The Phoenix Sanction (Sam Reilly Book 14) Read online

  The Phoenix Sanction

  By

  Christopher Cartwright

  Copyright 2018 by Christopher Cartwright

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgements:

  I wouldn’t be able to write any of these books without the help of a multitude of people who have assisted along the way. Specifically, I would like to thank my editors, David Gilmore and Randy Olsen, and my team of proof readers – without whom, you would be receiving a by far inferior version of the book you read today – JC Barb, Rohen Kapur, Mike Riley, Kris Densley, Mykel Densley, Liia Miller, Peter Gifford, Ross Jarratt, Forest Olivier, and my mother, Susan Cartwright.

  For technical help with regards to modern aviation, I would like to thank Chris Chmiel from the Australian RAAF who spent hours trying to explain the intricate ins and outs of a modern jetliner from the point of view of the pilot.

  As always, all mistakes reside squarely on my shoulders.

  Christopher Cartwright

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Prologue

  Please note that I know the hazards. I want to do it. Because I want to try. As men have tried. Women must too. And when they fail, their failure must be of a challenge to others.

  – Amelia Earhart’s letter to her husband on the eve of her last flight.

  *

  Lae Airfield, Papua New Guinea – July 2, 1937

  It was 10 a.m. local time when the heavily loaded Lockheed Model 10 Electra stopped at the end of the grass field. The American twin-engine, all-metal monoplane, with its unique double tail and twin rudder system looked decidedly futuristic, a jarring contrast against the harsh backdrop of the hot Papua New Guinea jungle.

  Amelia Earhart met her navigator Fred Noonan’s eye with a broad grin. “You ready to make history?”

  He made a curt nod. “Good to go.”

  Amelia pushed the twin throttles to full. All nine cylinders of each of the Pratt and Whitney R-1340-S3H1 Wasp engines sputtered into life, their pitch rising to a gravelly roar, sending all 600 horsepower to the twin propellers. The 9 foot, 7/8-inch, two-bladed, Hamilton Standard variable-pitch, constant-speed propellers spun faster until they disappeared into an invisible whir.

  She glanced at the gauges. The engine RPM registered 2,250 for each engine. Amelia made a broad and relaxed smile. Despite what people might think she was doing with what some called the stunt of circumnavigation, the simple fact was, she loved the adventure of flight.

  She took a deep breath in. The edge of her lips opened in a grin, revealing large and evenly spaced, white teeth, except for a noticeable gap between her two front teeth. “Here we go!”

  Loaded with 1151 US gallons of 100 percent high octane gasoline, the Electra crept forward. She gained speed slowly, like a long-distance runner, not a sprinter; she lazily picked up her pace. Two thirds of the way down the runway, Amelia felt the gentle buffeting of the wheel, teasing and begging her to be released.

  She applied firm downward pressure.

  Back in March, the overburdened Electra had suffered an uncontrolled ground loop during takeoff from Hawaii, causing the forward landing gear to collapse and both propellers to hit the ground as the plane skidded on its belly. Surprisingly, no one was badly injured, but it meant her first round-the-world flight had been a failure, and the Electra needed to be sent back stateside for significant repairs.

  No. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Her eyes darted toward the Air Speed Indicator.

  It crept up to the minimum take-off speed. She held the wheel firmly for another few precious seconds and then gently pulled the wheel toward her chest.

  Released from its earthly restraints, the Electra climbed at a conservative rate of 550 feet per minute, just shy of half its potential maximum climb rate of 1,000 feet per minute.

  Her focus turned briefly over her right shoulder, and her eyes swept the remains of the Lae Jungle below. “Good bye, Papua New Guinea. Next stop, Howland Island.”

  *

  The name Electra came from a star in the cluster of the Pleiades.

  It was among the nearest star clusters to Earth and the cluster most obvious to the naked eye in the night sky, and as such, the nine brightest stars of the Pleiades are named for the Seven Sisters of Greek mythology: Sterope, Merope, Electra, Maia, Taygeta, Celaeno, and Alcyone, along with their parents Atlas and Pleione. As daughters of Atlas, the Hyades were sisters of the Pleiades.

  The Electra was 38 feet, 7 inches long with a wingspan of 55 feet and an overall height of 10 feet, 1 inch – all in total a speck on the vastness of the Pacific Ocean as it made its way across the 2,556 statute miles between Lae Airfield and Howland Island.

  The shortest route was known as the Great Circle, which basically formed a straight line from Lae to Howland Island over the curvature of the Earth. But, as they approached New Britain Island, less than four hours into their journey, large rain squalls to the east forced them to divert to the south of the island, around Gasmata. The cloud cover came in thick and Amelia took the aircraft from 7,000 feet up to 10,000 feet to climb above it.

  Fred Noonan unclipped his harness and stood up. “I’d better get you a new course.”

  “Please do,” Amelia replied, her voice curt, but not unhappy. “I’ll try to keep us above the cloud long enough for you to take a reading.”

  Noonan was tall, very thin, with dark auburn-hair. His cobalt blue eyes were large and liquid. At forty-three years of age, he walked with a determined stride as he passed the four auxiliary fuel tanks in the passenger compartment, heading aft along the fuselage to reach his navigation station.

  Passenger windows had been eliminated throughout the entire passenger section of
the fuselage, with the exception of two rectangular, distortion free windows on either side of the navigator’s table. He took out his sextant, marked the time, and took a reading while Amelia attempted to keep the Electra as steady as possible.

  He made his notes on the navigation chart fixed to the table and then plotted a new course. His gaze traced its way along the new course, past Nauru, through the Gilbert Islands – a chain of sixteen tiny atolls – before finally coming to rest on Howland Island.

  Noonan calculated the distance between the Gilbert Islands and Howland Island as 1,152 miles. If they got into trouble locating Howland, there was always the possibility of flying a reciprocal course. The islands were mostly uninhabited, but he was certain they could land on a beach. Worst case scenario, they could always ditch in the coastal waters and swim to shore – not that it would ever come to that. They had provisions for enough fuel to reach the Gilberts if they had to.

  Navigation to the untrained seemed like witchcraft in medieval times, but it was very much based on science and exact calculations. Mistakes could be made certainly, but those risks could be mitigated with knowledge and understanding. Solid mathematics, an accurate time piece, good maps, and due diligence made it safe.

  He had vast experience in both marine and flight navigation. His original training was in the merchant navy, in which he continued working on merchant ships throughout World War I. Serving as an officer on ammunition ships, his harrowing wartime service included being on three vessels that were sunk from under him by German U-boats. He went on to become a naval captain and a flight navigator, who had recently left Pan Am, after establishing most of the company’s China Clipper seaplane routes across the Pacific. In addition to more modern navigational tools, Noonan, as a licensed sea captain, was known for carrying a ship's sextant on these flights.

  He gave Amelia the new compass bearing, and he felt the Electra gently bank to its left on that course. Afterward, he set about performing a series of routine maintenance checks on the engines and instruments.

  The flight continued through the night, crossing the International Date Line into yesterday morning. Noonan slept intermittently throughout the last third of the trip, before being awakened by Amelia.

  She was whistling into the radio mic. It was a constant, chirping sound rather than any specific tone. It continued for some time. There was something strangely eerie about the whistle, despite its cheerful tone – a foreboding tease of dire times to come.

  Noonan sat up, blinking, feeling his heart start to quicken.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Amelia said, her voice curt, but not harried. “You had better come up here.”

  Noonan checked his timepiece. It was nearly 6:20 a.m. in the local time zone. He’d overslept. Without preamble, he made his way to the cockpit. His eyes darted toward the dense cloud cover below and Amelia’s carefree face. “I see you haven’t managed to shake the cloud cover.”

  “No,” she replied, meeting his gaze directly, her teeth lightly biting her bottom lip. “But that’s not our only problem.”

  Noonan sat down in the copilot’s seat. “What have we got?”

  “I’ve been picking up a transmission from Itasca on 7500 kHz, but our radio detection frequency equipment was unable to determine a minimum frequency.”

  “Thus, you’re not able to get a bearing on the Itasca.”

  “Exactly.” She sighed. “I’ve been trying to get someone on Howland to take a navigational bearing on our transmission on 3105 kilocycles so they can give us a bearing.”

  “And?”

  Amelia’s face scrunched up slightly. “I’m having one hell of a time trying to establish two-way radio communications with the US Coast Guard Cutter, Itasca.”

  He glanced at the radio through an arched eyebrow. “How long have you been trying?”

  “Nearly an hour.”

  “They might have switched early to the daytime frequency of 6210 kilocycles.”

  “They haven’t. I’ve already tried to reach them on it.”

  Noonan relaxed into his seat, his hands folded neatly across his lap. Any problem worth solving required time, focus, and calm patience. Science could overcome any problem they were facing. “Have you heard from the Itasca at all in the last hour?”

  Amelia nodded. “Yeah, multiple times, but they’re clearly not receiving my messages.”

  Noonan thought about that for a moment. His eyes widened and he gasped, “Good God…”

  Amelia finished it for him, “The two frequencies have started to bleed into each other!”

  He knew exactly what was happening and just hoped they still had time to make a correction. Their radio worked on two frequencies, known as harmonic frequencies – 6210 and 3105. At certain hours of the day the two frequencies bled into one another.

  It was a significant failing in his planning as navigator. It meant that they would be arriving at Howland Island at 8 a.m. during a time when the night time frequency of 3105 KCs was fading and 6210 would be bleeding in to take its place. Right now, they were in limbo – 3105 hadn’t faded and 6210 wasn’t on line – thus the USCGC Itasca and the Electra were only capable of intermittently receiving each other’s messages.

  Fred made a couple quick calculations with his pencil on the navigation chart Amelia had been using to keep track of their progress based on dead reckoning. She had made two more entries since he’d fallen asleep a couple hours earlier. One indicated increasing speed to 180 knots from 150 with a tail wind. He took it into account.

  Fred unclipped his harness. “We’re approximately a hundred and five miles out from Howland. Keep on this bearing. I’d better go take a reading. With goniometry out, we’re on our own.”

  Amelia made a slight shrug of her shoulders. “We’ve made it this far on our own, no reason to think we can’t reach Howland Island.”

  Noonan headed back, without mentioning that Howland Island was a flat sliver of land 6,500 feet long, 1,600 feet wide, and no more than 20 feet above the ocean waves. The island would be hard to distinguish from the similar looking cloud shapes.

  By 7:30 a.m. local time, he had established just one bearing – the sun – which produced their longitude only. The cloud cover prohibited him from determining a ground bearing. Without a line of position, it was impossible to measure latitude. It required two bearings to establish a fix, and he only had one.

  Noonan placed the folded navigation chart in front of Amelia. “We’re somewhere here, along the sun line of 157/337.”

  Amelia ran her pale gray eyes across the penciled line. Her eyebrows arched. It clearly bisected Howland Island. She shook her head. “We’re right on it. The question is do we fly northeast or southwest to reach it?”

  Noonan didn’t hesitate. “Southwest.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “It’s a fifty-fifty chance either way.”

  “You don’t have a hunch whether we drifted north or south of your original plotted course?”

  Noonan spread his hands out. “No. I was right on track.”

  Her lips formed a hard line. “What makes you so certain we should fly southwest?”

  “Because if I’m wrong and we fly northeast there’s more than a thousand miles of open ocean, but if I’m wrong and we fly southeast, we’re bound to hit the Phoenix Islands.”

  She tilted the wheel until the Electra banked to the right. “Southwest it is.”

  They both knew the Phoenix Islands were a group of eight unoccupied atolls and two submerged coral reefs some four hundred miles to the southeast of Howland Island. It would be a stretch, but he was reasonably confident they had the fuel to reach it.

  Amelia descended below the cloud cover and depressed the mic. “USCGC Itasca. We must be on you but cannot see you. But gas is running low. Been unable to reach you by radio. We are flying at altitude 1,000 feet.''

  There was nothing but silence on the radio.

  At 8:43 a.m. Amelia made her final attempt to achieve two-way rad
io communication with the Itasca. “We are on the line 157-337. Will repeat message. We will repeat this on 6210 kilocycles… We are running north and south on line, listening 6210.”

  There was nothing but silence.

  Noonan sighed heavily. “I guess that’s it then. We’re on our own.”

  “Looks like it.” Amelia tilted her head slightly and met his gaze directly. “Do you think we made the wrong choice?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you asking whether or not I think we should have turned northeast instead of southeast?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “No. Right or wrong we made the only choice available to us at the time. It’s still the only choice available to us. We’re committed now. No chance to set a reciprocal course and retrace our flight. If we’re north of Howland we’ll hit it on our way along this sunline. If we were southeast of Howland, then we definitely have enough fuel to reach the Phoenix Islands – either way, we’re going to reach land.”

  Amelia laughed at his confidence. “I knew there was a reason I brought you along. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then said, “For what it’s worth, I also believe in your flying ability to put us down safely on some beach somewhere once we reach land.”

  She expelled a deep breath of air. “It’s a deal.”

  The Electra continued to fly on across the vastness of the ocean.

  There was nothing visible but the sea. No land, no ships, no birds. No sign of the Itasca’s smoke stack, whose boilers had been fed oil to produce a thick cloud of black smoke extending more than 200 feet into the air. Nothing heard on the radio. Only the drone of the engines, monotonously beating the propellers against the air at 1,000 feet.

  With a quiet resolve, Noonan said, “I’ll go prepare the life raft.”

  Amelia shook her head and grinned. “Not just yet. I think I see something up ahead.”

  Noonan squinted his eyes. All he could see was the eternal sea all the way to the horizon, where a tiny sliver of blue turned white. “I don’t see anything.”

  Amelia pointed toward the horizontal line on the horizon. “That’s whitewater up ahead!”