.

"Do you know how to work it?"

"No. But I think they just type on it. Let's give it a try." There was an edge of excitement in her voice. "Go on. We have nothing to lose. You need a green light to know it's on. Here. This light has to be green."

Berry scanned the keyboard. His hand reached out tentatively and he pushed a button labeled entry. The green light flashed on. Berry assumed this meant that he had a clear channel. He pressed a button labeled TRANSMIT TRANSMIT and typed out three letters on the keyboard: sos. He looked at the video screen. Nothing. "Aren't you supposed to see your message?" and typed out three letters on the keyboard: sos. He looked at the video screen. Nothing. "Aren't you supposed to see your message?"

"Yes."

"I don't see anything. Goddamn it. Goddamned airplane."

"I think you type the message first, then then you push transmit." you push transmit."

"Okay." Berry hit the clear button. "Okay. Let's see." He typed sos again. He reached over and pushed the TRANSMIT TRANSMIT button. They both looked at the video screen. sos appeared in white, angular computer letters. button. They both looked at the video screen. sos appeared in white, angular computer letters.

Sharon gave a small shout. "We did it! We did it!" She reached out and squeezed Berry's hand.