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OceanAire flight 705 requesting landing instructions, over.”
    The pilot came back into the cockpit and strapped himself in. “Man, that coffee is bad tonight.”
    “Yeah well, look at who made it; you don’t think they hired her because of her coffee making skills, do you?—” the co-pilot joked, and they both laughed, and then he repeated “—Funchal Airport, this is OceanAire flight 705 requesting landing instructions. Please respond.”
    “What’s going on?” the pilot asked.
    “I’ve called three t imes, and they haven’t answered.”
    “Have you tried calling in Portuguese? Maybe the English speakers are all off shift tonight,” he gr inned.
    “ Right—” he said, and then spoke in broken Portuguese “— Olá! acorde e dê-nos instruções da aterragem .”
    Still, there was no response.
    “I don’t see anything on radar—” the pilot said nervously “—are you sure you didn’t take us off autopilot too soon?”
    Both of them began double-checking everything.
    “We should be right on top of them; the GPS confirms our latitude and longitude—” the co-pilot said “—this is weird, we should see lights.”
    The pilot tried contacting the tower himself, but still there was no response. He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. There was no signal; they should have been close enough to be bouncing off several cell towers by now. He was about to try connecting through the onboard satellite phone system, when all the instruments began to malfunction.
    “Look at the naviga tional compass!” the co-pilot said, alarmed.
    Both the digital and magnetic compasses began to spin wildly. It was dark, the horizon was completely obscured, and the navigation system wasn’t working.
    “May Day! —May Day!” the pilot shouted into the radio just before they hit the ocean at full speed.
     
    ***
    Ashlyn, typically the first to awaken, was still sleeping when Stewart opened his eyes. He definitely did not like her, did not trust her, and wished that she would go away. However, he was hungry and couldn’t wait for breakfast. Even in the short time she had been with them, he had grown accustomed to the smell of bacon cooking in the morning.
    Mark walked into the galley. He had been up on the deck planning the day’s events, “Where’s Ashlyn?”
    “You’re asking me?” Mark didn’t miss the sarcasm in Stewart’s voice and scowled at him.
    As if on cue, she came up the stairs looking less energetic than usual.
    “Are you okay?” Mark ’s voice dripped with concern, and Stewart didn’t bother turning away before rolling his eyes.
    “I’m alright, I just didn’t sleep well.”
    “You don’t need to cook breakfast this morning if you don’t feel up to it,” Mark said gently.
    Stewart closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and wanted to scream — what is wrong with you, Mark?— Instead, Stewart said mockingly, “I don’t feel well either.”
    His statement fell on deaf ears, Mark’s deaf ears anyway; Ashlyn didn’t miss it. She turned so that Mark could not see and shot Stewart a look that said, “Don’t push it.”
    How he wished he had a camera right then so that Mark could see that expression. He was sure it was a warning, another threat, only this time unspoken.
    “It’s not a problem. I can cook, I’m just tired,” she said with a sleepy smile.
    “I’m going to take the day off,” Stewart announ ced to no one in particular, and then climbed off the boat onto the dock and walked away.
     
    ***
    Mark stared after him, puzzled by Stewart’s sudden departure.
    “What’s with him?” He turned to Ashlyn.
    “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure he just feels threatened by my presence. I did take his room and …well, it’s easy to see why there might be some hard feelings.”
    “He knows that we were planning on leaving this morning. I wasn’t going to come back here for at least a week. The place is halfway to Puerto Rico—” Mark steamed “—I don’t want to