CHAPTER 3 — THE COCKPIT IS POISONED
CHAPTER 3 — THE COCKPIT IS POISONED
The words hit the cockpit harder than turbulence.
Grace's grip tightened on the back of the captain's seat.
"What did you say?"
Captain Robert Hale answered instead of the controller.
"Grace, listen carefully. Your aircraft continuously transmits environmental sensor data through the maintenance monitoring system. Engineers have just analyzed it."
A pause.
"They've detected increasing levels of organophosphate compounds inside the flight deck."
Malachi frowned.
"Organophosphate?"
"The kind used in certain industrial lubricants and hydraulic contaminants," Hale replied. "In high concentrations, they can shut down the nervous system."
Grace looked at the unconscious pilots.
Danny Cole's fingers twitched involuntarily.
Captain Pierce's breathing had become shallow and irregular.
"So they're being poisoned?"
"We believe they already were."
A chill ran through the cockpit.
Then Hale added the sentence no one wanted to hear.
"And if the leak continues... you will be next."
Grace instinctively stepped backward.
The metallic smell suddenly seemed stronger.
Hotter.
Almost sweet.
She hadn't noticed it before.
Now it was everywhere.
Malachi looked around the cockpit.
Not in panic.
In calculation.
His father's notebook flashed through his memory.
"Never chase the obvious failure. Find the source."
He scanned every overhead panel.
Every vent.
Every circuit breaker.
Every airflow indicator.
Then his eyes stopped.
The left cockpit ventilation indicator wasn't matching the right.
One valve showed OPEN.
The other showed CLOSED.
It made no sense.
He leaned closer.
"Captain Hale..."
"I'm looking."
"I think only one ventilation channel is contaminated."
"You sure?"
"I think the poison isn't coming from outside."
Grace stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
Malachi pointed toward the avionics bay beneath the cockpit floor.
"If it came from the engines, both channels would show contamination."
"They don't."
"Something below us is feeding one side."
Captain Hale became very quiet.
Then another voice appeared on the frequency.
"Maintenance Control."
An engineer.
"We're checking his theory."
Seconds passed.
Each one felt like an hour.
Then—
"My God..."
The engineer sounded horrified.
"The kid is right."
"What?"
"We've found abnormal airflow from the electronic equipment bay."
"There shouldn't be chemical vapor there."
Grace felt the blood drain from her face.
"So where is it coming from?"
The engineer didn't answer immediately.
When he finally spoke...
His voice shook.
"It may have been placed there."
Silence.
Even the warning alarms seemed quieter.
Placed there.
Not leaked.
Not accidental.
Someone had put it there.
Captain Hale spoke carefully.
"Grace..."
"I need you to answer one question."
"Did anyone enter the cockpit besides the pilots after departure?"
Grace closed her eyes.
She replayed everything.
Pushback.
Taxi.
Takeoff.
Coffee service.
Meal carts.
Crew rotations.
Passengers.
Then—
She remembered.
A man.
Maintenance uniform.
Dark blue overalls.
Airport security badge.
He had boarded just before the doors closed.
Said he needed "one final avionics inspection."
He had been inside the cockpit.
Three minutes.
Nobody questioned him.
Because everyone assumed someone else already had.
Grace opened her eyes.
"There was a maintenance technician."
Captain Hale's voice hardened instantly.
"Did you recognize him?"
"No."
"Did the captain?"
"I... I don't know."
The engineer interrupted.
"We're checking airport records."
Another pause.
Then—
"There is no technician assigned to Flight 782."
Grace felt sick.
The man had never existed.
Back in the cabin...
Rumors spread faster than facts.
Somebody shouted,
"There's poison on the plane!"
Another passenger screamed.
A child started crying hysterically.
Within seconds people were standing.
Opening overhead bins.
Reaching for bags.
Pushing into the aisles.
Grace heard the roar behind her.
She turned.
"No!"
"Sit down!"
Nobody listened.
Fear had taken control.
A businessman shoved past an elderly couple.
Someone else demanded a parachute.
A woman fainted.
The airplane remained stable.
The passengers did not.
Gerald Whitmore climbed onto an armrest.
"Everyone listen!"
His booming voice cut through the chaos.
"We need to get off this plane!"
Several people stared at him.
"Open the emergency exits!"
One passenger blinked.
"At thirty-five thousand feet?"
Gerald froze.
"...Right."
His confidence evaporated.
But panic had already spread.
People weren't thinking anymore.
They were reacting.
Exactly what killed people in emergencies.
Inside the cockpit, Malachi heard the noise behind him.
His breathing remained slow.
Steady.
His father had taught him something years ago.
"A frightened airplane is really a frightened cabin."
He picked up the intercom.
His voice was calm.
Almost impossibly calm.
"This is Malachi."
No title.
No pretending.
Just his name.
"I know you're scared."
"I am too."
The cabin slowly quieted.
"I need everyone to help me."
"If people stand up..."
"The airplane becomes harder to control."
"If you stay seated..."
"You give us the best chance."
A little girl in Row 28 looked toward the cockpit.
"Are we going to die?"
Every passenger held their breath.
Malachi answered honestly.
"I'm doing everything I can..."
"...to make sure we don't."
Somehow...
That truthful answer calmed them more than any lie could have.
Passengers slowly returned to their seats.
One by one.
Even Gerald.
Just as the last seatbelt clicked...
Every cockpit display flickered.
Once.
May you like
Twice.
Then half the instrument panel went black.
