his head slowly, regretfully. "I'm sure it was an interesting film, but I don't believe it would work in real life. Unless our theoretical secret agency has perfected some sort of ultra-wide-screen 3-D projection, I think not. Whatever is happening is not just going on inside this plane, Albert, and that is where deduction breaks down."
"But the pilot!" Albert said wildly. "What about him just happening to be here at the right place and time?"
"Are you a baseball fan, Albert?"
"Huh? No. I mean, sometimes I watch the Dodgers on TV, but not really."
"Well, let me tell you what may be the most amazing statistic ever recorded in a game which thrives on statistics. In 1957, Ted Williams reached base on sixteen consecutive at-bats. This streak encompassed six baseball games. In 1941, Joe DiMaggio batted safely in fifty-six straight games, but the odds against what DiMaggio did pale next to the odds against Williams's accomplishment, which have been put somewhere in the neighborhood of two billion to one. Baseball fans like to say DiMaggio's streak will never be equalled. I disagree. But I'd be willing to bet that, if they're still playing baseball a thousand years from now, Williams's sixteen on-bases in a row will still stand."
"All of which means what?"
"It means that I believe Captain Engle's presence on board tonight is nothing more or less than an accident, like Ted Williams's sixteen consecutive on-bases. And, considering our circumstances, I'd say it's a very lucky accident indeed. If life was like a mystery novel, Albert, where coincidence is not allowed and the odds are never beaten for long, it would be a much tidier business. I've found, though, that in real life coincidence is not the exception but the rule."
"Then what is happening?" Albert whispered.
Jenkins uttered a long, uneasy sigh. "I'm the wrong person to ask, I'm afraid. It's too bad Larry Niven or John Varley isn't on board."
"Who are those guys?"
"Science-fiction writers," Jenkins said.
3
"I don't suppose you read science fiction, do you?" Nick Hopewell asked suddenly. Brian turned around to look at him. Nick had been sitting quietly in the navigator's seat since Brian had taken control of Flight 29, almost two hours ago now. He had listened wordlessly as Brian continued trying to reach someone - anyone - on the ground or in the air.
"I was crazy about it as a kid," Brian said. "You?"
Nick smiled. "Until I was eighteen or so, I firmly believed that the Holy Trinity consisted of Robert Heinlein, John Christopher, and John Wyndham. I've been sitting here and running all those old stories through my head, matey. And thinking about such exotic things as time-warps and space-warps and alien raiding parties."
Brian nodded. He felt relieved; it was good to know he wasn't the only one who was thinking crazy thoughts.
"I mean, we don't really have any way of knowing if anything is left down there, do we?"
"No," Brian said. "We don't."
Over Illinios, low-lying clouds had blotted out the dark bulk of the earth far below the plane. He was sure it still was the earth - the Rockies had looked reassuringly familiar, even from 36,000 feet - but beyond that he was sure of nothing. And the cloud cover might hold all the way to Bangor. With Air Traffic Control out of commission, he had no real way of knowing. Brian had been playing with a number of scenarios, and the most unpleasant of the lot was this: that they would come out of the clouds and discover that every sign of human life - including the airport where he hoped to land - was gone. Where would he put this bird down then?
"I've always found waiting the hardest part," Nick said.
The hardest part of what? Brian wondered, but he did not ask.
"Suppose you took us down to 5,000 feet or so?" Nick proposed suddenly. "Just for a quick look-see. Perhaps the sight of a few small towns and interstate highways will set our minds at rest."
Brian had already considered this idea. Had considered it with great longing. "It's tempting," he said, "but I can't do it."
"Why not?"
"The passengers are still my first responsibility, Nick. They'd probably panic, even if I explained what I was going to do in advance. I'm thinking of our loudmouth friend with the pressing appointment at the Pru in particular. The one whose nose you twisted."
"I can handle him," Nick replied. "Any others who cut up rough,