She whispered to Donna, "Dear God. He is just a boy."
Donna's answer was quiet, but it carried. "He's the boy who answered."
Sandra Klein continued the descent instructions. "Pinnacle 2234, turn left heading 140. Traffic 12:00, 10 miles, opposite direction, flight level 190. No factor."
Freddy dialed the heading. "Left 140, traffic in sight, Pinnacle 2234." He did not say 'in sight' because he could see the other aircraft. He said it because the TCAS display showed the traffic moving away. He knew the protocol. He knew which words kept the frequency plain and which words caused confusion. Walt had drilled him on this for weeks. Say what ATC needs to hear, nothing more, nothing less. Every extra word is a second someone else can't talk.
The descent continued. 18,000. 15,000.
The ride grew rougher as they entered the lower atmosphere. Freddy adjusted the seat one more notch forward. His legs were short, and the rudder pedals required full extension to reach neutral.
"Mr. Whitmore, I need you to set the approach frequency. ILS runway 26 left. Localizer frequency is 110.10. Set it on nav one."
Gerald found the radio panel, different from the Gulfstream. He hesitated for 2 seconds, then located the nav one selector and dialed 110.10. "Set."
"Confirm course. 260."
Gerald checked. "260 confirmed."
They were building a crew, not the kind forged in training centers with manuals and check rides, the kind forged because there was no alternative. A 14-year-old who knew the airplane and a 58-year-old who knew how to follow instructions when it mattered. Between them, they had 6,200 hours of flight experience. Only 200 of those hours were on the right aircraft.
The auto throttle surged a fourth time. N1 spiked to 93.6% on the left engine. Freddy's right hand moved to the auto throttle disconnect button on the center pedestal, hovering but not pressing.
He keyed the mic. "Atlanta Center, Pinnacle 2234, be advised we are experiencing intermittent auto throttle anomalies. N1 is spiking approximately 10% above set thrust. Duration approximately 2 seconds per event. Four events total. Pattern appears consistent. Requesting technical guidance."
Sandra Kline's response was immediate. "Pinnacle 2234, copy auto throttle anomaly. Stand by, I'm coordinating with Boeing technical support on a secondary line."
Freddy released the mic button and looked at Gerald. "Mr. Whitmore, the firmware version for the auto throttle on this aircraft, can you read it from the EICAS maintenance page? I need to confirm something."
Gerald navigated the EICAS menu. It took him three attempts. The Collins interface was unfamiliar, but he found it. His voice changed when he read it aloud. "RT9 version 3.1.2."
Freddy watched Gerald's face. Something drained out of it. Not surprise, recognition. "You know this firmware?" Freddy said. It was not a question.
Gerald did not answer. His eyes stayed on the EICAS. The letters RT9V3.1.2 glowed green on the display, but Gerald Whitmore's face had gone the color of the master caution light.
Donna brought two bottles of water from the forward galley and set them in the cup holders. She checked on Greer, still on the floor, conscious, too weak to stand. She checked on Beckett, 105 running, pulse 63, stable but unresponsive. Then she walked back into the cabin to do the only thing left in her power: keep 141 passengers calm while a boy they had tried to stop flew the airplane that a vice president could not.
Freddy set the altimeter to the local barometric pressure, 29.82 inches of mercury, provided by Sandra on the ATIS broadcast. He cross-checked the altitude readout. He adjusted the heading bug. He watched the navigation display as the magenta line curved toward Atlanta.
12,000 ft. The thunderstorm cell was visible on the weather radar now, a bloom of red and yellow, 22 nautical miles northwest of the airport, crawling southeast at 18 knots. Freddy calculated in his head. At 18 knots, the storm would reach the runway 26 left approach corridor in approximately 36 minutes. They needed to be on the ground in 30.
He looked at the fuel gauges. 9,200 lb total. The crossfeed had done its work. Both tanks within 180 lb. He reached for the crossfeed valve and closed it. "Crossfeed closed, fuel balanced, Mr. Whitmore, confirm."
"Confirmed. Left 4,600, right 4,600."
"Thank you." Freddy Palmer said thank you to the man who had told him to get out of the cockpit 11 minutes earlier. He said it without irony, without sarcasm, without any of the bitterness a 14-year-old would have been entitled to feel. He said it because a good captain acknowledges good work, regardless of what happened before.
Gerald heard it. And for the first time in a long while, the word "Thank you" made him feel worse, not better. Gerald knew exactly what was wrong with the auto throttle. He had signed the report that ignored it.
3:59 p.m. Altitude 12,000 ft. 18 minutes from the runway.
The auto throttle surged a fifth time. This time, it did not settle. N1 on the left engine climbed past 94, past 95, and locked at 96.1%. The aircraft accelerated through 250 knots, the speed limit below 10,000 ft in United States airspace, and kept going. 255. 260. 264.
Sandra's voice. "Pinnacle 2234, I am showing you at 264 knots below 10,000. You need to slow down immediately."
Freddy's hand did not hesitate. He pressed the auto throttle disconnect button. Two clicks, firm and deliberate. The annunciator panel flashed. A/T off. Now the thrust levers, two physical levers on the center pedestal, were under manual control. His manual control.
He pulled both levers back. The engines spooled down. Airspeed began to bleed. 255. 248. 240. He held the levers steady until the needle settled at 220.
"Atlanta, Pinnacle 2234, auto throttle disconnected, manual thrust control. Maintaining 220 knots. Requesting ILS runway 26 left."