The needle sat below the red line.
"Talk to me, Maya," the off-duty pilot said from the doorway.
His face was tight with pain, one arm hanging useless at his side.
"We have maybe forty minutes of fuel left," Maya said.
Her voice was steady, but her hands were gripping the back of the captain's chair.
"Forty minutes." He exhaled.
"The nearest major airport is ninety minutes away."
"Then we can't go there."
The flight attendant — Diane — stood behind them, her hand over her mouth.
"Maya," the pilot said carefully.
"I'm David Hargrove.
I need to ask you something.
Where's the first officer?
Where's the co-pilot?"
Maya looked at him.
"He's not here?"
Hargrove shook his head.
"I came from the crew rest cabin in the back.
There was no one in the jump seat."
Diane's face went pale.
"Co-pilot Morrison went to the bathroom about twenty minutes before the captain collapsed," she said.
"He never came back to the cockpit."
"Twenty minutes?" Hargrove's jaw tightened.
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know.
I was focused on the captain.
I forgot about Morrison."
Maya turned back to the control panel.
"We need to find somewhere closer," she said.
She pulled up the navigation display.
Her fingers moved slowly, reading the screen.
"Grandpa taught me about emergency diversion fields," she said.
"There should be a small airfield on one of the barrier islands.
About thirty minutes from here."
Hargrove leaned in, wincing.
"Can you see it?"
Maya pointed at a tiny dot on the screen.
"There.
Three-thousand-foot runway.
No tower.
No instrument approach."
"Three thousand feet," Hargrove repeated.
"That's tight for this aircraft."
"I know."
"Can you do it?"
Maya looked at the photograph of her grandfather one more time.
"He made me land on a two-thousand-foot strip in the simulator.
In crosswinds.
At night."
Hargrove almost smiled.
"Of course he did."
He turned to Diane.
"Get on the PA.
Tell everyone to brace for landing.
And find Co-pilot Morrison.
Now."
Diane grabbed the handset.
"Attention, everyone.
This is your flight attendant speaking.
We are preparing for an emergency landing.
Please return to your seats immediately.
Fasten your seatbelts tightly.
Brace your head between your knees.
Remain calm."
The cabin erupted.
"We're going to crash!" someone screamed.
"Let me off this plane!" another voice shouted.
Diane walked quickly down the aisle, checking seatbelts, when she saw him.
Co-pilot Craig Morrison was sitting in row fourteen.
In a passenger seat.
Wearing a polo shirt and jeans.
He had changed out of his uniform.
"Mr.
Morrison?" Diane stopped.
Her voice shook.
"What are you doing back here?"
Morrison looked up at her with calm, cold eyes.
"Sitting."
"You're supposed to be in the cockpit."
"I was in the cockpit."
"Then what happened to Captain Stevens?"
Morrison smiled slightly.
"He wasn't feeling well."
Diane's bl00d went cold.
"What did you do?"
Morrison didn't answer.
"Answer me!"
He leaned back in his seat.
"You should be more worried about that little girl flying your plane."
Diane turned and ran toward the cockpit.
"She found him," Hargrove said, watching Diane's face as she burst through the door.
"He's in row fourteen," Diane gasped.
"He changed out of his uniform.
He's just sitting there."
Hargrove's expression hardened.
"Did he say anything?"
"He said the captain 'wasn't feeling well.' And then he said I should be worried about Maya."
Maya looked up from the controls.
"He did something to Captain Stevens."
"I think so too," Hargrove said.
"Look," Maya said.
She pointed to a coffee cup sitting in the holder beside the captain's seat.
"He was drinking coffee.
Grandpa always told me — check the cup first."
Hargrove picked up the cup with his good hand.
He sniffed it.
His face changed.
"There's something in this.
Something sweet.
Not sugar."
"Dr*gged," Maya said quietly.
Hargrove set the cup down carefully.
"Diane, we need that cup sealed.
Don't let anyone touch it.
It's evidence."
Diane found a plastic bag in the galley drawer and sealed the cup.
"Maya," Hargrove said.
"How long until we reach that airfield?"
Maya checked the screen.
"Twenty-two minutes."
"Then we land first.
We deal with Morrison after."
"He could come up here," Maya said.
Hargrove looked at the cockpit door.
"Diane, can you lock this door from the inside?"
"Yes.
There's a security bolt."
"Lock it.
Now."
Diane slid the bolt home.
The three of them were sealed in the cockpit with an unconscious captain and a fuel gauge sinking toward zero.
"Maya," Hargrove said.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully."
"I'm listening."
"I'm going to talk you through every step.
Your grandfather taught you the basics.
I'm going to fill in what he couldn't teach you in a simulator."
"OK."
"First, bring the altitude down slowly.
We need to get to ten thousand feet before we reach the island.
The air is thinner here — the plane will respond differently."
Maya reached for the altitude control.
Her hand was shaking.
She looked at the photograph of her grandfather.
"Grandpa always said — 'Don't fight the plane.
Let it do what it wants to do.
You just guide it.'"
Hargrove stared at her.
"He said that?"
"Every time I crashed in the simulator."
Hargrove let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"He used to tell us the same thing in pilot training.
Word for word."
Maya's hand steadied.
She adjusted the altitude control.
The plane began a slow descent.
"Good," Hargrove said.
"Now reduce thrust.
Gently.
Two percent at a time."
Maya moved the throttle.
The engines quieted slightly.
"More?"