Final Call, page 1
FINAL CALL
Alex Lake
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2023
Copyright © Alex Lake 2023
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2023
Cover photographs: Shutterstock.com
Alex Lake asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008532024
Ebook Edition © June 2023 ISBN: 9780008532048
Version: 2023-05-10
Dedication
To Sharad and Adam
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One
December 23rd, 2022: The Pilot
Jill Stearns
The Pilot
Chip Markham
The Pilot
Marcia Fournier
Jill Stearns
Marcia Fournier
Varun Miller
Jill Stearns
Kevin Anderson
Jill Stearns
Marcia Fournier
Kevin Anderson
The Pilot
Chip Markham
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
Stacy Evanston 3
Stacy Evanston 4
Stacy Evanston 5
December 23rd, 2022: Jill Stearns
Jeff Ramos
The Pilot
Chip Markham
Mary Jo Fernandez
Marcia Fournier
Jill Stearns
The Pilot
Chip Markham
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Dr. Williams
Stacy Evanston
Dr. Williams
Dr. Williams 2
December 23rd, 2022: Jill Stearns
Chip Markham
Kevin Anderson
Varun Miller
Kevin Anderson
The Pilot
Jeff Ramos
Barrow, Maine 2018: Elizabeth Carter
Dr. Williams
Stacy Evanston
Steve Murdoch
Dr. Williams
Steve Murdoch
Stacy Evanston
Dr. Williams
Nicole Farmer
Stacy Evanston
December 23rd, 2022: The Pilot
Marcia Fournier
Kevin Anderson
Varun Miller
Chip Markham
Jill Stearns
Marcia Fournier
The Pilot
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Dr. Williams
Steve Murdoch
Dr. Williams
Stacy Evanston
Dr. Williams
Steve Murdoch
Dr. Williams
Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
December 23rd, 2022: Marcia Fournier
Varun Miller
Jill Stearns
The Pilot
Kevin Anderson
Chip Markham
Varun Miller
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
December 23rd, 2022: Varun Miller
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Part Two
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
December 23rd, 2022: The Pilot
Varun Miller
Jill Stearns
Varun Miller
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
Stacy Evanston 3
Stacy Evanston 4
December 23rd, 2022: Kevin Anderson
Marcia Fournier
Varun Miller
Barrow, Maine 2018: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
December 23rd, 2022: The Pilot
Varun Miller
The Pilot
Jill Stearns
The Pilot
Varun Miller
Jill Stearns
Varun Miller
Barrow, Maine, December 2022: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
December 23rd, 2022: The Pilot
Marcia Fournier
Kevin Anderson
The Pilot
Marcia Fournier
The Pilot
The Pilot 2
Marcia Fournier
The Pilot
Part Three
December 23rd, 2022: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
December 24th, 2022: Kevin Anderson
Jill Stearns
Marcia Fournier
Marcia Fournier 2
December 25th, 2022: Varun Miller
Varun Miller 2
Varun Miller 3
December 27th, 2022: Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
Stacy Evanston 3
Stacy Evanston 4
Stacy Evanston 5
Stacy Evanston 6
Stacy Evanston 7
Stacy Evanston 8
Jeff Ramos
Stacy Evanston
Stacy Evanston 2
Stacy Evanston 3
Stacy Evanston 4
Stacy Evanston 5
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Alex Lake
About the Publisher
PART ONE
December 23rd, 2022
The Pilot
The pre-flight checks were complete. Engine, hydraulics, fuel: all fine. The weather too was clear. No rain, no wind, no snow, despite the time of year. It would be a smooth flight.
In terms of turbulence, anyway.
She had flown aircraft hundreds of times, but her palms were as damp with sweat and her heart racing as fast as on her first flight.
Faster. This was the most important flight she would ever take. The rest of her life – and of her passengers – would be determined by what happened on this flight. How happy and fulfilled it was. How much meaning and purpose it had.
How long it would be. Decades? Years? Months?
Or hours.
To all external appearances – and to all the passengers – it was just another flight. Just a corporate jet shuttling some executives back home for Christmas.
But appearances can be deceptive. There was nothing normal about this flight, nothing at all. And it would not be long before everyone on board knew it.
Their lives were about to change forever.
A movement from the hangar caught her eye and she glanced out of the cockpit window. The door to the office was open and a woman in a red wool overcoat and dark pants was walking toward the plane, her phone to her ear.
The pilot checked the manifest. She had counted six. This was the seventh, and last, to board.
She recognized her. Jill Stearns, CEO of one of the country’s – the world’s – largest food companies.
She spoke into her headset to let the tower know they were ready to depart. She made her voice low and deep and male with a drawling Southern accent. ‘Fully boarded. Lemme know when you have a slot for takeoff.’
There was a burst of static, then a male voice, low and calm, replied, ‘Whenever you’re ready. Quiet day to day.’
It was usually quiet in these kind of airports. Small, local airfields used primarily for freight and private planes. There was no security, no baggage scans or ID checks. You just walked on to the plane like it was a chauffeur-driven car.
Which made this much easier. Made it possible at all.
She glanced at the empty seat next to her. She’d have to hope the tower didn’t ask to speak to the pilot who was supposed to be there, or they’d figure out she was the only one on board and refuse her permission to depart.
Although this late in the game permission no longer mattered. She didn’t need it. Once everyone was boarded, she would be taxiing the plane down the runway and into the winter sky. She hadn’t come this far – all this way, after all these years – to turn back now.
Jill Stearns
Her phone rang just as she left the hangar. She looked at the screen. Mila, her daughter. Had it been anyone else – a board member, maybe, or a banker calling to wish her all the best for the holidays – she would have taken the call and boarded the plane as she spoke. It was fine for the other passengers – her staff – to hear that kind of conversation. In fact, it would help remind one or two of them that she was the boss.
But not a conversation with Mila. That was personal, and she did not mix pe rsonal with professional. Besides, she and Mila had not always got along that well. Things were better now that her daughter was out of college and starting her career, but the teenage years – that was how Jill thought of them, ‘The Teenage Years’, as though they were a discrete and distant event that had happened to someone else – had been a little challenging, if by ‘a little challenging’ you meant an out-and-out daily battle. At some point her daughter had transformed from a cute little friend who padded around beside her gazing – at least in Jill’s memory – adoringly up at her, into a sullen, unsmiling adolescent who hated everything about her mother and disagreed with everything she said, on what seemed to be a point of principle.
I think I need to take the car in, she’d said once, listening to the brakes grind as they drove to Mila’s soccer practice.
Why?
Because the brakes are worn.
No they aren’t.
She pressed the brake pedal and the brakes groaned.
That’s the sound of worn brakes.
No it isn’t.
I was unaware you were an expert on cars.
Like you are?
Well, I’ll take it in and see what they say.
They’ll say it’s not the brakes. It’s obviously not the brakes.
So it just happens to occur when I brake?
Mila snorted, and didn’t answer. When they arrived at the field, she glared at her mother. I hate you. You’re such a know-it-all, but you don’t know anything.
Jill wanted to reply, Really? Odd, then, that I should be the multimillionaire CEO of a massive corporation, charged by the shareholders with making complex decisions that impact the lives of thousands and thousands of employees and customers and suppliers every single day. So maybe I know something. Maybe I know one little thing, after all.
She didn’t, though. She just watched her daughter walk to the field, where she fist-bumped the coach – Annette, her friend Fern’s mom – then hugged her.
Hugged her. Jill would have given anything for such a warm, natural, hug from her daughter.
Then Annette laughed, broke the embrace and pointed to a pile of cones. Mila jogged over and started laying them out, a wide smile on her face.
It’s just me she hates, Jill thought. Which is really unfair. I’m her mom. I do everything for her, provide whatever she could want. And yet it’s me she hates?
She knew it was a childish and self-pitying response, and that her daughter was a typical teenager, but it didn’t help. She felt rejected and unloved.
And now Mila was calling. Anxiety prickled her scalp. It could well be something simple – What time will you be home, Mom? – but Jill had plenty of scars from the trauma of previous phone calls with her daughter. Yes, they argued less now, but less was not never, and when it started it could escalate pretty quickly, especially if certain topics came up. And she did not need anyone to witness that.
She stopped halfway to the plane and answered the call.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Hi Mom. What time are you home?’
Jill glanced at her watch. ‘I’m just about to board the plane. It’s two now, so I should be back by four.’
‘OK, great. Archie and I wanted to take you out to dinner.’
Them take her? That was a first. She wondered exactly what type of dinner it would be. McDonald’s, maybe, or KFC?
But more, she wondered why.
‘Really?’ she said, allowing herself a little white lie. ‘That’s a nice surprise. What’s the occasion?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? You just felt like buying me dinner?’
‘There is something. We have some news.’
Jill turned and looked back at the hangar.
‘What kind of news?’
The Pilot
She had stopped. The woman in the red coat, Jill Stearns, CEO, had come out of the hangar and started to make her way to the plane, but now she had stopped.
She turned around to face the hangar.
The pilot’s stomach knotted. She had come to a halt when she had answered the phone. Why? Who was she talking to?
Why had they called? Did someone know what was about to happen? How could they?
It was impossible. No one knew.
She looked at the empty seat next to her.
Perhaps someone had noticed the absence of a copilot? Or perhaps he – and the pilot who should have been in her seat – had been found and released and sounded the alarm? She pictured them as she had left them: no, they were not out yet, she was sure of that.
But then why had the woman stopped? What was happening?
She got out of her seat and put her hand on the flight deck door. She hesitated; she had wanted to keep it closed so no one saw her, but she needed to take a closer look. Maybe she could hear what Stearns was saying.
She unlocked it and pushed it open, then stepped into the galley. She pulled it closed behind her so no one would notice the flight deck was now empty, and walked to the main door. To her left she could see into the main cabin. It was small; there were seven seats, all of which, excluding one, were taken.
She went out onto the top step and stared at Stearns, straining to hear what she was saying. She could not make it out.
Stearns was still facing the hangar. The pilot started down the stairs. Maybe she could ask what was going on, tell her that they had a departure slot, so she was awfully sorry but if there was any way she could board shortly that would be much appreciated?
And what if she said, No, thank you, but I’m staying put? What then?
Then this would all be over before it had even got started. Years of planning, gone in an instant.
That could not happen. She had to do something, now. Drag her onboard, lock the cockpit door, and take off.
She stepped out of the plane onto the tarmac, and started toward Stearns. When she was a few feet away, Stearns turned to face her. She had finished her call and let her hand drop to her side. She was frowning, a look of concern on her face.
She knows, the pilot thought. Somehow, she knows.
Then Stearns smiled, a forced, tight smile.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I had to take that one. We ready to go?’
The pilot nodded.
Stearns stared at her. ‘Are you new?’
‘I am.’
‘I’m Jill.’ She held out her hand. The pilot shook it briefly, aware of the dampness of her palm.
‘Sarah Daniels,’ she said.
‘Nice to meet you.’ Stearns headed toward the plane. The pilot followed, weak with relief. Her legs were shaking and she had to fight to maintain a calm demeanor.
Stearns climbed the stairs and turned right. The pilot looked around the airport, wondering whether there would be someone – a police officer, an official of some kind – sprinting toward them.
There was nothing.
She smiled, and entered the plane. She closed the main cabin door and stepped into the cockpit.
There was no turning back now.
Chip Markham
Charles – Chip – Markham looked up from his paper – he hated reading on a tablet or phone – as Jill Stearns put down her bag in the aisle. It was a sleek, multicolored backpack that said, Look at me, I’m the CEO of a major food company but see how casual and modern I am. He stifled a smile. It really was very transparent.
He sat back in his chair and tilted his neck, stretching it as far as he could. Something in it clicked and the tension in the back of his skull dissipated, leaving in its wake a sense of profound relief. He’d have to go and get it looked at; recently he’d been experiencing the build-up of an uncomfortable sensation at the back of his head, a kind of pressure, which could only be relieved by stretching his neck until it cracked.
At his age he hated going to the doctor with some odd complaint. The chance of the reply being Oh, don’t worry you’ll be fine was ever-dwindling, replaced by an increasing likelihood of tests and checks and scans and – in the worst case – diagnoses.
The pilot – he didn’t recognize her – closed the main door and headed to the cockpit. They’d be airborne soon, and then he’d be home for a large Scotch and a few chapters of the book on General Patton he was reading. A two-hour flight, more or less, then thirty minutes to his house in Cape Elizabeth and a berth in his armchair by the window overlooking the ocean.
Thank God for the company jet.
The rest of the world was packed into a dirty, crowded airport, scrambling to get a slightly better seat, hoping that their flight wasn’t delayed or canceled, choosing from a selection of greasy sandwiches and over-priced drinks. Life was dismal for most people, and especially during the last few years. Shuffling around in masks, terrified of catching some awful disease from the people around them, but unable to avoid them.
