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“Bowanis deeyass,” he said with a lopsided grin, his Chuck Yeager drawl and butchered Portuguese grating on her ears. “Sorry for not keeping you up to date, miss. Saw you were sleeping and didn’t want to disturb you.” He winked at the copilot, a thickset Brazilian whose overmuscled physique suggested he spent a lot of time pumping iron. The copilot smirked as his eyes roved over Francesca’s body. Francesca felt like a mother who had come upon two mischievous boys about to play a prank.

“What’s our timetable?” she said in a businesslike manner.

“Waall, we’re over Venezuela. We should be in Miami in approximately three hours. We’ll stretch our legs while we refuel and should be in New York about three hours after that.”

Francesca’s scientific eye was drawn to the screens on the instrument panel. The copilot noticed her interest and couldn’t resist the chance to impress a beautiful woman.

“This plane is so smart it can fly itself while we watch the soccer games on TV,” he said, showing his big teeth.

“Don’t let Carlos blow smoke up your flue,” the pilot said. “That’s the EFIS, the electronic flight instrument system. The screens take the place of the gauges we used to use.”

“Thank you,” Francesca said politely. She pointed to another gauge. “Is that a compass?” she said.

“Sim, sim,” the copilot said, proud of his successful tutelage.

“Then why does it indicate we’re going almost due north?” she said with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn’t we be heading in a more westerly direction toward Miami?”

The men exchanged glances. “You’re quite observant, senhora,” the Texan said. “Absolutely right. But in the air a straight line isn’t always the fastest way between two points. Has to do with the curvature of the earth. Like when you fly from the U.S. to Europe the shortest way is up and around in a big curve. We’ve also got to deal with Cuban airspace. Don’t want to get ol’ Fidel all haired up.”

The quick wink and smirk again.

Francesca nodded appreciatively. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. It’s been most instructive. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

“No bother, ma’am. Any time.”

Francesca was fuming as she took her seat. Fools! Did they think she was an idiot? The curvature of the earth indeed!

“Everything’s okay, like I said?” Phillipo asked, looking up from the magazine he was reading.

She leaned across the aisle and spoke in a low, even tone. “No, everything is not okay. I think this plane is off-course.” She told him about the compass reading. “I felt something odd in my sleep. I think it was the shifting of the plane as they changed direction.”

“Maybe you’re mistaken.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t think so.”

“Did you ask the pilots for an explanation?”

“Yes. They gave me some absurd story saying the shortest distance between two points was not a straight line because of the curvature of the earth.”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised by the explanation, but he still wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know . . . ”

Francesca pondered some other inconsistencies. “Do you remember what they said when they came on board, about being replacement pilots?”

“Sure. They said the other pilots were called off on another job. They took their place as a favor.”

She shook her head. “Peculiar. Why did they even bring it up? It’s as if they wanted to head off any questions I might have. But why?”

“I have had some experience in navigation,” Phillipo said thoughtfully. “I will go see for myself.” He sauntered up to the cockpit again. She heard male laughter, and after a few minutes he came back with a smile on his face. The smile faded as he sat down.

“There’s an instrument in the cockpit that shows the original flight plan. We are not following the blue line as we should be. You were right about the compass, too,” he said. “We are not on the correct course.”

“What in God’s name is going on, Phillipo?”

A grave expression came onto his face. “There was something your father didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Phillipo glanced toward the closed cockpit. “He had heard things. Nothing that would persuade him you were in danger, but enough so that he would like the reassurance of knowing I would be nearby if you needed help.”


Tags: Clive Cussler NUMA Files Thriller