Mark's cell phone let out the unmistakeable ring from the doctor's jacket
pocket. "Oh, hi Jess," he began in an optimistic tone. His eyes closed as
he let out the sigh that had been held within in the hope that what his
patients were suffering from was just an abnormal case of food poisoning or
something equally as minor. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Jesse
explained over the phone Amanda's findings and straight away the senior
physician knew he had the beginnings of an epidemic on his hands. "Thanks
Jess," murmured Mark as he snapped his phone shut, ending the call.
Steve re-entered the lounge carrying a pile of blankets and instantly noticed his fathers' expression. "Dad?" he queried. "Are you OK?" Mark looked up at his son, the normally vibrant blue eyes now somehow clouded by the situation unfolding around him. "That was Jess. Amanda had discovered that Olsen had a dead man in his apartment," "What?!" exclaimed Steve incredulously. "Who had contracted a serious and highly communicable disease - Haemocylanosis. And, judging by a blood sample found in his bathroom, Olsen appears to have contracted it." Mark continued. "OK, so how do we cure it?" asked Sally innocently, as she overheard the father and son conversation. "A powerful cocktail of antibiotics and specialist medical attention that just isn't available at 32,000ft!" Mark pointed out of the window at the cloud base outside. "You need to inform the captain. Have him contact London and apprise them of our situation." Steve instructed Sally. "If this is as contagious as my father believes, then we cannot land this plane at an airport where there are thousands of people." "Of course," the young woman agreed as she hurried off toward the flight deck. Steve returned his attention back to his father. "How contagious is this 'Haemo-whatsit' really?" "Highly. Everyone on this plane could be infected." Mark's face held the look of concern as he surveyed the increasing number of ill patients around him.
Moments later, Sally returned to the quarantine area severely distressed. "Dr Sloan, Dr Sloan - come quick!" "Sally, slow down," Mark soothed. "Now, what's the matter?" "The captain.he's unconscious!" Mark and Steve both looked at each other and with a quickened pace, followed the attendant along the corridor that lead to the flight deck. The co-pilot lay halfway between the cockpit area and the rest of the plane. His body holding the door ajar. The captain was still strapped into his seat, his head flopped limply to his right. "We've got to get these men to the quarantine area," Mark ordered. Between the three of them, both the pilot and co-pilot were removed from their prone positions and settled into the improvised hospital ward. "He's burning up," grimaced Mark as he felt the captain's forehead. A cooling ice drenched napkin was laid upon the fevered brow as Dr Sloan tended his latest patients.
Meanwhile, Steve had his own crisis to manage. With the pilot and co- pilot both unconscious, there was no one left to fly the plane! Fortunately, for everyone, the autopilot had already been engaged. Carefully, the detective eased himself into the bucket seat of the captain. He lifted the weighty headset and placed it upon his head. Searching the many dials, buttons and switches that presented themselves to him, Steve located the radio transmission switch. "Mayday, Mayday. This is Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 from Los Angeles to London requesting immediate assistance. Mayday, Mayday." Steve flicked the switch to receive. The earphones crackled and fizzed before a man's voice responded. "This is London Tower, go ahead please, Zenith 8-0-2." "London Tower," began the off duty Lieutenant trying not to let his nerves show in his voice. "This is Lieutenant Steve Sloan of the LAPD, badge number 384. We have an emergency situation on board." "This is London Tower, please change to frequency 287Mhz," instructed the air traffic controller through the building static. Steve scanned the instrumentation in front of him and saw a dial listed as radio frequency. Turning carefully in an anticlockwise motion he rotated the knob until the digital readout read 287 Mhz. "Hello London Tower, this is Lieutenant Sloan," The man's voice from earlier sounded in his ear, this time with improved clarity. "This is London Tower, please clarify your situation." "This is Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 from LA to London. The situation we have on board has left us without a pilot. It seems that there is a virus or infection on board that has affected one member of the cabin crew, the captain, co-pilot and a couple of passengers. My father is a doctor at Community General Hospital and is currently doing all he can. The aeroplane is flying on autopilot, but we will need assistance for landing." "Lieutenant Sloan, please await instructions." The line went silent for a few moments. "Lieutenant Sloan, Steve, we shall contact Zenith Airlines to find if you have another registered pilot aboard." "Contact Detective Tanis Archer, at the LAPD, she can help you with the court order for the information. She is aware of the situation." "Thank you and good luck!" The radio cracked once again bringing the conversation to an unresolved close.
On the upper deck Mark had his own crisis to cope with. Gavin Olsen's heart rate shot up and his breathing shallowed. Mark felt for the pulse in his neck. Suddenly, it stopped. "NO.don't you give up on me," uttered Mark to his patient as he began CPR.
Several minutes passed, but all Mark's efforts were futile, Gavin Olsen was officially pronounced dead. Mark hung his head, disappointed that he couldn't have done more to save his patient.
Steve sat bemused in the cockpit, watching the aeroplane fly itself when a call came in. "Flight 8-0-2, Zenith Airlines flight from LA to London, come in please. Detective Sloan, this is London Tower, come in please." "Sloan here, go ahead." "We have a call coming through from a Dr Jesse Travis, we will patch him direct to you, stand by." "Received, London Tower." A few seconds passed, in which time Steve was able to call Sally to pass the message on to his father that Jess was about to be in contact. Mark joined his son, with Sally close at his heels, just as the call was put through. Steve handed his father a set of headphones, which allowed the pair of them to communicate freely with their friend. The stewardess watched on, admiring the father/son relationship. "Hi Steve," began the young ER resident enthusiastically. "Hi Jess," both Sloan's chorused. "Oh Mark, you're there, good!" Jesse continued, relieved that he hadn't got to explain all the finer medical points to the detective. "Mark, Amanda has discovered that a cocktail of Detromyacin, Therocyclamine and Glycocyl attacks the virus." "That's a powerful combination," replied the airborne doctor stroking his white moustache thoughtfully. "But how are we going to get hold of any of those drugs up here - at 32,000ft?" A slow smile crept across Mark's face as a solution began to form in his mind. "Hold on Jess," commented Steve, as he noticed his father's expression. "I think my father is already working on that one." "Jess, can you get enough of the antidote together and have it delivered directly to the US Air Force base over at Cedar Ridge?" asked Mark. "Sure, but." Mark didn't wait to listen to Jesse's objections as he headed out the cockpit door. A purposeful stride took him towards the first class passengers. "Hey Steve, Tanis wants a word," announced Jess. "Hi Steve. Why is it trouble seems to follow you wherever you go?" his partner taunted playfully. "Just lucky I guess," a slight grin evident amid his angular features. "Good news! It seems you have a pilot on board." "Great!" exalted Steve barely restraining his optimism. "A Frank Burnett, he flew B52's back in Vietnam, so he should be able to handle a passenger jet." "Sally, do you think you can locate a passenger by the name of 'Frank Burnett'? He's a trained pilot and we could really use him at the moment!" Steve's humour covering the inward concern he felt. Tanis continued her briefing. "I also did some digging into Olsen's background. It appears that he had been making regular visits to Venezuela, which coincide with regular deposits of large sums of money into his bank account. It seems that our Mr Olsen has been smuggling illegal immigrants into the country to pay off some of his debts. Only this time it all went wrong. We found a dead body at Olsen's apartment infected with the same virus you seem to have onboard up there. He must have contracted the disease before he left for that flight but before he had chance to dispose of the body. He put our John Doe in the freezer, which prevented further contamination here in LA." "Thanks Tanis, I owe you the biggest rib dinner you can eat," grinned Steve. "You just make sure you make it back safely so you can serve it, OK?" she replied teasingly. "You're on!" joked Steve. At that moment, he was rejoined by his father and Senator Watson. "Detective Archer," began the politician, "This is Senator Owen Watson. Please could you contact Major Barry O'Nett at Cedar Ridge Air Force Base and have him despatch a jet with the antidote for this infection. He will work out the logistics, but I'm sure he can organise a mid-air transfer of the drugs." "Especially, as we now know we have a pilot aboard," chipped in Steve. "That's terrific," agreed Mark. The temporary flight crew could hear Jesse in the background authorising and organising the drugs they required to revive the ailing crew and passengers. Mark escorted the senator back to first class. "Do you think we can survive this, doctor?" "If we can get the antidote and land this plane safely - yes I do, Senator," replied Mark trying to convince himself as much as the nervous politician at his side.
On the journey back to first class, Dr Sloan was stopped by yet another passenger exhibiting the all too familiar symptoms of his other patients. Supporting the smartly dressed businessman by wrapping his arm around Mark's neck, the doctor assisted his latest admission to the temporary triage that was steadily growing in numbers.
As Mark tended one of the female patients with a cooling cloth to her forehead a familiar voice sounded behind him, which caused the white haired physician to jump. "Dr Sloan," began Sally. "This is Mr Burnett." Burnett extended his right hand, which Mark took and shook enthusiastically. "I understand you need my help?" Mark's gaze traversed from the handshake to Frank Burnett's face and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Burnett was Blind!
Mark escorted the former pilot to a nearby seat and sat beside him. As tactfully as he could, the doctor began to explain their situation. Burnett explained that he had lost his sight five years ago from a degenerative disease. However, he had experience in flying many types of aircraft, although passenger jets had never been one of them he could still guide someone through the procedures.
With little option but to accept Burnett's offer, both father and son Sloan prepared to continue the flight with a blind man at the helm. Steve agreed to be the 'captain's' eyes and read the dials, watch radar and be ready to help out with the next manoeuvre that could save everyone's lives or send them to an early grave at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
Steve re-entered the lounge carrying a pile of blankets and instantly noticed his fathers' expression. "Dad?" he queried. "Are you OK?" Mark looked up at his son, the normally vibrant blue eyes now somehow clouded by the situation unfolding around him. "That was Jess. Amanda had discovered that Olsen had a dead man in his apartment," "What?!" exclaimed Steve incredulously. "Who had contracted a serious and highly communicable disease - Haemocylanosis. And, judging by a blood sample found in his bathroom, Olsen appears to have contracted it." Mark continued. "OK, so how do we cure it?" asked Sally innocently, as she overheard the father and son conversation. "A powerful cocktail of antibiotics and specialist medical attention that just isn't available at 32,000ft!" Mark pointed out of the window at the cloud base outside. "You need to inform the captain. Have him contact London and apprise them of our situation." Steve instructed Sally. "If this is as contagious as my father believes, then we cannot land this plane at an airport where there are thousands of people." "Of course," the young woman agreed as she hurried off toward the flight deck. Steve returned his attention back to his father. "How contagious is this 'Haemo-whatsit' really?" "Highly. Everyone on this plane could be infected." Mark's face held the look of concern as he surveyed the increasing number of ill patients around him.
Moments later, Sally returned to the quarantine area severely distressed. "Dr Sloan, Dr Sloan - come quick!" "Sally, slow down," Mark soothed. "Now, what's the matter?" "The captain.he's unconscious!" Mark and Steve both looked at each other and with a quickened pace, followed the attendant along the corridor that lead to the flight deck. The co-pilot lay halfway between the cockpit area and the rest of the plane. His body holding the door ajar. The captain was still strapped into his seat, his head flopped limply to his right. "We've got to get these men to the quarantine area," Mark ordered. Between the three of them, both the pilot and co-pilot were removed from their prone positions and settled into the improvised hospital ward. "He's burning up," grimaced Mark as he felt the captain's forehead. A cooling ice drenched napkin was laid upon the fevered brow as Dr Sloan tended his latest patients.
Meanwhile, Steve had his own crisis to manage. With the pilot and co- pilot both unconscious, there was no one left to fly the plane! Fortunately, for everyone, the autopilot had already been engaged. Carefully, the detective eased himself into the bucket seat of the captain. He lifted the weighty headset and placed it upon his head. Searching the many dials, buttons and switches that presented themselves to him, Steve located the radio transmission switch. "Mayday, Mayday. This is Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 from Los Angeles to London requesting immediate assistance. Mayday, Mayday." Steve flicked the switch to receive. The earphones crackled and fizzed before a man's voice responded. "This is London Tower, go ahead please, Zenith 8-0-2." "London Tower," began the off duty Lieutenant trying not to let his nerves show in his voice. "This is Lieutenant Steve Sloan of the LAPD, badge number 384. We have an emergency situation on board." "This is London Tower, please change to frequency 287Mhz," instructed the air traffic controller through the building static. Steve scanned the instrumentation in front of him and saw a dial listed as radio frequency. Turning carefully in an anticlockwise motion he rotated the knob until the digital readout read 287 Mhz. "Hello London Tower, this is Lieutenant Sloan," The man's voice from earlier sounded in his ear, this time with improved clarity. "This is London Tower, please clarify your situation." "This is Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 from LA to London. The situation we have on board has left us without a pilot. It seems that there is a virus or infection on board that has affected one member of the cabin crew, the captain, co-pilot and a couple of passengers. My father is a doctor at Community General Hospital and is currently doing all he can. The aeroplane is flying on autopilot, but we will need assistance for landing." "Lieutenant Sloan, please await instructions." The line went silent for a few moments. "Lieutenant Sloan, Steve, we shall contact Zenith Airlines to find if you have another registered pilot aboard." "Contact Detective Tanis Archer, at the LAPD, she can help you with the court order for the information. She is aware of the situation." "Thank you and good luck!" The radio cracked once again bringing the conversation to an unresolved close.
On the upper deck Mark had his own crisis to cope with. Gavin Olsen's heart rate shot up and his breathing shallowed. Mark felt for the pulse in his neck. Suddenly, it stopped. "NO.don't you give up on me," uttered Mark to his patient as he began CPR.
Several minutes passed, but all Mark's efforts were futile, Gavin Olsen was officially pronounced dead. Mark hung his head, disappointed that he couldn't have done more to save his patient.
Steve sat bemused in the cockpit, watching the aeroplane fly itself when a call came in. "Flight 8-0-2, Zenith Airlines flight from LA to London, come in please. Detective Sloan, this is London Tower, come in please." "Sloan here, go ahead." "We have a call coming through from a Dr Jesse Travis, we will patch him direct to you, stand by." "Received, London Tower." A few seconds passed, in which time Steve was able to call Sally to pass the message on to his father that Jess was about to be in contact. Mark joined his son, with Sally close at his heels, just as the call was put through. Steve handed his father a set of headphones, which allowed the pair of them to communicate freely with their friend. The stewardess watched on, admiring the father/son relationship. "Hi Steve," began the young ER resident enthusiastically. "Hi Jess," both Sloan's chorused. "Oh Mark, you're there, good!" Jesse continued, relieved that he hadn't got to explain all the finer medical points to the detective. "Mark, Amanda has discovered that a cocktail of Detromyacin, Therocyclamine and Glycocyl attacks the virus." "That's a powerful combination," replied the airborne doctor stroking his white moustache thoughtfully. "But how are we going to get hold of any of those drugs up here - at 32,000ft?" A slow smile crept across Mark's face as a solution began to form in his mind. "Hold on Jess," commented Steve, as he noticed his father's expression. "I think my father is already working on that one." "Jess, can you get enough of the antidote together and have it delivered directly to the US Air Force base over at Cedar Ridge?" asked Mark. "Sure, but." Mark didn't wait to listen to Jesse's objections as he headed out the cockpit door. A purposeful stride took him towards the first class passengers. "Hey Steve, Tanis wants a word," announced Jess. "Hi Steve. Why is it trouble seems to follow you wherever you go?" his partner taunted playfully. "Just lucky I guess," a slight grin evident amid his angular features. "Good news! It seems you have a pilot on board." "Great!" exalted Steve barely restraining his optimism. "A Frank Burnett, he flew B52's back in Vietnam, so he should be able to handle a passenger jet." "Sally, do you think you can locate a passenger by the name of 'Frank Burnett'? He's a trained pilot and we could really use him at the moment!" Steve's humour covering the inward concern he felt. Tanis continued her briefing. "I also did some digging into Olsen's background. It appears that he had been making regular visits to Venezuela, which coincide with regular deposits of large sums of money into his bank account. It seems that our Mr Olsen has been smuggling illegal immigrants into the country to pay off some of his debts. Only this time it all went wrong. We found a dead body at Olsen's apartment infected with the same virus you seem to have onboard up there. He must have contracted the disease before he left for that flight but before he had chance to dispose of the body. He put our John Doe in the freezer, which prevented further contamination here in LA." "Thanks Tanis, I owe you the biggest rib dinner you can eat," grinned Steve. "You just make sure you make it back safely so you can serve it, OK?" she replied teasingly. "You're on!" joked Steve. At that moment, he was rejoined by his father and Senator Watson. "Detective Archer," began the politician, "This is Senator Owen Watson. Please could you contact Major Barry O'Nett at Cedar Ridge Air Force Base and have him despatch a jet with the antidote for this infection. He will work out the logistics, but I'm sure he can organise a mid-air transfer of the drugs." "Especially, as we now know we have a pilot aboard," chipped in Steve. "That's terrific," agreed Mark. The temporary flight crew could hear Jesse in the background authorising and organising the drugs they required to revive the ailing crew and passengers. Mark escorted the senator back to first class. "Do you think we can survive this, doctor?" "If we can get the antidote and land this plane safely - yes I do, Senator," replied Mark trying to convince himself as much as the nervous politician at his side.
On the journey back to first class, Dr Sloan was stopped by yet another passenger exhibiting the all too familiar symptoms of his other patients. Supporting the smartly dressed businessman by wrapping his arm around Mark's neck, the doctor assisted his latest admission to the temporary triage that was steadily growing in numbers.
As Mark tended one of the female patients with a cooling cloth to her forehead a familiar voice sounded behind him, which caused the white haired physician to jump. "Dr Sloan," began Sally. "This is Mr Burnett." Burnett extended his right hand, which Mark took and shook enthusiastically. "I understand you need my help?" Mark's gaze traversed from the handshake to Frank Burnett's face and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Burnett was Blind!
Mark escorted the former pilot to a nearby seat and sat beside him. As tactfully as he could, the doctor began to explain their situation. Burnett explained that he had lost his sight five years ago from a degenerative disease. However, he had experience in flying many types of aircraft, although passenger jets had never been one of them he could still guide someone through the procedures.
With little option but to accept Burnett's offer, both father and son Sloan prepared to continue the flight with a blind man at the helm. Steve agreed to be the 'captain's' eyes and read the dials, watch radar and be ready to help out with the next manoeuvre that could save everyone's lives or send them to an early grave at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.