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Off the Chart
Off the Chart
Off the Chart
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Off the Chart

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A terrorist’s mad attempt to bring down a commercial airliner results in a crash landing. The first question the survivors must answer is where they are—since the rugged winter landscape is off the charts.

Smith Hagaman’s first novel is an epic tale of hardy souls struggling who survive a horrifying tragedy only to discover the most dangerous part of their story has just begun. There are murderers in their midst and intrigue in their journey back to civilization.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 10, 2012
ISBN9781301547487
Off the Chart

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    Off the Chart - Smith McCartney Hagaman

    Chapter One

    The loudspeaker at Heathrow announced the flight to Hong Kong.  Two businessmen seated next to each other in the waiting room were relieved to hear that, but for very different reasons.  One of them, Tom Hawkins, was anxious to leave London before he was spotted. Tom had spent the last six hours of flight delay talking and laughing with his newfound friend, Roger Gravely, in order to exhibit the most gregarious manner possible.  It had worked.  A man in a leather coat across the waiting room never gave Tom a second glance.  That man was on the lookout for his target, a man named Tom Hawkins, who would be trying to slip out of London unnoticed.  Hawkins was to be eliminated by whatever means it took.  He did not spot Tom, but Tom certainly kept an eye on him.

    Tom thought of the many events in his life which had proven that the old saying, timing is everything, is true.  Now it had happened again.  When someone had Mr. Thomas Hawkins paged to report to the ticket counter, Roger had been in the men’s room.  This allowed Tom to continue to idly leaf through a magazine without flinching at all.

    When Roger left the men’s lounge, he was tempted to sit somewhere else in order to get some quiet time but he decided that was too rude even from one American to another.

    He went back and sat beside Tom

    So, what was that all about? was Roger’s first question.

    What?

    I heard you being paged.

    Oh, that, Tom managed that innocent look he could always count on.  It was absolutely amazing. Evidently I had dropped my papers, passport and all, and someone turned them in at the counter.  The person didn’t even wait to be thanked.

    Unbelievable. 

    * * *

    Roger was a legitimate businessman who was having problems with his Chinese contact in Hong Kong. He was unaware of having been used to help fool Tom’s pursuer.  His biggest concern was just getting to Hong Kong in time to straightened out a problem with his Chinese supplier of gas grills.

    When you sell only one product to only one customer, and you make about $100,000 a year, poor quality can be a disaster.  Roger sold gas grills to the Wentworth Stores of London chain," and the quality of the latest shipment had been below normal.  Now he was on his way to meet his grill supplier.  Roger had returned this shipment and reordered to cover Wentworth’s needs.  To the Chinese, such a return was almost a slap in the face.  But Roger did have about thirteen hours to prepare a talk which would blame his supplier’s suppliers, thus avoiding a direct insult.

    Roger would have used the six hour flight delay to prepare, but his seatmate, Tom, had been almost a compulsive talker.  It occurred to Roger that Tom had done most of the talking but had revealed almost nothing about himself.

    Time had taught Tom Hawkins that his profession was often misunderstood and rarely appreciated, so he no longer discussed it with anyone at all.

    Heathrow is one of the busiest airports in the world and this waiting room for the Hong Kong flight held passengers from many countries.  Here, their varied languages served to separate them from each other.  None imagined that, for a few of them, they would soon be so desperately linked together that even language could not come between them.

    Tom was from Kansas City, Kansas and was going to Hong Kong.  Other than that, all he told Roger was a not-so-brief outline of the Great Circle system of navigation.  It was fairly interesting and it did pass the time.  Tom explained that, since the earth is round, any route between two points will be a curved line. But the shortest curved line between two points is an arc of a great circle.  And a great circle is the perimeter of a disc that would cut the earth into two equal parts.  After they boarded and were seated together, he continued and illustrated this by examples. 

    He asked, If you were going to fly a plane from New York to Tokyo, which way would you take off? 

    Roger sensed a trick question and replied, I’d take off west.

    Naw.  The shortest route, great circle, out of New York would be to aim just west of the North Pole.  You’d take off north by northwest.

    Listen, he continued, Madrid is almost exactly due east of New York.  But if you took off due east, you’d fly at least 100 miles more than if you took a great circle route.

    Roger’s mind was starting to wander, but Tom started in again, On this great circle, at 465 mph, we’ll be there in about thirteen hours.  Then Tom thought to himself, I’ve already been paid and now I just wish this was over and done with.

    When Roger thought he was through, Tom said, This great circle deal is not like your local bus line, you know.  We don’t go from one town to the next.  Fact is, the great circle from London to Hong Kong will cross over some of the most remote places on the face of the earth; not that we could see anything much from 30,000 feet. 

    Tom got up and moved about the plane.  After he had determined that the man in the leather coat had not boarded the plane, he came back, quit talking and went to sleep.

    Roger had made this trip many times and Tom knew that.  Roger found it interesting that Tom would assume he didn’t know all this about the great circle. It was a trait Roger had seen before.  It seemed that some personalities, in the absence of imagination, just recited lots of facts, assuming somehow that their facts were exclusive to themselves.

    The other passengers were beginning to settle in for the long haul.  An older man across the aisle from Roger was seated beside an older woman who was absolutely beautiful.  He seemed in need of sleep and the woman tended him and arranged his pillow with great care. He was a dark, interesting looking man whose neat beard was showing some gray.  When he soon fell asleep, the handsome man on the other side of the woman attempted conversation.  She politely declined and opened a book.

    In the seat in front of Roger was a middle-aged man to whom Roger had spoken in the airport. The man had introduced himself as James T. Manning; not Jim Manning or James Manning but James T. Manning.  His face was fixed in a permanent expression of annoyance.  Roger had noticed that expression because, even though he was only twenty-seven, he had made himself a promise never to let his face take a set as they say.  To him, faces like that meant the end of inspiration, and exuberance, and belly laughs. If your face took a set, you couldn’t even pump your fist and say Yes! properly.

    Chapter Two

    A few seats up ahead were two Chinese women, probably mother and daughter.  They were talking quietly, but with great excitement as if they had been apart for a while.  Roger was still just mediocre in the Chinese language but he caught the idea that they had some kind of deadline to meet.  Everything they had on was silk, including their shoes.

    As the plane climbed out of the English clouds, the captain came on the intercom. Welcome ladies and gentlemen to flight two eleven from London to Hong Kong.  We will be flying at approximately 30,000 feet at a speed of about 465 miles per hour,  at which, Tom woke and nodded wisely.  Our departure time was eight p.m. and our flying time is about thirteen hours.  When we land, it will be nine a.m., your time.  It will be four p.m. their time.  Please let our flight crew know of anything  you need to make your trip more enjoyable.  Thank you for flying International.  Quiet fell over the cabin and the big jet engines hummed most of the passengers to sleep, including Tom Hawkins.

    * * *

    The name tag of their flight attendant said Katie Ryan and her accent confirmed that.  Roger had lived in London long enough to know The Irish when he heard it.  She walked the aisle carefully peering at each passenger with genuine interest.  After she had checked the entire cabin, she stopped for a moment to speak with Roger, who was one of the few still awake.  It was then that Mr. James T. Manning snapped his fingers to call Katie to his seat.  She went to him with concern.  He asked her to bring him a scotch and soda.  Katie told him she would get it just as soon as she had completed her rounds. He took her arm and pressed a large bill into her hand. 

    I’d like that drink now, he said.

    Katie smiled and said, Thank you, but we are not allowed to take tips. Manning was getting louder.

    What do you mean, no tips?  Will I not get the special service that was advertised on this flight? 

    Katie spoke carefully, Yes sir, you will get special service- just like all our passengers will.  Five minutes later Katie brought the scotch and soda. 

    As she left, Manning called her back. Young lady, there is no ice in this drink! 

    Sir, you didn’t order ice. 

    Manning barked, I didn’t order a napkin either but there are some things that are just expected.

    Roger noticed that Katie’s hair was a little redder than just brown. Katie leaned over and spoke quietly to Manning, but Roger could hear.  Sir, in Europe ice is never put in unless requested.  By now, Roger was ashamed to realize that Manning was American. 

    Manning became sarcastic, Well, I do hereby formally request that you put ice in it, for God’s sake!

    Since Tom was now asleep, Roger could concentrate on his problem in Hong Kong.  In thinking about that, he started remembering how he had gotten into this business in the first place.

    Chapter Three

    Roger and his friend Harry Miles, who live in the same London condominium complex, had gone off on a last-minute three day golf trip to Wales.  They both loved golf and they chose Wales because, even without reservations, they knew they could always get tee times. Wales is only a little over 150 miles long and fifty miles wide but it has about 150 golf courses.

    They left on Tuesday and would return on Friday.  That was because Harry worked at Wentworth and had to work weekends.  Roger didn’t yet have that problem.  He had moved from Ohio to London at the urging of his uncle Will, who was sponsoring him until he found himself.  At this point, he was still lost.

    They had two and a half days of great golf, and even got to play eighteen holes at the Twenty Ten Course at Celtic Manor Resort.  That is where the 2010 Ryder cup would probably be played, thank you very much.  On their return Friday afternoon, their train stopped in the pleasant little Welsh seaport town of Porthmadog.  As they were stretching their legs, they heard an auctioneer’s chant.  They wandered down to the dock and learned that the entire cargo of a decrepit little cargo ship was being sold for unsettled debts for fuel and supplies and dock fees.

    Most of the cargo was packed in cubes with a corner torn off to show what was in it.  Evidently the sale had not been well announced, for the crowd was small and those who were there were not really into it.  The main problem, it seemed, was that the cargo would be sold only in full cubes; nothing less.  The creditors, of course, had their agent present bidding about fifteen percent of what the items were worth. Roger noticed that a cube of 1,000 gas grills was being sold and the bidding had gone smoothly up to £12,900.

    Who’ll give me twelve thousand nine hundred and fifty? called the auctioneer.  This was entertaining.  Roger waved his hand. 

    Who’ll give me 13,000? called the auctioneer.  Then he said it again, and then again. 

    Sold, he said.

    Roger and Harry stared at each other in disbelief.  When the shock subsided, Roger groped for his cell phone and dialed uncle Will.

    Heeey, Uncle Will.  How’s it going?

    Oh, I’m fine.  In fact, I think I just may have found myself.  Say, could you wire 12,950 pounds to me in Porthmadog?

    Since Roger had to arrange storage for his purchase, he had to take a later train.  Harry decided to stay also. On the train home that night, Roger was thinking, but nothing was coming up.

    Harry said, Well, you could always sell them on the street corner, but then if you did that, it might take business away from us folks at Wentworth.

    Roger turned to him and asked "Does Wentworth ever run one day specials or loss leaders or anything like that?’

    Well, yeah they do, but only someone in merchandising would know anything about that.

    Roger’s response was quick.  Name me names, he said.  Name me names.

    That’s how it started. 

    * * *

    After selling the grills to Wentworth for one of their special purchase sales, Roger did keep one.  He could see only that they were made in China and of good quality. But, wanting more information, he took it apart and found the name of a Chinese village stamped on the manifold of the burner. Having sold them to Wentworth for £26,000, he had planned his first trip to China.

    Chapter Four

    Two hours into this flight, Roger had made most of the decisions about his talk with Wong Ling, the man who furnished the grills. He planned the talk using Chinese words he knew.  But the word reputation was a necessary part of what he had to say and Roger did not know the Chinese equivalent for it.  He did notice that the two Chinese women were still awake and this would be a logical reason for him to introduce himself, which he had been wanting to do anyway.  He got up and walked to their seat.  At a respectful distance from them he stopped and bowed slightly. 

    Please pardon me.  My name is Roger Gravely and I need your assistance with a Chinese translation.  Could you be kind enough to help me?

    Both women bowed their heads toward this attractive young foreigner.  Then the younger one said, She, Guo Mei.  I, Guo Xui Li.  She pronounced it May and Shoe Lee.

    With the introductions completed, Roger continued, Please, what is the Chinese word for ‘reputation’?

    Xui Li turned to Mei and they chatted softly for a moment.  I sorry.  Not well know that word, she apologized.

    Both these women were charming in their own way and Roger tried his best to prolong this meeting.  But his shortcomings in their language and theirs in his made his further presence there a bit embarrassing.  All three bowed politely and Roger returned to his seat.

    * * *

    As he sat down, the gentleman across the aisle from him spoke.

    I am sorry, I could hear what you asked.  Did you want to use the word reputation referring to a person or to a product?

    You speak Chinese? Roger smiled hopefully.

    Just a bit, said the man, who then introduced himself.  My name is Viktor Vasilyev, Roger Gravely, and this is Galya Vasilyev.  The sleeping Tom Hawkins missed this introduction which would have stunned him if he had heard it.

    After they shook hands, Roger said, Your question was a good one.  I’m referring to a personal, and /or, a product reputation.

    "There are perhaps fifteen or twenty Chinese words referring to reputation but I think the one you want is ming shen," said Viktor.

    Viktor’s speech was almost old world, but he spoke of modern matters with understanding and authority. As the Vasilyevs had lain with their heads facing each other, Roger had not seen Viktor’s eyes, but he had seen that Gayla lay looking at Viktor by the hour.  She was near sixty, perhaps, but her beauty was far too classic to be diminished by mere time.

    So, Roger had gotten much information: a word translation, and the fact that the Guos were mother and daughter and the Vasilyevs were husband and wife.  He dozed off, pleased with his plans and pleased that he was surrounded by such attractive people.

    Chapter Five

    Around midnight Roger went up toward the restroom.  He stopped to chat a moment with Katie and another stewardess, who were straightening up the trays and bottles and cups of their trade.  They had also been going over the passenger list lying on a counter. Roger looked at it as they talked and was surprised to see beside Manning’s name a note saying (party of three).  Then he saw his own name with a note (party of two). 

    Thinking back, Roger remembered that he and Tom had gotten tickets together and were talking to each other at the time.  He supposed the agent assumed they were together.  He puzzled, though, about who the two with Manning could be.  The Chinese ladies and the Vasilyevs were the only ones near them who looked like a twosome.  Roger didn’t know that Manning had booked on this flight at the last minute and had to take what he could get.  That explained why he couldn’t get first class, and that left him completely unhappy and out of his element.

    Walking back to his seat, Roger looked at his fellow travelers, most of whom were sound asleep.  They looked pretty much like the other groups he had seen so often; a newlywed Chinese couple going home, students who had graduated, students who had failed, fresh young businessmen with valises and three piece suits, travel worn salesmen enduring this until they could retire.  Actually, only two passengers were notable.  The first was the one Roger and Tom called the Clarinet Commando.  He was obviously an Arab and his clarinet case was a carry on.  To them, he looked for all the world like a mad terrorist. So they had made it a point to watch him go through security.  The guards had scanned that clarinet and that case three or four times each.  He said he was to be the featured soloist next week in a Hong Kong orchestral concert.  The Arab was seated in first class so Roger figured it must be a pretty big concert.

    The other person of note was an older man with a kind face who seemed perfectly satisfied to sit alone with his thoughts.  Roger paused long enough to introduce himself.  The gentleman said his name was Edmund Helm and seemed glad to have the company. Although there was thirty or forty year’s difference in their ages, they found it easy to talk about some common interests.

    * * *

    In the cockpit of their 747, Mason Wells, 57, was the captain.  The co-pilot was Jerry Fox, 32, who referred to the captain as Mace and to himself as Foxy.  Frank Garden was back-up pilot who Jerry called a dot man.  In jazz, someone who does not ad lib at all is a dot man; he has to have written notes.  Frank Garden was 50 and for the past 25 years, he had dealt strictly with facts.  To him, the instruments were the facts.  He took great comfort in knowing, at any moment and at every moment, exactly where he was in the universe including altitude, speed, direction, and if on schedule.  Their back-up co-pilot, Jake, was asleep in the cubby hole bunk.

    Up in first class, Toby Shaw sat so she could watch all her passengers.  It was a matter of pride with her that she could almost anticipate their wishes.  First class is what they had paid for and first class was what they were going to get.  Mr. A. M. Wilson and the Arab passenger, Mr. Fadi Hadad, were the only ones in her care who were still awake.  Mr. Fadi sat playing his clarinet, but without sound and when he finished, he cleaned it as thoroughly as if he had really been playing.  He unscrewed the metal clip holding the reed.  He checked the reed carefully and put it away in the case.  Then he unscrewed the bell end from the body of the instrument and wiped it clean.  Toby watched this with interest, but turned away because now it was time to fix coffee for the pilots.  When she did, Hadad reached into the body of the clarinet and quickly withdrew a long black object.  It was a knife made of polycarbonate which had been brought to an edge sharp as steel.  The clarinet had been carefully made of the exact same material so that under security scopes of any kind the weapon would not be visible. Hadad slid the knife up his right sleeve and then reached under his seat.  With two quick twists he removed an already loosened metal seat brace which he hid up his left sleeve. 

    As Toby turned with the prepared tray, Fadi Hadad passed her on his way to the restroom.  As she passed the restroom, he stepped out and when she entered the cockpit, he was right behind her.  She didn’t even know he was there.  When the door closed behind them, he jammed the knife through Toby’s throat and in a single motion put the knife to Frank’s throat.  He shouted, You are on autopilot.  You both must lie face down on the floor or Garden dies right now. Both shocked pilots scrambled to obey.  Toby had already bled to death.

    Hadad forced Frank into the copilot seat with the knife still at his neck. He then reached directly to the control which jettisons fuel and activated it.  Next he smashed that control with his metal brace so it could not be deactivated and then proceeded to smash every instrument he could reach on all control panels.  With his eyes opened wide and staring he shouted Allah is great!

    Jerry was lying on the floor but when Toby’s blood

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