35
The Gulfstream G650 was shaking like a leaf caught in a storm, lurching unpredictably as it skimmed dangerously low over the Atlantic Ocean. The turbulence had gone from a nuisance to something truly terrifying.
Joe's hands were white-knuckled on the controls, trying to maintain some semblance of stability despite the sheer madness of what they were attempting.
"This is insane!" he growled.
Frank, equally tense, was scanning their instruments, his mind racing through possible options. He had flown through storms, rough landings, and wind shear before, but nothing compared to this reckless gamble Reese was forcing on them.
From behind them, Reese's voice barked through the cockpit, filled with increasing frustration.
"Stop complaining and do your damn job! Get us to Samana Cays, now!"
Joe gritted his teeth, desperately wanting to turn around and punch Reese in the face, but he knew that wouldn't accomplish anything.
"Reese," Frank said, forcing a level tone, "we've already explained this to you. Flying at this altitude over open ocean is suicide."
Joe nodded sharply. "The turbulence is bad enough, but at this height, one bad gust and we're in the water. You understand that, right?"
Reese scowled, gripping the headrest of Frank's seat. "What I understand is that you need to get us to Samana Cays! I planned ahead, Hardy. There's a boat waiting. We'll disappear into international waters before anyone knows we were ever here."
Frank let out a slow, measured breath, trying not to lose his cool.
"And that's a great plan," he said carefully. "But it only works if we're alive to reach it."
Joe turned slightly in his seat, meeting Reese's gaze with quiet defiance.
"You think hugging the waves is keeping us off radar?" Joe said. "It's not. This isn't a movie, Reese. The idea that you can just fly 'under the radar' by staying low? It's a myth. Modern radar systems still track low-flying objects—especially over the ocean."
Frank jumped in, reinforcing the point. "Even with the transponder off, government and commercial aviation can still track us."
Reese's jaw twitched in frustration. "That's bull. If that were true, the drug runners I work with would be getting caught left and right."
Joe huffed in exasperation. "They do get caught, Reese. That's why there's a whole division of law enforcement dedicated to busting smuggling operations."
Reese wasn't listening. He just crossed his arms, standing firm.
"Do it anyway," he said coldly. "Or everyone on this plane dies."
There was no reasoning with him.
Joe swore under his breath and turned back to the controls.
Frank exchanged a glance with his brother. They needed to act fast.
Frank took a steadying breath before leaning toward Joe. Keeping his voice low, he murmured,
"Morse code."
Joe's brows furrowed slightly, and Frank continued, still speaking just above a whisper.
"We can't use the radio without Reese hearing us," Frank explained. "But if we switch to the manual input system, we can tap out a coded message on the emergency frequency."
Joe's expression shifted—understanding dawning.
Reese was listening to their radio traffic, but he wouldn't be expecting Morse code.
Joe gave a subtle nod.
"Think they'll hear us?" Joe muttered.
Frank's lips pressed into a thin line. "If Fenton and the Federal Police are still monitoring us, they will."
Joe hesitated for only a second before responding. "Then let's do it."
Frank quickly switched the frequency back to the Brazilian aviation channel, ensuring the plane was still transmitting. Then, with careful, deliberate movements, he began tapping out a message using Morse code through the radio transmitter's manual input system.
••• — •••
(S.O.S.)
••• .- - .- -. .- / -.-. .- -.- …
(SAMANA CAYS)
— .- -. -.. . .-. / .- - - .- -.-. -.-
(UNDER ATTACK)
— .-. . / —. . - / .- .- .- -.
(RE GET AWAN)
—. ..- .-.. ..-. … - .-. . .- - / Golf Sierra Six Five Zero
(GULFSTREAM G650)
— . .-. / - .-. ..- -.. ..- .. / .-. . . … ._
(THEY / TRUDUR / REESE)
— . -.. . .-. / -.-. .. — / -.-. - -.. .
(— MEDER CO CODE)
Frank knew it wasn't perfect. Morse code wasn't easy to tap out quickly, but he hoped the authorities would recognize enough of it.
Joe kept his hands on the yoke, flying steady, but his pulse was hammering in his ears.
"Do you think they'll get it?" he asked quietly.
Frank didn't look away from the instruments. "I don't know. But it's the best shot we've got."
Joe nodded, his hands tightening slightly on the controls.
The plane shuddered again, hitting another pocket of turbulence that sent a ripple of alarm through the cabin.
Frank exhaled slowly.
Would their message get through in time?
Would anyone hear them before it was too late?
And more importantly…
Would they live long enough to find out?
The Brazilian aviation control center was a flurry of activity. Screens displayed shifting radar blips, radio frequencies crackled with intermittent static, and operators scrambled to decode the latest distress signals.
Fenton Hardy stood at the center of it all, his arms crossed, his face carved from stone. He had been staring at the tracking data, trying to make sense of the erratic flight pattern of Chet's stolen Gulfstream G650.
Menendez was beside him, flipping through intelligence reports, and several Brazilian officials were speaking in rapid Portuguese to one another.
A tense operator suddenly jerked upright in his chair.
"We've got something."
Fenton's head snapped toward the young man.
"What is it?" he asked sharply.
The operator tapped his headset, listening intently. "It's an S.O.S. transmission—but it's not a voice call." He frowned, adjusting the frequency dial. "It's… Morse code."
A ripple of tension passed through the room.
"Morse code?" Menendez repeated, stepping closer.
The operator nodded. "Someone on that plane is tapping out a message manually."
Fenton leaned in, his pulse pounding. "Can you translate it?"
The operator's fingers flew over his keyboard, analyzing the rhythmic beeps that had cut through the static. The room fell into a suffocating silence as the Morse code slowly began to take shape.
The first part was clear as day—
S.O.S.
SAMANA CAYS
UNDER ATTACK
GULFSTREAM G650
THEY TRUST REESE
TRACK CODE
Fenton's stomach knotted painfully.
"Samana Cays." He exhaled the words, gripping the edge of the table.
"That location was mentioned earlier. Where is that?" Menendez asked quickly.
One of the aviation officials pulled up a digital map of the Bahamas and zoomed in.
"Samana Cays is an uninhabited island in the southern Bahamas," the official explained. "It's small, remote, and rarely monitored."
Fenton's mind raced.
Reese had no intention of returning to the mainland. He was going to land in the Cays, transfer to a boat, and vanish into international waters.
Joe and Frank had just handed him the missing piece.
"That's where they're taking them." Fenton straightened, already shifting into action mode. "We need to get there—now."
Menendez nodded sharply. "I'll notify the Brazilian Federal Police. We can arrange transport."
One of the higher-ranking Brazilian officials raised a hand. "Senhor Hardy, Brazilian jurisdiction does not extend into the Bahamas. We can help you get there, but from that point forward, it will be up to the Bahamian authorities."
Fenton nodded. "Understood. But I need to get as close as possible."
The officials exchanged a few words in rapid Portuguese before turning back to him.
"We can have a military transport jet helicopter fly you to Great Exuma, Bahamas. From there, you'll need to secure a boat and reach Samana Cays by water."
Fenton's jaw clenched. "How soon?"
"Two hours."
That was still too long—but it was his best option.
"Do it," Fenton said without hesitation.
Menendez clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll have my men contact the Bahamian authorities. We'll have them watch the skies and alert us if Reese's plane shows up on their radar."
Fenton exhaled, gripping the table for a moment.
This was it.
Reese thought he had escaped.
He had no idea they were closing in.
As Fenton and Menendez made their way to the awaiting military transport, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on them.
They had the location.
They had a window of opportunity.
But they didn't have much time.
Fenton knew his sons were brilliant under pressure, but flying dangerously low over the ocean at Reese's command? That was a death sentence.
And Maddie—he had seen the footage. The vest of explosives.
His stomach twisted painfully at the thought.
They had to get there before Reese disappeared forever.
As they boarded the transport plane, Fenton's jaw tightened.
He had never failed his family before.
And he wasn't about to start now.
For a brief stretch, despite the tension aboard the plane, everything remained relatively stable.
Frank and Joe, though forced to fly mere feet above the ocean's surface, kept the aircraft in check, their fingers steady on the controls.
The hum of the engines vibrated through the cockpit, and for the first time in hours, there was a thin illusion of control.
Then the first warning light flickered to life.
Frank frowned as a red indicator flashed on the main panel.
ENGINE SENSOR ERROR 3814H.
Joe's brows furrowed. "What the hell?"
Frank scanned the readings, his pulse spiking.
"It's a fault in the engine readings. Could be a sensor issue. Could be more."
Joe's hands tensed around the controls. "This plane's had engine problems before. You think the repairs weren't good enough?"
Frank exhaled through his nose, unwilling to speculate yet. "Or maybe the repairs were fine, but flying it like a damn crop duster has put too much stress on the systems."
Joe's jaw tightened, but before he could respond—
Another error message appeared.
STABILIZER SYSTEM FAULT 3822F.
Joe swore under his breath, his grip tightening on the controls.
Frank's hands flew over the panel, checking every diagnostic he could.
And then the final nail in the coffin appeared.
HYDRAULIC PRESSURE ERROR 4249E.
Frank's breath caught in his throat.
Joe looked over at him, and for the first time, true fear crept into his expression.
The flight controls were starting to feel loose beneath their hands—unresponsive.
Frank tested the yoke, and his worst fear was confirmed. "Joe… we're losing hydraulic pressure."
Joe's face drained of color.
Frank swallowed hard. "We're in serious trouble."
"What the hell is going on?"
Reese's angry demand cut through the air as he stormed toward the cockpit, his frustration boiling over.
Frank didn't even look back. His voice was clipped, urgent.
"We're losing the plane, Reese."
Reese's expression twisted with disbelief. "Fix it."
Joe turned, his eyes burning. "You think we're not trying?!"
Reese's temper flared. "You fly the damn plane and keep it in the air! That's your job!"
Frank whipped his head around, his control finally snapping.
"You want to know why this is happening? Because you made us fly like lunatics just feet above the ocean! The plane wasn't built for this! You pushed it too far!"
Before Reese could respond—
The flight computer blared to life with the worst warning yet.
PULL UP! PULL UP! PULL UP!
The alarm screamed through the cockpit.
Joe's hands trembled as he gripped the controls.
Frank fought to level the plane, but the controls barely responded.
The hydraulics were failing fast.
The aircraft lurched downward, a sudden dip that sent a fresh wave of terror through the cabin.
The Moment of Truth
Frank and Joe locked eyes.
For years, they had cheated death.
They had faced down killers, criminals, and death traps—but nothing like this.
This wasn't a villain they could outsmart. This was physics, metal, and failing mechanics.
Joe's voice was low, raw. "Frank—if we don't make it—"
Frank's throat tightened. "We're gonna make it."
But even he wasn't sure anymore.
Joe swallowed hard. "Just in case… I love you, man."
Frank clenched his jaw, gripping his brother's hand for the briefest second.
"Same, bro. Same."
Joe turned back toward the controls, blinking rapidly, fighting tears that had no place here.
"Tell Maddie and Jaime I love them too. Tell Chet and Callie the same."
Frank nodded, his voice hoarse. "Same here."
Joe exhaled. "Now let's land this damn thing."
Frank wrestled with the controls, trying desperately to slow their descent. All the while the constant audio alter sounded.
PULL UP! PULL UP! PULL UP!
Joe flicked through the emergency landing procedures, barely able to think past the alarms blaring in his ears.
The plane pitched forward, the ocean rushing toward them.
Callie, Maddie, and Jaime clung to each other, bracing for the inevitable.
Reese, for the first time, looked shaken. His bravado cracked as the full realization of what was happening sank in.
Then—
They hit water.
The impact was brutal.
The plane slammed into the ocean's surface, bouncing twice before settling in the waves with a sickening screech of metal! Frank did his best to keep the wings level, but once the plane touched down he was without control and on God's good humor.
Everything went black.
Frank came to seconds later, his head spinning.
The plane was floating. Miraculously they had avoided both wings intact and avoided a tragic cartwheel which would have destroyed the plane and killed them. But the plane managed to stay in one piece and remained afloat.
For now.
He turned his head, his heart dropping.
Joe was slumped unconscious beside him, blood dripping from his temple.
Reese and Lila were both semi-conscious, groaning as they tried to move.
Chet was already unbuckling himself, his hands shaking violently.
Maddie was sobbing, gripping Jaime's arm.
Callie was frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Outside, the ocean stretched endlessly in every direction—the depths of the Bermuda Triangle swallowing them whole.
Frank took quick stock of their condition.
No water was rushing in—yet.
The plane was still sealed, still pressurized.
But it was sinking.
Slowly.
Icy fear crawled up his spine.
"We need to move. Now."
But first things first. Frank rushed to Reese, who was too dazed to react.
Without hesitation, he yanked the gun from Reese's belt.
Chet didn't hesitate—he punched Reese hard across the jaw.
Reese crumpled, barely conscious. Chet was about to trounce on him again until Frank turned sharply. "Chet! Stop! You're wasting oxygen and energy!"
Chet's breathing was erratic, his fury barely contained. "We should just drown him now."
Frank shook his head. "Not now. Tie him up. Don't waste energy."
Then—
Lila stirred.
Callie whirled on her, fists clenched.
"You psychotic bitch!"
She punched Lila straight across the face.
Lila's head jerked sideways—and she slumped unconscious again.
Callie panted, adrenaline surging through her.
A slow, twisted smile spread across her lips.
"…That felt good."
Maddie stared at the water beyond the window.
The plane was still floating—but she could feel it shifting, sinking inch by inch.
The cabin was deathly quiet.
Outside, the black ocean waited.
Waiting to claim them.
Waiting to drag them down into the abyss.
Their time was running out.
Frank turned to the others, his voice low, steady.
"We're getting out of here. We have to—before it's too late."
But the question remained—how?
The cabin was eerily silent except for the hum of emergency lighting, powered by the last reserves of the plane's backup system. The weight of the situation pressed down on them like the ocean above.
Frank hurried to the cockpit, his fingers moving quickly over the unresponsive controls. The screens flickered, displaying critical failure warnings, but he ignored them.
He flipped the emergency radio switch, hoping against all odds that it would still function.
"Mayday, mayday! This is Sierra 23 Heavy, tail number N47CH. We have suffered a catastrophic system failure and have ditched in the ocean. Repeat, we have crash-landed in the Atlantic. Our location is—"
Static.
Frank adjusted the frequency, but all he got was a weak hum.
"Damn it." He slammed his fist against the panel.
"Anything?" Chet asked from behind, his face a mask of desperation.
Frank shook his head sharply. "Backup power is too weak. The radio is dead. Even if the transmission got out, it wouldn't be strong enough to reach anyone."
Chet's jaw tightened, his hands gripping the back of Frank's chair. "Then we're completely screwed."
Before Frank could respond, the plane lurched.
The nose dipped slightly—they were sinking.
Water rushed past the windows, the bright blue now a murky, shifting abyss.
Maddie clung to Jaime, her breath shaky. "I thought this only happened in movies."
Jaime squeezed her gently. "Stay calm. Don't waste air."
Callie had a white-knuckled grip on the armrest of her seat. She had survived one plane crash before. She wasn't sure she had the strength to survive another.
Reese, tied up and slumped against one of the bulkhead walls, let out a rough laugh. "Well, this is just wonderful."
Frank turned to him, his expression cold. "Why's that? Because your money won't save you now?"
Reese's jaw twitched. He exhaled sharply, glaring at the detective.
Maddie, still somewhat tipsy, snorted. "I saw a movie where someone said that. You know what happened next?" She leaned her head against Jaime's shoulder, voice half-laughing, half-numbed by fear. "They froze to death in the middle of the Atlantic while the rich guy just sank. It didn't end well."
Chet let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "Could've done without the Titanic reference, kid."
Lila, tied up next to Reese, scoffed. "Oh, don't act like you're any better than us now. We're all in the same sinking tin can now."
Reese narrowed his eyes at Frank. "You better pray we make it out of this alive. Because if we do, I promise you, detective, I will make sure you regret every second you've spent breathing."
Frank ignored him, turning back to Chet. "We need to figure out a way to escape. How much air do we have left?"
Chet was already flipping through the plane's operation manual, his finger trailing quickly over the text. "I don't know, but we sure as hell aren't going to sit here and wait for the ocean to crush us."
Reese sneered. "Yeah, good luck with that. Unless one of you has a secret submarine stashed somewhere, we're all dead."
"Shut up, Reese." Frank barely spared him a glance. "I don't have time for your crap."
Lila smirked. "Yeah, shut up." Lila was not at all feeling happy about the situation which was caused by her employer.
The plane jerked again, tilting slightly.
They were still sinking.
The cabin shook as the plane bottomed out. The impact wasn't violent, but it sent a jolt through their bodies, making their predicament very real.
Frank ran calculations in his head, trying to think rationally.
"We must be on a shallow plateau," he murmured, mostly to himself. "Somewhere relatively close to land. If we were in deep ocean, we'd still be sinking. I can't imagine having gone down more than a few thousand feet."
Chet exhaled sharply. "That's a small win. We're not plunging into an abyss. But an inch is as good as a mile in this scenario."
Maddie, still clutching Jaime's arm, looked up with wide, worried eyes. "How much air do we have?"
Frank and Chet exchanged a look.
"A few hours, at best," Frank admitted.
Silence.
A cold, suffocating silence.
Lila laughed bitterly. "And here I thought today was going to be boring."
Callie shot her a deadly glare. "Would you shut up? This isn't funny."
"Oh, but it is." Lila leaned back against the bulkhead, her smirk mocking. "All that power, all that control Reese had—and now? He's just as helpless as the rest of you. How poetic."
Reese's face darkened, but he said nothing.
Frank knelt down and checked Joe's pulse.
Still steady.
He had taken a bad hit when they crashed, but he would wake up soon. He had to!
They just needed to find a way out before then.
Chet continued flipping through the manual, his hands moving frantically.
Then he stopped.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Here!" He pointed at a section in the safety protocols. "The cargo bay is a separate pressurized section of the plane. There are also access panels for servicing of each pressurized bay. Theoretically, one of us could get out of this cabin using the access panel in the rear storage closet area, go through, reseal the panel and crawl through the plane interior and access the cargo bay through another service panel."
Frank leaned over his shoulder, reading quickly.
"There's an inflatable raft down there!" Chet continued, his voice rising. "It has a radio beacon attached to it. If we can get into the cargo bay, we can launch it, and get to the surface. Then set off the SOS beacon."
Frank's pulse spiked. "That's our best shot. Assuming the area between the two pressurized sections is not flooded. Assuming the cargo bay itself isn't flooded."
Chet nodded quickly, scanning the next steps. "It's a chance we must take. But only one person can do it. Once that cargo bay hatch opens to let one of us out, water will flood in fast. Someone has to go out, release the raft, and trigger the beacon. And we will have to hope like Hell that the water doesn't breach this cabin in the process."
Frank stood up. "I'll do it."
Chet whipped his head around. "What? No, I'll go."
Frank shook his head firmly. "I have the best lung capacity and training for this. You stay here."
Chet hesitated for only a second before he sighed. "Fine. But you better make it back."
Frank smirked, though the fear was evident in his eyes. "That's the plan."
Jaime's hand shot out, grabbing Frank's wrist. "You're sure about this?"
Frank covered her hand with his own. "It's the only way."
She nodded, reluctantly letting go.
Frank turned to Chet. "Get everyone ready. If I don't make it back, you'll have to figure out something else."
Chet exhaled sharply. "You're making it back. End of discussion."
Frank offered a small, tight smile before heading for the rear closet where the access panel was located.
It was time to take their shot.
And pray the ocean didn't swallow them whole.