Desperate Flight

By John Rossbach

A violent uprising, a missing corporate jet, and a priceless black diamond make for a desperate flight ending in tragedy. Sam Burke and his company that finds lost aircraft, AeroFind Unlimited, search for answers to the mysterious disappearance. A Fisher Industries plane is sent to South America to rescue company executives from being captured by rebels. The few details known about the flight only hide the issue of what really happened. Sam and his team find evidence of a massive corporate conspiracy and discover the wife of the company founder may have smuggled a rare diamond in her luggage. The investigation sends the team into danger as attempts are made on their lives; the presence of a CIA covert operative raises the stakes. Efforts to help find the plane happen at the same time that steps are taken to keep its fate a secret. Can Sam give the closure Marc Fisher desperately needs and unravel the enigma of the doomed Learjet? Can the missing airplane be found, along with the missing diamond? Can Sam and his crew survive the attempts on their lives, and can they stop those behind the terrible plots? Desperate Flight tells the thrilling story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640967212

Book preview

Chapter 1

An aging Learjet sat at the end the runway. In the South American country of San Paolo, riots broke in the latest of a long list of violent uprisings. The plane’s pilot nervously drummed his fingers, listening to a shortwave radio.

Angry mobs roam the streets.

The copilot stormed into the tiny office.

What’s the latest?

All hell’s breaking loose. Damn, this kind of shit isn’t part of my job description.

Government offices throughout the country are under siege, the radio squawked.

We’ve got to get out of here! the copilot exclaimed.

Now there’s an idea. When our mystery passenger shows up, we’re on our way.

How long are we going to wait? It’s all falling apart. He may not have made it out of the city!

Get a hold on yourself. We don’t leave until everyone is aboard.

Army tanks are moving in at the capitol building. The international airport has been sealed off, the radio announced.

Snapping off the shortwave, the pilot bolted out of his chair and headed to the plane. Arriving at the opened hatch, he poked his head into the muggy passenger cabin. A group of business executives for Fisher Industries sat in leather captain’s chairs. Mopping their brows with handkerchiefs, the portly group mumbled their discontent.

What’s the holdup here? Let’s get this damn plane in the air! one of the men bellowed.

I’m sorry for the delay, sir, but we’re waiting on one more.

Do you know who I am? The man sneered.

Everyone at the company knew Lawrence Greenfield, who headed the San Paolo operation when it first started over twenty years ago. The small division provided a steady stream of profit to the company’s bottom line. Now the division would be abandoned in the wake of nationalization by whichever group came to power. Greenfield had an inflated view of his importance and a reputation for throwing his weight around.

Yes, sir, Mr. Greenfield, as soon as our passenger gets here, we’ll take off.

This is a revolution, you idiot! he thundered. If the mobs don’t find us and string us up, the army will blow us out of the sky!

He had to think fast. He decided to pull rank. Sir, I have instructions from Clarence Griffin to wait for everyone on my list.

At Fisher Industries, the chain of command started with Marcus Fisher, son of the company founder, the second-in-command was Griffin, whose reputation for being a hard-ass was legendary.

It worked. Greenfield knew his place.

Can you at least turn on some damn air-conditioning? It’s like a sweatbox!

We can’t burn up fuel sitting on the ground with the engines running.

Greenfield slumped down in his chair, swearing under his breath.

The pilot eyed the only woman passenger seated in the back of the cabin looking out the window with a mournful expression. Victoria Fisher, a handsome woman in her late sixties, was the wife of the company founder. Wringing her hands, she felt the panic growing stronger every second they waited to take off. She had come to San Paolo with her husband when he first set up the operation. Originally, she had been hesitant to leave the United States but soon after arriving had fallen in love with the country.

Although she regularly traveled back to the States, she spent most of her time at the expansive South American villa. Even after the death of her husband, Victoria continued living in the mansion, but now she had to flee the country with the rest of the company officials.

A flash of light drew the pilot’s attention to the metal briefcase leaning next to her seat.

Mrs. Fisher, I’d be glad to stow your case in the storage compartment, he offered in gentle voice.

She stared back at him as though the words didn’t register. After a long pause, she shook her head. No, I want to keep this with me.

He wandered back to the office.

It’s getting worse! Mobs are storming the gates of the presidential mansion, and the army is ready to open fire!

What do you want me to do? Hitting the panic button won’t make this guy materialize, the pilot shouted back.

Didn’t Griffin give you some kind of satellite cell phone to contact him? You could call him and tell him we need to take off.

Both men froze with the sound of gunfire in the distance. Swallowing hard, he reached for the phone. Maybe you’re right.

Back in the corporate headquarters of Fisher Industries, Clarence Griffin shot back another gulp of scotch; he sat in the dark in his sprawling office on the top floor of the company’s corporate tower building. The moment the special phone sounded, he switched it on while glancing at the clock on his wall. Well after midnight, Griffin scowled because he knew this was not the call he was waiting for.

What is it? he groused.

Mr. Griffin, I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m very concerned about our situation down here.

I’m assuming you’re still on the ground? he barked.

Yes, sir, we haven’t been able to leave because one of the passengers hasn’t arrived, but things are getting worse in the capital, and I’m not sure we can wait much longer.

Who’s missing?

Mr. Heist, he’s listed as a consultant. Mrs. Fisher and the others are all on board. Sir, we just heard gunfire for everyone’s safety. We’re taking off right now.

Griffin’s voice turned ice-cold. Now you listen. I pay you a great deal of money to do exactly what I tell you to do. You will not leave the ground until everyone, including Adrian Heist, is on that plane. If you leave before then, I promise you when you get back here, not only will you not have a job with Fisher Industries, but I’ll make sure you never fly anything ever again! He’ll be there. Just screw up your courage and think about how you’ll spend the bonus you’ll get when you get back.

Just then, a Jeep screeched to a stop

He’s here! the copilot exclaimed.

Griffin heard the exchange through the phone. It seems your problem is solved. So get him on the damn plane and get the hell out of there. The sooner you’re in US airspace, the better.

With that, Griffin punched the button to disconnect the call.

You bastard, the pilot muttered once he realized his boss wouldn’t hear him.

Okay, start the engines.

The copilot literally ran to the plane, making his way to the cockpit. The reassuring whine of the twin jet engines cracked the silence of the night. At that instant, the digital timer started its countdown.

Adrian Heist snagged his duffel bag from the jeep and walked to the plane. It didn’t make sense. The pilot knew everyone on the plane, the founder’s wife, and the San Paolo big shots, but why in the hell was this consultant on this last plane out? Unlike his fellow overweight passengers, Heist sported a lean physique; his bearing and manner had a cunning, almost-sinister feel. But what did he care? All his passengers were accounted for, and he could finally fly home and end this nightmare.

Despite the short runway and the bumpy trip down the pitted airstrip, the Lear lifted off, heading toward cruising altitude. The copilot adjusted the navigation radio receiver to the specific frequency of the radio beacon, which would guide them back home. The pilots would have to depend heavily on the radio beacon system because neither pilot had flown this route before. The mountainous countryside they would be flying over contained no large cities or landmarks they could use to check their position. Using the radio beacon, the crew merely had to make sure the signal was coming in loud and clear. If the signal started to fade, they would turn the plane until the signal came in clearer. By homing in on the radio signal, the crew could be sure they were flying the proper course.

After several hours in flight, the pilots allowed themselves to relax a little. They still had a long way to go, but they were on their way home, and the knots in their stomachs had finally melted away. The timing device buried deep in the starboard engine continued its countdown.

The pilot decided to stretch his legs and check on his passengers. Leaving the flight deck, he surveyed the cabin. The once-tense atmosphere had faded into a collective sigh of relief. The bigwigs had helped themselves to the bar, so the drinks were flowing. Only Victoria Fisher still seemed in the grip of sadness. Staring out the window, her expression changed little. Occasionally, she touched the silver case next to her seat, as if to reassure herself it was still on board.

Greenfield staggered up the main aisle with a half-filled drink in hand.

Well, we finally made it. He beamed after a large gulp. I don’t mind telling you that whole business scared the shit out of me. But you got us out of there with no problem. He raised his glass in a toast.

Thank you, sir, the pilot replied.

Heading back to the cockpit, he smiled, feeling the relief of the moment. The numbers on the timing device raced along on the tiny screen.

He climbed back into his seat and scanned his instruments. Once they made it to cruising altitude, they had been in regular communication with the ground. Like a healthy heartbeat, the radio beacon signal registered loud and clear.

Greenfield sends his thanks for saving his ass. The way he drinks, he’ll probably be out cold by the time we get home.

He looked over at his copilot, hoping his worrywart companion had finally relaxed a little. Instead, the copilot poured over charts he had taken from his flight case.

Something’s wrong. The pilot let out a long sigh while he grimaced.

The timer flashed the thirty-second warning. What’s wrong now? He moaned.

It doesn’t make sense. We’re getting the beacon loud and clear.

So what’s the problem?

We’re still over land. We should be over the ocean by now, he replied.

The explosion ripped the engine apart in a flash. Crash experts would call it catastrophic failure. In a matter of seconds, the engine disintegrated. A huge fireball lit up the midnight sky.

It’s the starboard engine! the copilot screamed through a cacophony of alarm klaxons reverberating throughout the cockpit.

Gripping the control yoke, the pilot scanned the host of warning lights flashing their message of doom. Both of them knew the Learjet would be their coffin.

The exploding engine spewed out its many moving parts with deadly force; whirling turbines and compressor blades shredded the tail control surfaces in seconds while other projectiles punctured the pressurized cabin.

The plane’s remaining engine still pumped out its thrust, causing the aircraft to pinwheel into an uncontrollable spin no pilot could escape. The rudder and elevators of the tail ripped away from the fuselage. The twisted hulk of the wrecked plane spun in death like convulsions as the tremendous stress on the airframe folded the wings like they were made of paper.

If there had been anyone on the ground watching the spectacle, the plane literally fell out of the sky in a blaze of glory. The flaming mass slammed into the side of a nearby mountain with a gut-wrenching crash, which shook the ground with its force. No one heard the calamity, and no one would know the agony of the twelve people aboard the ill-fated plane.

Chapter 2

Eventually, the plane would be overdue, and Clarence Griffin would report the missing aircraft to the authorities. They would search in vain for days, even weeks, but find nothing. It seemed the revolution had claimed another victim.

For Marc Fisher, the news of his mother’s death would be devastating. Beside the grave of his beloved father, he would erect a tombstone marking Victoria Fisher’s existence, but it would always be an empty grave. As close as he was to his mother, he never visited the grave site because he knew it was nothing more than a stone marker. The question of what had happened would haunt him; he vowed he would someday fill the grave and know the terrible facts of that most desperate flight.

Sam Burke, a handsome man in his midforties, sat in the radio studio next to the radio host who would be conducting the interview. The PBS radio producer had contacted Sam, who lately was very much in the news. The morning drive time show was a magazine-style talk show focusing on current events. Although he didn’t seek out this kind of media attention, the promotion of his work via the media was always welcomed. He relaxed a little as the engineer on the other side of the window counted down the seconds until airtime. Sam glanced at the On Air sign the instant it switched on while the engineer pointed to the host.

"Good morning, and welcome to Daily Edition. My guest today is Sam Burke, head of a company called AeroFind Unlimited, who made news of late by uncovering the mystery of what happened to an airplane that crashed near its final destination of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, carrying priceless artifacts. He’s been called the plane-crash detective. First off, let’s talk about what you do. You search for crashed airplanes like a diver searches for shipwrecks, right?"

On the other side of Boston, Marc Fisher sat in his limousine as it made its way through Cambridge, heading toward the corporate headquarters of Fisher Industries. He sat forward with interest as the interview continued.

Yes, like many shipwrecks, there are a number of airplanes that are lost when they crash. We try to find them.

I know deep-sea divers are often looking for treasure aboard the ship when it went down, but is that the case with airplanes?

Sam chuckled softly. No, usually there are no gold doubloons or precious jewels to find in a plane crash. Most often we’re working with the insurance company or some interested party connected to the plane or those onboard when it went down.

So you’re involved with a salvage operation of sorts?

Well, I wouldn’t call it salvage. We’re really trying to recover the human remains and any cargo that was on the plane. We also try to determine the cause of the crash. Again, this is usually for insurance needs.

By now, Marc Fisher listened with rapt attention, ignoring the vibrating of his cell phone in his suit coat pocket.

The interview continued.

You said there’s usually no treasure involved, but your latest search did involve a treasure of sorts. Tells us about it.

This latest search involved a collection of artifacts dating from the American Civil War that were in the hands of a private collector. He decided to donate the bulk of his collection to the National Civil War Museum in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. They were being transported in a small cargo plane, which, after a number of normal radio transmissions, never made it to its final destination. Unfortunately, even after an extensive search by authorities, the wreckage was never found. Most thought the plane had somehow gone off course, which was why it couldn’t be found.

It seems odd they couldn’t find any trace of the plane, the host remarked.

Sam continued the narrative, The owner felt the same way, so he hired us to find out what happened. Of course, the first thing we do is review every detail of the flight we have on hand, and I noticed that at one point, the plane went through a violent thunderstorm. Now, radio communication with the plane was lost very briefly, but then contact was reestablished, and everything seemed normal. On a hunch, I set up some tests because I had read something about the type of avionics the plane used.

Avionics? The host questioned.

That’s a term for the electronic components used in the plane’s control and guidance systems. In our tests simulating lighting strikes, similar to what the plane would have experienced, we found certain circuits were vulnerable and would recalibrate after each strike. During several of our tests, the navigation and altitude settings were incorrect when they reset. Based on this, we conducted a new search, and we found the wreckage. The incorrect altimeter reading caused the pilots, who were off course, to descend right into the side of a mountain.

That’s terrible. At least it wasn’t a passenger plane, the host added quickly.

That’s true, but the two pilots perished in the crash. For their family’s sake, at least we were able to recover the remains and explain why the plane went down. The artifacts themselves were protected in their cases, so all of them were recovered for the museum.

In his limo, Marc Fisher’s memory went back to when he first heard the news about the plane crash, and like it was the first time, the shock sent him back in his seat. Sitting there, he felt the sting of pain when the search weeks later found not a single trace of the plane or those who were aboard. The haunting image of his mother’s grave marker materialized in his mind’s eye.

The voice of the host became soft and apologetic. I understand you started in this work because of a personal connection?

Sam grimaced slightly but expected the question because his reason for his work always managed to get included in these interviews. He braced himself to once more tell his story.

I lost my wife in a plane crash. She was a high school teacher traveling with a group of her students in Europe on a chartered plane. My wife and her students were on their way home when they lost contact with the plane after it entered US airspace. A massive search was launched. It went on for weeks as the search was expanded, but they couldn’t find anything.

The words jolted Marc out of his reflections. Awestruck, he once again leaned forward to hear the broadcast.

The families of those on the plane wanted the wreckage to be found. We wanted to at least know what had happened so we could have a sense of closure. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find a thing, and the search was abandoned. Helen’s family, especially her father, just couldn’t accept it. He and I felt like there had to be something we could do. I started doing some research, and I read a few things, and I had an idea of why the plane went down. I got the group of families together and presented my information. One of the members suggested we all pool our money together to finance a search. To make a long story short, the research proved to be right, and I found the wreckage and was able to figure out what went wrong.

Breathless with excitement, the host urged a full explanation. What had happened?

Sam let out a long breath before he continued, In making a turn, the pilots had miscalculated their flight level, crashing into high mountain peak. At the bottom of that peak was a depression, sort of like a big bowl that caught all the wreckage, which was instantly covered with snow and ice. It essentially became a glacier, a capsule of sorts containing all the wreckage. Now glaciers move, so the capsule moved out of that location to another one. The new location was warmer, and the glacier melted, depositing the wreckage in the new spot.

That’s unbelievable! The host gushed.

Since we did find the wreckage and determine the cause of the crash, the insurance company offered a sizeable reward, which everyone in the group wanted me to keep. By then, Helen’s father was close to retirement he had his own business. So he sold the company, retired, and gave the rest to me. I seemed to have a knack at this, so I set up my business, paid everyone back, and I’ve been looking for planes ever since.

Before the interview was over, the limo arrived at the Fisher Industries headquarters, stopping in front of the executive office tower in the center of the complex. The chauffer quickly got out and hurried to open the back door for his boss. Like he had been fired out of a cannon, Marc leaped out of the car with his cell phone in hand, furiously dialing the number of the radio station. He had to get a message to Sam Burke. After all these years, Marc had a chance to find out what had happened to the desperate flight out of South America.

Once off the air, Sam accepted the compliments of the radio host for an excellent interview and was gathering his things when the message from Marc Fisher arrived at the studio. The note read simply Just heard your interview. Please contact me as soon as possible. Sam sensed the urgency immediately, and with his curiosity piqued, he quickly dialed the supplied phone number. Within minutes, he was in the elevator going down to the ground-floor lobby. The elevator doors had just spread open when a gleaming black Caddy limo pulled up; the same car had dropped Mr. Fisher at his office when it was ordered to head to the radio station. Sitting in the luxurious leather seat that seemed to envelope him, Sam pondered the reasons he had been summoned. Obviously, Fisher had an airplane he wanted found, so it looked like Sam and his crew had a new job.

The limo glided through the sparse early-morning traffic on its way to the corporate headquarters of Fisher Industries. After exiting the interstate, the car approached a sprawling office complex, a collection of shining glass structures surrounding a massive tower at the head of a tree-lined drive. As the vehicle approached the center security post, the uniformed guard waved the car through since there was no need to check identification of the president’s personal limo. Sam admired the elaborate fountain standing before the tower’s main entrance; geysers of crystal clear water spurted from various figures surrounding the company logo nestled in the center. As the car came to a stop, an attractive brunette in a finely tailored business suit approached the rear door. With a broad welcoming smile, she introduced herself as Mr. Fisher’s executive assistant, ushering Sam to the top floor for his meeting with the boss.

Marc Fisher, a lanky man not much older than Sam, waited at the door of his spacious office. Sam saw a look of determination and desperation on Fisher’s face. Sitting in the visitor’s chair, he couldn’t help but notice the two large-framed portraits sitting on the credenza behind his desk. The man, presumably Thomas Fisher, displayed the pose of a captain of industry: tall, erect, and ready for corporate battle; the other picture displayed Victoria Fisher’s beauty through an almost regal air of style and grace.

Sam waited while his host returned to his chair; Fisher moved quickly, anxious to get to the subject at hand.

Mr. Burke, I appreciate your quick response, but I had to talk to you right away, and I didn’t know if you’d be leaving Boston after your interview.

In my business, my travel plans are always flexible.

I was very impressed with your interview. You touched on a number of topics that are very important to me. To put it simply, I want you to find an airplane.

That’s what I do. Tell me about it, Sam prompted gently.

Fisher began his narrative.

My father had a keen business sense, which is why Fisher Industries is so successful today. Years ago, he saw an opportunity to establish a business unit in the South American country of San Paolo. The division immediately turned in a profit, and it continued to prosper throughout the years. But about twenty years ago, a major revolution flared up, resulting in a total breakdown of government.

Some of those countries aren’t known for their stability, Sam commented.

Exactly, the situation went from bad to worse in a matter of a couple of weeks. When riots broke out, the military moved in with a show of force; they shut down the international airport in the capital and declared martial law. At our office, a sense of panic set in because large companies, especially American firms, are often targeted by the mobs.

That can be pretty scary, Sam said,

At the time of the revolt, Clarence Griffin was running the company after my father’s death. Most of our employees had left when the revolt started, but the key executives for the operation were still there, trying to salvage as much of the business records as they could. When the airport in the capital was shut down, Clarence decided to evacuate those remaining people by sending one of our corporate jets to a remote airstrip outside of the capital city.

Pretty risky business sending a jet to fly from the States to South America when the military is clamping down on the airports, Sam replied.

We couldn’t just leave our people there with all hell breaking loose, Fisher fired back.

I’m assuming the plane made it out of the country?

Just barely. The pilot called Clarence when he heard gunfire. Apparently, the last passenger hadn’t made it yet, and the pilot was getting nervous. Minutes later, he did show up, and the plane took off with no problems. Everything seemed to be fine, but the plane never arrived back here in the States. Of course, there was a search, and even after extending the search area several times, they never found any trace of the plane. In your interview, you said you’ve found crash sites in similar situations.

His voice had a strained almost pleading tone, but Sam reasoned this was not over the corporate executives who died in the crash.

Yes. I have been successful in situations like this, but there’s no guarantee.

He wanted to give Fisher some hope, but at the same time, he didn’t want to lead him on.

Glancing back at the portrait of his mother, Marc got up and moved to the front of this desk. You’re probably wondering why I care about a crash twenty years ago involving a group of executives? His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard.

"I’m guessing those executives weren’t the only people on the plane. Your mother was