Chapter V

illiam thought for a minute.  His computer trained brain was cranking out equations and solutions like a high speed computer.  Finally, he had it.  He got up, and without turning on a light, opened the curtain out to the patio ever so slightly, peeked out and studied the area for a minute or so.  When he was satisfied of clean get away, he eased the sliding door open, and let the curtain fall back into place.

With a determined look on his face, he then walked back into the bathroom, again, in the dark.  He knew their safety and well-being depended on his actions now.  He knew they had to get away and find safety among those they knew and loved.

He ever so slightly slid the front window open above the shower then motioned for Sharon, pointed out the back way.  Sharon, following his instructions, picked up a couple of pieces of luggage, her purse and sweater, and headed for the patio door.  As she was walking through the patio door to the outside, he struck a match, lit the curtain with it, reached over, pulled the fire alarm.

He then walked out behind her, deliberately leaving the door open just a little.  The window above the shower would allow the heat from the fire to pull the smoke through.  It would also quickly show where the fire was before it got too much of a start.

Will led the way through the patio furniture and they disappeared into the early morning hours, into the hallway on the other side of the garden.  From there it was only a short jaunt through a hall and out the door on the opposite side of where their room was.

Within minutes people were piling outside in the pajamas, some less, some with a robe thrown around their shoulders, one with a towel, and one with nothing on at all.  The commotion and the constant overwhelming scream of the fire alarm was distracting the detective and covering up the escape of William and Sharon.  Within another minute or so, fire trucks began pulling into the complex, effectively blocking all traffic to and from the parking lot.

As William and Sharon made their way through the motel and out the western side of the motel complex amid the confusion, his mind went to the car they'd rented.  It was parked out in front of their motel room; but he nor Sharon had parked it there.  As far as he was concerned, it could stay there!  It had been delivered by the same person who delivered Sharon while she was out by whatever drug was in the iced tea.

He would just call the rental company and have the car picked up.  He hailed a cab and they were soon on their way to the Municipal Airpark where he'd left his plane.  He was sure hoping there was no problem with his plane.  Within half an hour they were airborne pointed northwest toward Reno.  He had intentions of following I-80 west across the mountains from Reno, then touch down at Lake Tahoe for a rest, fuel, and to think about matters.

From there he intended to intercept I-5 and follow it south to where it intersects with I-80 just south of Sacramento, then back southwest to San Jose.  There he would meet with his business contacts, conduct what business he'd intended, then fly home to Santa Barbara within the week.

But something Will didn't know; they would never make San Jose.  In fact, they'd never make Reno.  Soon, they would be counted as casualties of an unfortunate air crash.  The man pacing them in another plane less than a thousand feet behind would see to that.  He studied his watch carefully.  According to his calculations, the plane should be brought down and "accidently."  It would run out of fuel in less than three minutes.

Right on target.  He pushed the little button on a remote control in his hand, and the engine in Wills plane sputtered, then lost power.  William and Sharon were on their way down.

But the problem with the plan of the hit man was two fold:  number one, he didn't know who he'd taken on, and number two, he didn't know what kind of a pilot William Travis was.

William, immediately went straight into emergency mode; his first objective: fly the plane.  He nosed the plane over enough to put it into a slight dive to regain airspeed and thus gain control of the plane.  He then started looking for a place to land.  Seeing none right away, he went through his emergency check list, then made his emergency call:

"Mayday, mayday, mayday.  This is Cherokee niner niner three Foxtrot Mike.  I have lost power and going down.  I'm twenty eight miles south and east of Reno.  My plane is white over blue, with two souls on board."

His training was above all and foremost, to fly the plane.  Keep control of it 'til the very end.  Meantime he kept searching for a place which would accommodate the little plane, perhaps make some kind of a controlled crash landing and, hopefully, survive the incident.

All the time he was maintaining control over the plane, he never stopped trying to re-fuel the engine via the fuel selector.  It was a vain attempt to refuel and restart the engine.  But, for whatever reason, the engine would not come back to life.  With the engine still windmilling, it would have been nothing at all to restart it once the fuel source was restored.

He could not find a place in which to land the plane, and just as he thought he would have to land in some trees, he saw a little clearing.  It was hardly long enough to land in, and just maybe, wide enough to clear the trees to allow control of the plane until it stopped.  He checked once more and saw his tanks were full.  He could not figure out what could have happened to the little plane.  "Must have been some water in the fuel," he thought.  "That's what I get for not taking the time to do a walkaround."

The glide path of the little plane was quite steep laden as it was.  And, going into a crash with full fuel tanks was one of the worst scenarios you could ever experience in case of fire or rupture.

Will instructed Sharon to pull her seat harness tight.  They were down to fifty feet altitude, and quite short of the clearing, but Will pulled the nose up to slow the plane even more.  He'd practiced his STOL (short take of and landings), many times and was now very thankful for every landing he'd done.  As he got closer to the ground, he pulled the nose up higher.

The glide path of the little plane steepened, and William held the nose up just high enough to keep in the slight glide, but, low enough to keep it moving forward.  Just as they neared the scrub Oak at the bottom end of the clearing, he eased the yoke forward giving it enough forward speed to come down lightly.  When over the Oak, he pulled the yoke back a little, then dmped his flaps.  The glide slope steepened and could have easily stalled.

As the wheels touched down, he yanked the yoke back as far as it would go keeping the forward landing gear off the ground, and held it there until the plane lost speed enough to let the nose settle down.  At that time, the nose wheel slowed the plane down, but did not collapse.  It stopped just a few feet short of the perimeter of trees.  The plane was not hurt, nor was he or Sharon.

Oh well, one thing for sure, that plane that was nearby surely heard their mayday call . . .  Plane . . . now why didn't the plane respond to his mayday call?  Why didn't the plane circle around to see if it crashed or try to call to see if everyone was OK?  Something was beginning to bother William about that plane.

Will shut the mags off, all the radios, and finally the rest of the power.  He'd shut the gas valves off prior to touch down.  He then pulled his headphones off and said "well, baby, lets get out and assess the situation!  Sharon stepped out onto the wing but not into the high grass.  William crawled out and around her, then down into the tall grass.

He walked straight around to the engine compartment.  There has been something nagging at him, something in the far reaches of his subconscious that he can't bring to the forefront, something that he knows could mean life and death for someone . . .  possibly, no . . .  probably for him and/or Sharon . . .

William forced this line of thought onto the back burner of his mind and turned his attention to the problem at hand.  They had been fortunate to come upon the clearing right at the last moment.  The had been even more fortunate to land without crashing and tearing the plane up.  It was almost as if a higher power had suddenly created the clearing . . .

Where had that come from?  William wasn't a religious person, so where could that thought have come from?  He had to force this thought into the recesses of his mind and concentrate . . .

He opened the petcock at the bottom of the engine.  No water, and no fuel.  He searched fuel lines.  No kinks, no breaks, no leaks, no holes.  Both tanks proved full of fuel.  He check the fuel pump, the filter, the water drain.  All, perfect.

"Must be a problem elsewhere 'cause there's certainly no problem here!" he reasoned.

William traced the entire fuel line on the outside of the cockpit, then went inside between the seats where the valves were.  "That is where the problem has got to be," thought William.  A busy little tune emerged from his pursed lips in a whistle he'd learned as a child.  It helped him concentrate on the problem at hand he enjoyed the sound.

When he saw it, he stopped suddenly, turned white as the blood drained from his face.  He wanted to scream for Sharon to get out of the plane, but was speechless at the same time.  Finally he gathered his wits about him and took control of the situation.

Sharon was taken aback at the suddeness of Williams stop.  She looked at him curiously when she noticed him standing very still and looking intently at something between the seats.  As she saw the blood drain from his face she grew afraid, and looked into his face intently.

In an quiet but stern voice William spoke to his wife.  She had gotten into the left seat while William looked at the plane. "Sharon, I need for you to get out of the plane, just as fast and carefully as you possibly can.  Be careful and don't shake the plane."

She didn't have to be told twice.  She instantly moved, and in that graceful manner of hers, she moved quickly.  She could feel, see and hear death in Williams actions, his tone of voice, and the look on and of his face.

It seemed as if the chill of the Grim Reaper settled down on her.  It looked as if he was about to gather two more souls.

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