in case of a sudden change of plan, though it wasn't likely. Lincoln International was to be alerted that Flight Two would require a straight-in emergency approach.
"Roger, Trans America Two. Detroit and Lincoln are being advised." A change of course followed. They were nearing the western shore of Lake Huron, the U.S.-Canadian border close.
On the ground, both pilots knew, Flight Two was now the center of attention. Controllers and supervisors in contiguous air route centers would be working intensely, coordinating removal of all traffic from the aircraft's path, sectors ahead warned of their approach, and airways cleared. Any request they made would be acted on with first priority.
As they crossed the border, Toronto Center signed off, adding to the final exchange, "Goodnight and good luck."
Cleveland Air Route Center responded to their call a moment later.
Glancing back toward the passenger cabins, through the gap where the flight deck door had been, Demerest could see figures moving---though indistinctly, because immediately after the door had gone, Cy Jordan had dimmed the first class cabin lights to avoid reflection on the flight deck. It appeared, though, as if passengers were being ushered forward, indicating that someone in the rear had taken charge---presumably Cy Jordan, who should be reporting again at any moment. The cold was still biting, even on the flight deck; back there it must be colder still. Once more, with a second's anguish, Demerest thought of Gwen, then ruthlessly cleared his mind, concentrating on what must be decided next.
Though only minutes had elapsed since the decision to risk another hour in the air, the time to begin planning their approach and landing at Lincoln International was now. As Harris continued flying, Vernon Demerest selected approach and runway charts and spread them on his knees.
Lincoln International was home base for both pilots, and they knew the airport---as well as runways and surrounding airspace---intimately. Safety and training, however, required that memory should be supplemented and checked.
The charts confirmed what both already knew.
For the high speed, heavy weight landing they must execute, the longest possible length of runway was required. Because of doubtful rudder control, the runway should be the widest, too. It must also be directly into wind which---the Lincoln forecast had said---was northwest at thirty knots, and gusting. Runway three zero answered all requirements.
"We need three zero," Demerest said.
Harris pointed out, "That last report said a temporary closing, due to obstruction."
"I heard," Demerest growled. "The damn runway's been blocked for hours, and all that's in the way is a stuck Mexican jet." He folded a Lincoln approach chart and clipped it to his control yoke, then exclaimed angrily, "Obstruction hell! We'll give 'em fifty more minutes to pry it loose."
As Demerest thumbed his mike button to inform air route control, Second Officer Cy Jordan---white-faced and shaken---returned to the flight deck.
PART THREE Chapter Eleven
IN THE MAIN terminal of Lincoln International, Lawyer Freemantle was puzzled.
It was most peculiar, he thought, that no one in authority had yet objected to the big, increasingly noisy demonstration of Meadowood residents who, at this moment, were monopolizing a large segment of the central concourse.
Earlier this evening, when Elliott Freemantle had asked the Negro police lieutenant for permission to hold a public censure meeting, he had been firmly refused. Yet here they were, with a curious crowd of spectators---and not a policeman in sight!
Freemantle thought again: it didn't make sense.
Yet what had happened was incredibly simple.
After the interview with the airport general manager, Bakersfeld, the delegation, led by Elliott Freemantle, had returned from the administrative mezzanine to the main concourse. There, the TV crews, whom Freemantle had talked with on the way in, had set up their equipment.
The remaining Meadowood residents---already at least five hundred strong, with more coming in---were gathering around the TV activity.
One of the television men told him, "We're ready if you are, Mr. Freemantle."
Two TV stations were represented, both planning separate film interviews for use tomorrow. With customary shrewdness, Freemantle had already inquired which TV shows the film was destined for, so that he could conduct himself accordingly. The first interview, he learned, was for a prime-time, popular show which liked controversy, liveliness, and even shock treatment. He was ready to supply all three.
The TV interviewer, a handsome young man with a Ronald Reagan haircut, asked, "Mr. Freemantle, why are you here?"
"Because this airport is a den of thieves."
"Will you explain that?"
"Certainly. The homeowners of Meadowood community are having thievery practiced on them. Thievery of their peace, their right to privacy, of their work-earned rest, and