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will not be able to hook up to any gateways. If you are unable to walk to the terminal, please stay with the plane, and we will send someone back for you.”
    There was no thanking them for choosing Pan-Continental, no “We hope you’ll make us your choice next time you need air service.” He did remind them to stay seated with their belts fastened until he turned off the seat belt sign, because privately he knew this would be his most difficult landing in years. He knew he could do it, but it had been a long time since he had had to land a plane among other aircraft.
    Rayford envied whoever it was in first class who had the inside track on communicating by modem. He was desperate to call Irene, Chloe, and Ray Jr. On the other hand, he feared he might never talk to them again.

CHAPTER THREE
    HATTIE Durham and what was left of her cabin crew encouraged passengers to study the safety cards in their seat pockets. Many feared they would be unable to jump and slide down the chutes, especially with their carry-on luggage. They were instructed to remove their shoes and to jump seat first onto the chute. Then crew members would toss them their shoes and bags. They were advised not to wait in the terminal for their checked baggage. That, they were promised, would eventually be delivered to their homes. No guarantees when.
    Buck Williams gave Hattie his card and got her phone number, “Just in case I get through to your people before you do.”
    “You’re with Global Weekly?” she said. “I had no idea.”
    “And you were going to send me to my room for tampering with the phone.”
    She appeared to be trying to smile. “Sorry,” Buck said, “not funny. I’ll let you go.”
    Always a light traveler, Buck was grateful he had checked no baggage. Never did, not even on international flights. When he opened the bin to pull down his leather bag, he found the old man’s hat and jacket still perched atop it. Harold’s wife sat staring at Buck, her eyes full, jaw set. “Ma’am,” he said quietly, “would you want these?”
    The grieving woman gratefully gathered in the hat and coat, and crushed them against her chest as if she would never let them go. She said something Buck couldn’t hear. He asked her to repeat it. “I can’t jump out of any airplane,” she said.
    “Stay right here,” he said. “They’ll send someone for you.”
    “But will I still have to jump and slide down that thing?”
    “No, ma’am. I’m sure they’ll have a lift of some sort.”
    Buck carefully laid his laptop and case in among his clothes. With his bag zipped, he hurried to the front of the line, eager to show others how easy it was. He tossed his shoes down first, watching them bounce and skitter onto the runway. Then he clutched his bag across his chest, took a quick step and threw his feet out in front of him.
    A bit enthusiastic, he landed not on his seat but on his shoulders, which threw his feet over the top of his head. He picked up speed and hit the bottom with his weight shifting forward. The buggy-whip centripetal force slammed his stockinged feet to the ground and brought his torso up and over in a somersault that barely missed planting his face on the concrete. At the last instant, still hanging on to his bag for dear life, he tucked his head under and took the abrasion on the back of his head rather than on his nose. He fought the urge to say, “No problem,” but he couldn’t keep from rubbing the back of his head, already matted with blood. It wasn’t a serious problem, only a nuisance. He quickly retrieved his shoes and began logging toward the terminal, as much from embarrassment as need. He knew there would be no more hurrying once he hit the terminal.

    Rayford, Christopher, and Hattie were the last three off the 747. Before disembarking, they had made sure all able bodied people got down the chutes and that the elderly and infirm were transported by bus. The bus driver insisted that the crew ride with him and the