Mayday at Two Thousand Five Hundred by Frank Peretti

just north of the runway threshold. The broad, white-striped end of One Three spread out before them, coming up fast.
    Yankee Tango veered to the right.
    â€œTouch left,” said Cooper.
    Jay twisted the autopilot knob to the left, waited just a moment, then returned it to neutral.
    â€œTouch right,” came his father’s voice again.
    He twisted the knob to the right. The airplane hit a bump in the air and lurched. Jay’s hand fell from the knob. He groped to find it again. Precious time passed.
    The Yank banked over into a steep right turn.
    Dr. Cooper tried to keep his voice calm, but his words shot out with rapid-fire urgency. “You’re turning right, Jay! Back to neutral, back to neutral!”
    Jay groped for the knob with his left hand, grabbed the yoke with his right. He turned the yoke to the left momentarily, trying to override the autopilot.
    â€œNo . . . no, straighten it out!” Lila cried as she watched Yankee Tango pass over the runway and then beyond it, rocking this way, then that, caught in ground turbulence.
    Jay found the knob and twisted it back to neutral.
    The Yank snapped out of the turn, but now the airplane was fifty feet off the ground, still sinking, and headed for a row of 747s parked to the right of the runway.
    This landing was too far gone to save.
    â€œFull throttle, Jay,” said Dr. Cooper. “Go around.”
    With a grimace of disappointment, Jay jammed the throttle forward and felt pressed into his seat as the airplane roared and rattled to life.
    Through the telephoto lens of a television camera on the field, the Skylane appeared to drop behind the monstrous tail fin of a 747—as if it was sure to collide with it.
    Then, like a barn swallow in a graceful upswoop, it shot up from behind the tail fin and into the sky, nose high, wings level.
    Audiences all over the Northwest could hear a sigh of relief from the reporter and his cameraman.
    Ben Parker let his head droop for just a moment of quiet relief, then looked out the window again as the Skylane climbed toward them. “Keep climbing, baby, keep climbing.”
    If the Skylane did not continue climbing, it would certainly fly right through the tower windows.
    Trust, trust, TRUST! Jay kept telling himself as he forced himself to hold still, keep his hands off the yoke, and not panic as he waited for the next word of instruction from his father.
    Dr. Cooper managed to keep his voice so calm he surprised even himself as he said, “Okay, Jay, now let’s give it a touch of left so you don’t run into the control tower.”
    The Skylane made a neat, brief bank to the left.
    â€œPerfect.”
    Jay’s voice came back. “Dad, I’m sorry. My hand slipped off the knob.”
    Dr. Cooper drew a deep breath. He didn’t want his voice to sound unsteady as he replied, “That’s okay, son. You did great. We’re going to go around and try it again.”
    Just then, Ben Parker’s voice came over the other radio, the one Jay would not hear. “Niner Zulu Mike, call me on this frequency.”
    Brock switched radios. “Niner Zulu Mike here.”
    Ben Parker spoke through his headset as he and his crew watched Eight Yankee Tango fly by the tower, safely to one side. “Be advised that by our best figures, Eight Yankee Tango has enough fuel for only one more attempted landing. Do you copy?”
    Brock shot a glance at Dr. Cooper, then replied, “Roger, we copy.”
    Parker’s face was stony and grim, his voice even. “If the aircraft runs out of fuel over a populated area, some innocent people on the ground could be hurt or killed. I’m sure you understand that.”
    Brock looked at Dr. Cooper, who nodded.
    Brock replied, “Roger, we understand.”
    â€œIf this attempt fails, you are instructed to guide the aircraft back to Alki Point where the Coast Guard is standing by. You are to follow through with the previous plan to