The name of the country goes back to the twelfth century. 2 страница

“I know it looks a bit like R.C.A.F,” Dun was saying, fingering his great bush of a mustache apologetically, “but I’ve had it so long I couldn’t part with it now — it’s an old friend, you know.”

“I’ll bet it’s a wow with the girls,” said the little man. “What do they call you — Beaver?”

“Well, no,” replied Dun, a suspicion of a grin under his foliage. “We’re a pretty highbrow lot on this airline. It’s either ‘Have yer Dun, then?’ or, most often, just Dunsinane.”

“Just what?” asked the little man.

“Dunsinane,” said the captain very deliberately. “Surely you know? Where’s your Macbeth? ”

The little man stared up at him. “Where’s my Macbeth? ” he repeated vacantly. “Hey, what are you giving me?”

The captain had moved on. While he had been speaking his eyes had been fixed on the stewardess, further along the aisle, who was bending over a woman, the palm of her hand on the passenger’s forehead. As he approached, the woman, who lay rather than sat in her seat, slumped back against the headrest, suddenly grimaced. Her eyes contracted as if with pain. The captain touched the stewardess lightly on the arm.

“Anything wrong. Miss Benson?” he asked.

Janet straightened. “The lady is feeling a little under the weather, Captain,” she said very quietly. “I’ll get her some aspirin. Be back in a moment.”

Dun took her place and leaned over the woman and the man beside her.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said sympathetically. “What seems to be the trouble?”

The woman stared up at him. “I — I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “It seemed to hit me all of a sudden. Just a few minutes ago. I feel sick and dizzy and — and there’s an awful pain… down here.” She indicated her stomach. “I’m sorry to be a nuisance — I—”

“Now, now, honey,” murmured the man beside her. “Just lay quiet. You’ll be better directly.” He glanced at the captain. “A touch of airsickness, I guess?”

“I expect so, sir,” answered Dun. He looked down thoughtfully at the woman, taking in the perspiration beginning to bead on her pallid forehead, the hair already becoming disarranged, the whiteness of her knuckles as with one hand she gripped the armrest of the seat and with the other held on to her husband. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” he said gently, “but I’m sure the stewardess will be able to help you. Try to relax as much as you can. If it’s any comfort I can tell you that it looks like being a calm trip.” He moved aside for Janet.

“Now here we are,” said the stewardess, handing down the pills. “Try these.” She eased the woman’s head forward, to help her take a few sips of water from a glass. “That’s fine. Now let’s make you a little more comfortable.” She tucked in a rug round the woman. “How’s that?” The woman nodded gratefully. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see how you’re feeling. Don’t worry about using the paper bag if you want to. And if you need me quickly just press the bell push by the window.”

“Thank you, miss,” said the husband. “I’m sure we’ll be okay in just a little while.” He looked at his wife with a smile, as if to reassure himself. “Try to rest, dear. It’ll pass over.”

“I hope so,” said Dun. “I know how unpleasant these things can be. I hope you very soon feel better, madam, and that you both have a good night.”

He passed back down the aisle and waited for Janet in the galley. “Who are they?” he asked when the stewardess returned.

“Mr. and Mrs. Childer — John Childer. She was all right fifteen minutes ago.”

“H’m. Well, you’d better let me know if she gets any worse and I’ll radio ahead.”

Janet looked at him quickly. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like the look of her. Could be air-sickness or just a bilious attack, I suppose — but it seems to have hit her pretty hard.” The captain looked faintly worried, his fingers drumming absently on the metal draining board. Have we a doctor on the passenger list?”

“No one who’s entered as a doctor,” replied Janet, “but I could ask around.”

Dun shook his head. “Don’t disturb them now. Most of them are getting down to sleep. Let me know how she is in half an hour or so. The trouble is,” he added quietly as he turned to go, “we’ve got over four hours’ flying before we reach the coast.”

Making his way to the flight deck, he stopped for a moment to smile down at the sick woman. She attempted to smile back, but a sudden stab of pain closed her eyes and made her arch back against the seat. For a few seconds Dun stood studying her intently. Then he continued forward, closed the door of the flight deck behind him, and slid into his seat. He took off his peaked hat and put on the large earphones and then the boom microphone. Pete was flying manually. Scattered banks of cloud seemed to rush at the forward windows, envelop them momentarily, and then disappear.

“Cumulo-nimbus building up,” commented the first officer.

“Getting to the rough stuff, eh?” said Dun.

“Looks like it.”

“I’ll take it. We’d better try to climb on top. Ask for twenty thousand, will you?”

“Right.” Pete depressed a stud on his microphone attachment to transmit. “714 to Regina radio,” he called.

“Go ahead, 714,” crackled a voice in the earphones.

“We’re running into some weather. We’d like clearance for twenty thousand.”

“714. Stand by. I’ll ask ATC.”

“Thanks,” said Pete.

The captain peered into the cloudy turbulence ahead. “Better switch on the seat-belt sign, Pete,” he suggested, correcting with automatic concentration the tendency of the aircraft to bump and yaw.

“Okay.” Pete reached for the switch on the overhead panel. There was a brief shudder as the plane freed herself from a wall of cloud, only to plunge almost instantly into another.

“Flight 714,” came the voice on the radio. “ATC gives clearance for twenty thousand. Over.”

“714,” acknowledged Pete. “Thanks and out.”

“Let’s go,” said the captain. The note of the engines took on a deeper intensity as the deck began to tilt and the altimeter needle on the winking instrument panel steadily registered a climb of five hundred feet a minute. The long window wiper swished rhythmically in a broad sweep from side to side.

“Shan’t be sorry when we’re clear of this muck,” remarked the first officer. Dun didn’t answer, his eyes glued on the dials in front of him. Neither of the pilots heard the stewardess enter. She touched the captain on the shoulder.

“Captain,” she said urgently, but keeping her voice well under control. “That woman. She’s worse already. And I have another passenger sick now — one of the men.”

Dun did not turn to her. He stretched up an arm and switched on the landing lights. Ahead of them the sharp beams cut into driving rain and snow. He turned off the lights and began to adjust engine and de-icer switches.

“I can’t come right now, Janet,” he replied as he worked. “You’d better do as we said and see if you can find a doctor. And make sure all the seat belts are fastened. This may get pretty rough. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Emerging from the flight deck, Janet called out in a voice just loud enough to carry to the rows of passengers, “Fasten your safety belts, please. It may be getting a little bumpy.” She leaned over the first two passengers to her right, blinking up at her half-asleep. “Excuse me,” she said casually, “but do either of you gentlemen happen to be a doctor?”

The man nearest her shook his head. “Sorry, no,” he grunted. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing serious.”

An exclamation of pain snapped her to attention. She hurried along the aisle to where the sick Mrs. Childer lay half-cradled in her husband’s arms, moaning with eyes closed, and partially doubled over. Janet knelt down swiftly and wiped the glistening sweat from the woman’s brow. Childer stared at her, his face creased with anxiety.

“What can we do, miss?” he asked her. “What d’you think it is?”

“Keep her warm,” said Janet. “I’m going to see if there’s a doctor on board.”

“A doctor? I just hope there is. What do we do if there isn’t?”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll be back straight away.” Janet got to her feet, looked down briefly at the suffering woman, and moved on to the next seats, repeating her question in a low voice. “Is someone ill?” she was asked. “Just feeling unwell. It sometimes happens, flying. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

A hand clutched at her arm. It was one of the whisky quartet, his face yellow and shining.

“Sorry, miss, to trouble you again. I’m feeling like hell. D’you think I could have a glass of water?”

“Yes, of course. I’m on my way now to get it.”

“I never felt like this before.” The man lay back and blew out his cheeks. One of his companions stirred opened his eyes and sat up. “What’s with you? he growled.”

“It’s my insides,” said the sick man. “Feels like they’re coming apart.” His hands clenched his stomach as another spasm shook him.

Janet shook Spencer gently by the shoulder. He opened one eye, then both. “I’m very sorry to wake you up, sir,” she said, “but is anyone here a doctor?”.

Spencer gathered himself. “A doctor? No. I guess not, miss.” She nodded and made to move on.

“Just a moment, though,” he stopped her. “I seem to remember — yes, of course he is. This gentleman beside me is a doctor.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” breathed the stewardess. “Would you wake him, please?”

“Sure.” Spencer looked up at her as he nudged the recumbent form next to him. “Someone’s ill, huh?”

“Feeling a little unwell,” said Janet.

“Come on, Doc, wake up,” Spencer said heartily. The doctor shook his head, grunted, then snapped awake. “Seems that you’ve got your night call after all.”

“Are you a doctor, sir?” asked Janet anxiously.

“Yes. Yes, I’m Dr. Baird. Why, what’s wrong?”

“We have two passengers who are quite sick. Would you take a look at them, please?”

“Sick? Yes, certainly.”

Spencer stood up to let the doctor out. “Where are they?” Baird asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I think you’d better see the woman first, Doctor,” said Janet, leading the way and at the same time calling out quietly, “Fasten your seat belts, please,” as she passed along.

Mrs. Childer was now as prostrate as the seat allowed. Shivers of pain racked her body. She breathed heavily, with long, shuddering gasps. Her hair was wet with sweat.

Baird stood studying her for a moment. Then he knelt and took her wrist.

“This gentleman is a doctor,” said Janet.

“Am I glad to see you, Doctor,” Childer said fervently.

The woman opened her eyes. “Doctor…” She made an effort to speak, her lips trembling.

“Just relax,” said Baird, his eyes on his watch. He released her wrist, felt in his jacket and took out a pocket flashlight. “Open your eyes wide,” he ordered gently and examined each eye in turn in the bright pencil of light. “Now. Any pain?” The woman nodded. “Where? Here? Or here?” As he palpated her abdomen, she stiffened suddenly, choking back a cry of pain. He replaced the blanket, felt her forehead, then stood up. “Is this lady your wife?” he asked Childer.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Has she complained of anything in addition to the pain?”

“She’s been very sick, throwing up everything.”

“When did it start?”

“Not long, I guess.” Childer looked helplessly at Janet. “It’s all come on suddenly.”

Baird nodded reflectively. He moved away, taking Janet by the arm and speaking very quietly so as not to be overheard by the nearby passengers who were staring up at them.

“Have you given her anything?” he inquired.

“Only aspirin and water,” replied Janet. “That reminds me. I promised a glass of water to the man who’s sick—”

“Wait,” said Baird crisply. His sleepiness had vanished now. He was alert and authoritative. “Where did you learn your nursing?”

Janet colored at his tone. “Why, at the airline training school, but—”

“Never mind. But it’s not much use giving aspirin to anyone who is actually vomiting — you’ll make ’em worse. Strictly water only.”

“I — I’m sorry, Doctor,” Janet stammered.

“I think you’d better go to the captain,” said Baird. “Please tell him we should land at once. This woman has to be gotten to a hospital. Ask to have an ambulance waiting.”

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

“I can’t make a proper diagnosis here. But it’s serious enough to land at the nearest city with hospital facilities. You can tell the captain that.”

“Very well, Doctor. While I’m gone, will you take a look at the other sick passenger? He’s complaining of the same sickness and pains.”

Baird looked at her sharply. “The same pains, you say? Where is he?”

Janet led him forward to where the sick man sat, bent over, retching, supported by his friend in the next seat. Baird crouched down to look at his face.

“I’m a doctor. Will you put your head back, please?” As he made a quick examination, he asked, “What have you had to eat in the last twenty-four hours?”

“Just the usual things,” muttered the man, all the strength appearing to have been drained from him. “Breakfast,” he said weakly, “bacon and eggs… salad for lunch… a sandwich at the airport… then dinner here.” A trickle of saliva ran disregarded down his chin. “It’s this pain, Doctor. And my eyes.”

“What about your eyes?” asked Baird quickly.

“Can’t seem to focus. I keep seeing double.”

His companion seemed to find it amusing. “That rye has got a real kick, yes sir,” he exclaimed.

“Be quiet,” said Baird. He rose, to find Janet and the captain standing beside him. “Keep him warm — get more blankets round him,” he told Janet. The captain motioned him to follow down to the galley. Immediately they were alone, Baird demanded, “How quickly can we land, Captain?”

“That’s the trouble,” said Dun briefly. “We can’t.”

Baird stared at him. “Why?”

“It’s the weather. I’ve just checked by radio. There’s low cloud and fog right over the prairies this side of the mountains. Calgary’s shut in completely. We’ll have to go through to the coast.”

Baird thought for a moment. “What about turning back?” he asked.

Dun shook his head, his face taut in the soft glow of the lights. “That’s out, too. Winnipeg closed down with fog shortly after we left. Anyway, it’ll be quicker now to go on.”

Baird grimaced, tapping his finger nail with the tiny flashlight. “How soon do you expect to land?”

“About five a.m., Pacific Time.” Dun saw the doctor glance involuntarily at his wrist watch, and added, “We’re due to land in three and a half hours from now. These charter aircraft aren’t the fastest in the world.”

Baird made up his mind. “Then I’ll have to do what I can for these people until we arrive at Vancouver. I’ll need my bag. Do you think it can be reached? I checked it at Toronto.”

“We can try,” said the captain. “I hope it’s near the top. Let me have your tags, Doctor.”

Baird’s long fingers probed into his hip pocket and came out with his wallet. From this he took two baggage tickets and handed them to Dun.

“There are two bags, Captain,” he said. “It’s the smaller one I want. There isn’t much equipment in it — just a few things I always carry around. But they’ll help.”

He had barely finished speaking before the aircraft gave a violent lurch. It sent the two men sprawling to the far wall. There was a loud, persistent buzzing. The captain was on his feet first and sprang to the intercom telephone.

“Captain here,” he rapped out. “What’s wrong, Pete?”

The voice of the first officer was struggling and painful. “I’m… sick… come quickly.”

“You’d better come with me,” said Dun to the doctor and they left the galley rapidly. “Sorry about the bump,” Dun remarked affably to the upturned faces as they walked along the aisle. “Just a little turbulence.”

As they burst into the flight deck, it was only too apparent that the first officer was very sick; his face a mask of perspiration, he was slumped in his seat, clutching the control column with what was obviously all his strength.

“Get him out of there,” directed the captain urgently. Baird and Janet, who had followed the men in, seized the copilot and lifted him out and away from the controls, while Dun slipped into his own seat and took the column in his hands.

“There’s a seat at the back of the flight deck, for when we carry a radio operator,” he told them. “Put him there.”

With an agonizing retch, Pete spewed on to the deck as they helped him to the vacant seat and propped him against the wall. Baird loosened the first officer’s collar and tie and tried to make him as comfortable as the conditions would allow. Every few seconds Pete would jackknife in another croaking, straining retch.

“Doctor,” called the captain, his voice tense, “what is it? What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure,” said Baird grimly. “But there’s a common denominator to these attacks. There has to be. The most likely thing is food. What was it we had for dinner?”

“The main course was a choice of meat or fish,” said Janet. “You probably remember, Doctor — you had—”

“Meat!” cut in Baird. “About — what? — two, three hours ago. What did he have?” He indicated the first officer.

Janet’s face began to register alarm. “Fish,” she almost whispered.

“Do you remember what the other two passengers had?”

“No — I don’t think so—”

“Go back quickly and find out, will you, please?”

The stewardess hurried out, her face pale. Baird knelt beside the first officer who sat swaying with the motion of the aircraft, his eyes closed. “Try to relax,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you something in a few minutes that’ll help the pain. Here.” He reached up and pulled down a blanket from a rack. “You’ll feel better if you stay warm.”

Pete opened his eyes a little and ran his tongue over dry lips. “Are you a doctor?” he asked. Baird nodded. Pete said with a sheepish attempt to smile, “I’m sorry about all this mess. I thought I was going to pass out.”

“Don’t talk,” said Baird. “Try to rest.”

“Tell the captain he’s sure right about my ham-handed—”

“I said don’t talk. Rest and you’ll feel better.”

Janet returned. “Doctor,” she spoke rapidly, hardly able to get the words out quickly enough. “I’ve checked both those passengers. They both had salmon. There are three others complaining of pains now. Can you come?”

“Of course. But I’ll need that bag of mine.”

Dun called over his shoulder, “Look, I can’t leave here now, Doctor, but I’ll see that you get it immediately. Janet, take these tags. Get one of the passengers to help you and dig out the smaller of the doctor’s two bags, will you?” Janet took the tags from him and turned to the doctor to speak again, but Dun continued, “I’m going to radio Vancouver and report what’s happening. Is there anything you want me to add?”

“Yes,” said Baird. “Say we have three serious cases of suspected food poisoning and that there seem to be others developing. You can say we’re not sure but we suspect that the poisoning could have been caused by fish served on board. Better ask them to put a ban on all food originating from the same source as ours — at least until we’ve established the cause of the poisoning for certain.”

“I remember now,” exclaimed Dun. “That food didn’t come from the caterers who usually supply the airlines. Our people had to get it from some other outfit because we were so late getting into Winnipeg.”

“Tell them that, Captain,” said Baird. “That’s what they’ll need to know.”

“Doctor, please,” Janet implored him. “I do wish you’d come and see Mrs. Childer. She seems to have collapsed altogether.”

Baird stepped to the door. The lines in his face had deepened, but his eyes as he held Janet’s with them were steady as a rock.

“See that the passengers are not alarmed,” he instructed. “We shall be depending on you a great deal. Now if you’ll be good enough to find my bag and bring it to me, I’ll be attending to Mrs. Childer.” He pushed back the door for her, then stopped her as something occurred to him. “By the way, what did you eat for dinner?”

“I had meat,” the young stewardess answered him.

“Thank heavens for that, then.” Janet smiled and made to go on again, but he gripped her suddenly, very hard, by the arm. “I suppose the captain had meat, too?” He shot the question at her.

She looked up at him, as if at the same time trying both to remember and to grasp the implications of what he had asked.

Then, suddenly, shock and realization flooded into her. She almost fell against him, her eyes dilated with an immense and overpowering fear.

THREE

0745—0220

BRUNO BAIRD regarded the stewardess thoughtfully. Behind the calm reassurance of his blue-gray eyes his mind rapidly assessed the situation, weighing with the habit of years one possibility against another. He released the girl’s arm.

“Well, we won’t jump to conclusions,” he said, almost to himself. Then, more briskly, “You find my bag — just as quickly as you can. Before I see Mrs. Childer I’ll have another word with the captain.”

He retraced his steps forward. They were now in level flight above the turbulence. Over the pilot’s shoulder he could see the cold white brilliance of the moon, converting the solid carpet of cloud below them into a seemingly limitless landscape of snow with here and there what looked for all the world like a pinnacle of ice thrusting its craggy outcrop through the surrounding billows. The effect was dreamlike.

“Captain,” he said, leaning over the empty copilot’s seat. Dun looked round, his face drawn and colorless in the moon glare. “Captain, this has to be fast. There are people very sick back there and they need attention.”

Dun nodded quickly. “Yes, Doctor. What is it?”

“I presume you ate after the other officer did?”

“Yes, that’s so.”

“How long after?”

Dun’s eyes narrowed. “About half an hour, I’d say. Maybe a little more, but not much.” The point of the doctor’s question suddenly hit him. He sat upright with a jerk and slapped the top of the control column with the flat of his hand. “Holy smoke, that’s right. I had fish too.”

“D’you feel all right?”

The captain nodded. “Yes. Yes, I feel okay.”

“Good.” Relief showed in Baird’s voice. “As soon as I’ve got my bag I’ll give you an emetic.”

“Will that get rid of it?”

“Depends. You can’t have digested it all yet. Anyway, it doesn’t follow that everyone who ate fish will be affected — logic doesn’t enter into these things. You could be the one to avoid trouble.”

“I’d better be,” muttered Dun, staring now into the moonglow ahead.

“Now listen,” said Baird. “Is there any way of locking the controls of this airplane?”

“Why yes,” said Dun. “There’s the automatic pilot. But that wouldn’t get us down—”

“I suggest you switch it on, or whatever you do, just in case. If you do happen to feel ill, yell for me immediately. I don’t know that I can do much, but if you do get any symptoms they’ll come on fast.”

The knuckles of Dun’s hands gleamed white as he gripped the control column. “Okay,” he said quietly. “What about Miss Benson, the stewardess?”

“She’s all right. She had meat.”

“Well, that’s something. Look, for heaven’s sake hurry with that emetic. I can’t take any chances, flying this ship.”

“Benson is hurrying. Unless I’m mistaken there are at least two people back there in a state of deep shock. One more thing,” Baird said, looking straight at the captain. “Are you absolutely certain that we’ve no other course but to go on?”

“Certain,” answered Dun instantly. “I’ve checked and double-checked. Thick cloud and ground fog until the other side of the mountains. Calgary, Edmonton, Lethbridge — all closed to traffic. That’s routine, when ground visibility is zero. In the normal way, it wouldn’t worry us.”

“Well, it worries us now.”

The doctor stepped back to leave, but Dun shot at him, “Just a minute.” As the doctor paused, he went on, “I’m in charge of this flight and I must know the facts. Lay it on the line. What are the chances that I’ll be all right?”

Baird shook his head angrily, his composure momentarily deserting him. “I wouldn’t know,” he said savagely. “You just can’t apply any rules to a thing like this.”

He was halted again before he could leave the flight deck.

“Oh, Doctor.”

“Yes?”

“Glad you’re aboard.”

Baird left without another word. Dun took a deep breath, thinking over what had been said and searching in his mind for a possible course of action. Not for the first time in his flying career, he felt himself in the grip of an acute sense of apprehension, only this time his awareness of his responsibility for the safety of a huge, complex aircraft and nearly sixty lives was tinged with a sudden icy premonition of disaster. Was this, then, what it felt like? Older pilots, those who had been in combat in the war, always maintained that if you kept at the game long enough you’d buy it in the end. How was it that in the space of half an hour a normal, everyday, routine flight, carrying a crowd of happy football fans, could change into a nightmare nearly four miles above the earth, something that would shriek across the front pages of a hundred newspapers?

He pushed the thoughts from him in violent self-disgust. There were things to do, things requiring his complete concentration. Putting out his right hand he flicked the switches on the automatic pilot panel, waiting until each control became fully orientated and the appropriate indicator light gleamed to show that the next stage of the switching over could be started. Ailerons first, needing a slight adjustment of the compensating dial to bring them fully under electrical control; then rudder and elevators were nursed until all the four lights set into the top of the panel had ceased winking and settled down to a steady glow. Satisfied, Dun glanced at his p.d.i. dial and took his hands off the wheel. Sitting back in his seat, he let the aircraft fly itself while he carried out a thorough cockpit check. To an inexperienced eye, the flight deck presented a weird sight. Just as though two invisible men sat in the pilots’ seats, the twin control columns moved slightly forward, backwards, then forward again. Compensating the air currents as they gently buffeted the aircraft, the rudder bar moved also, as if of its own volition. Across the great spread of the dual instument panel the dozens of needles each registered its own particular story.

His check completed, he reached for the microphone that hung on its hook beside his head. He quickly clipped it to his neck and adjusted the padded earphones. The boom mike swung round at his touch so that the thin steel curve almost caressed his cheek. Aggressively, he blew at his mustache, puffing it up so that it practically touched his nose. Well, he thought to himself, here goes.

The switch was at send and his voice sounded calm and unhurried.

“Hullo, Vancouver Control. This is Maple Leaf Charter Flight 714. I have an emergency message. I have an emergency message.”

His earphones crackled instantly: “Maple Leaf Charter Flight 714. Come in please.”

“Vancouver Control. This is Flight 714. Listen. We have three serious cases of suspected food poisoning on board, including the first officer, and possibly others. When we land we shall want ambulances and medical help standing by. Please warn hospitals near the airfield. We’re not sure but we think the poisoning may have been caused by the fish served on board at dinner. You’d better put a ban on all food coming from the same source until the trouble has been definitely located. We understand that owing to our late arrival at Winnipeg the food was not supplied by the regular airline contractor. Please check. Is this understood?”

He listened to the acknowledgment, his eyes gazing bleakly at the frozen sea of cloud below and ahead. Vancouver Control sounded as crisp and impersonal as ever but he could guess at the verbal bomb he had exploded down there on the far western seaboard and the burst of activity his words would have triggered off. Almost wearily, he ended the transmission and leaned back in his seat. He felt strangely heavy and tired, as if lead had begun to flow into his limbs. The instrument dials, as his eyes ran automatically over them, seemed to recede until they were far, far away. He was conscious of a cold film of sweat on his forehead and he shivered in a sudden uncontrollable spasm. Then, in a renewal of anger at the perfidy of his body at such a time of crisis, he flung himself with all his strength and concentration into rechecking their flight path, their estimated time of arrival, the expected cross winds over the mountains, the runway plan of Vancouver. He had little idea whether it was a few minutes or several before his preparations were complete. He reached for his log book, opened it and looked at his wrist watch. With a dull and painful slowness his mind began to grapple with the seemingly Herculean task of trying to fix times to the events of the night.