Free Mayday at Two Thousand Five Hundred by Frank Peretti

stopped. “Oh, not bad, considering.”
    â€œYou’ve been out for a while.”
    â€œI feel like it. But I feel better. Maybe the nap did me some good.”
    Dr. Cooper felt Brock’s joyous slap on his back as he replied, “That’s great. Jay, you’re out over the Olympic Peninsula heading for the ocean. How about a left turn on that autopilot to get you headed back toward Seattle?”
    â€œI think I can handle that.”
    With jubilation, Brock and Dr. Cooper saw Eight Yankee Tango begin a gradual, steady left turn.
    â€œAnd how about a touch of power,” Cooper radioed. “You’ve lost a bit of altitude and we’d like to get you back up again.”
    â€œOkay. Adding some power.”
    â€œHow’s Rex?”
    â€œStill out,” came the answer.
    A few cheers went up from the people gathered in the lounge as they saw Eight Yankee Tango turning back toward home, accompanied by Brock’s Skylane, the news helicopters, and the lumbering Coast Guard Two Zero Bravo. They’d heard Jay’s voice and were glad he was awake again, but they knew the danger wasn’t over.
    â€œWhat do you think they’re going to do now?”
    one reporter asked another.
    â€œProbably ditch it in Puget Sound,” the other answered.
    Lila didn’t like the sound of that. “Ditch it?”
    Johnny Adair was on hand to explain, “Just have him land in the water, then they come down with the chopper and some divers and pluck them out.
    Simple.”
    Lila studied the television images. “Why don’t they just have Jay land it?”
    Adair replied quietly, “That would be impossible.
    Your brother can’t see.”
    But the idea stuck in her head, as ideas in Lila’s head were often prone to do. She confided to her aunt, “I think he could land it.”
    A reporter wearing a headset addressed the camera from on-board chopper seven, the Olympic Mountains visible through the window behind her, the whine of the helicopter audible behind her voice. “Fourteen-year-old Jay Cooper, who has been unconscious, is again conscious and coherent. He’s turned the airplane around, and now the airplane is heading back toward Seattle. According to a Boeing Tower spokesman, it is very likely the boy’s father, acting as a seeing-eye pilot, will try to guide his son to an attempted water landing in Puget Sound.”
    Dr. Cooper and Brock were on the radio with the tower chief and a representative from the Coast Guard.
    Dr. Cooper was feeling grim. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see if he’s up to that.”
    â€œHe’ll have to be,” Ben Parker replied. “But you don’t have to tell him everything.”
    â€œI understand.” Dr. Cooper switched to the other radio tuned to the Auburn frequency, the one they’d been using to talk to Jay all this time. But he didn’t call. He sat there, struggling within himself.
    Brock offered, “You don’t have to tell him.”
    â€œYes I do,” Dr. Cooper protested. “I know Jay. He’s going to ask. It’s going to matter to him, as well it should.”
    â€œSo what are you going to tell him?”
    â€œWhat I’ve always told him: the truth.” He pressed his talk button. “Jay, as near as we can figure, you only have about forty to forty-five minutes of fuel left. Now, the Coast Guard tried to fly over and snag you with a cable, but that didn’t work and wealmost lost you. So the plan now is to get you back to the Sound, set up a safe descent rate, and land you in the water. The Coast Guard chopper will follow you and drop divers and life rafts to pull you out.
    Does that sound like a plan?”
    Jay had plenty of questions, but for now said simply, “Okay.”
    â€œNow son . . . ,” his father purposely spoke evenly, clearly. “You need to take a careful inventory of your abilities. I won’t