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unconfirmed—a Boeing 747 bound for San Francisco has disappeared from radar. United Flight 58 departed Honolulu International Airport at twelve-thirty-eight a.m. Two hundred and seventy-one passengers and twenty crew members are onboard. . . .”
    Barb’s hand went to her throat. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room to breathe. Tightly, she said, “Honey, shut it off.”
    The phone rang. Barb grabbed the remote, hit the off button, and ran into the kitchen. The caller ID read:
Illinois call
. Chicago was where United Airlines headquarters was located. The vise around her chest clamped down further.
No, please, not Jordan. Not my baby
.
    She took a couple of deep breaths and shakily lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
    “Mrs. Jensen?” a woman’s too-careful voice queried.
    Barb wanted to say,
No, this isn’t her, and this hasn’t happened. It’s a normal day, and my daughter will be home soon. Goodbye
. But of course she didn’t. She’d been a military wife for most of her life. Just because Robert had retired didn’t mean she couldn’t still draw on that reserve of strength. “Yes,” she replied, “this is she.”
    “Hi, Mrs. Jensen. This is Joanne Tierney from United Airlines. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid there’s a problem with your daughter’s flight.”
    Barb listened numbly as the woman repeated what the newscaster had said, adding little. The flight had disappeared from radar without any prior indication of trouble; search-and-rescue was scouring the ocean, searching for survivors; no, they had no evidence that a bomb or any act of terrorism had brought down the plane; United would call as soon as they knew more. “We’re hoping for the best,” Ms. Tierney finished.
    “Yes,” Barb whispered. “So are we.” Eyes squeezed shut, she hung up. Then she wiped her damp, shaking palms on her pants and returned to the family room.
    Roberta glanced up, and her brows drew together. “Are you crying, Grandma?” she asked in a serious little voice.
    Barb flopped onto the couch and hugged the child close. “Mommy’s airplane got a little lost. There are brave rescuerslooking for her right now. Try not to be scared.”
    “She’s not in the ocean.”
    Barb moved the child back and searched her face. “What do you mean?”
    “She’s in the sky.” Roberta moved her hand in a sweeping motion over her head. “High up.”
    “In heaven? Oh, honey. No. They’re looking for her. We have to pray that they find her. We have to, Roberta. We have to be strong.”
    Roberta shook her head. “She’s in the sky.” Her gaze turned inward, blue eyes focused somewhere that Barb couldn’t reach. “I know, Grandma. I know she is.”
    Barb pulled the girl to her chest. She wept softly as she stroked Roberta’s hair. Often, children could sense things adults couldn’t. But if Roberta thought Jordan was dead, then Barb hoped with all her heart that she was wrong.
    A vibration rumbled through the jumbo jet. Jordan caught the railing by the staircase and held on. Then the airplane jolted from side to side, almost throwing her off balance. There was a grating noise, and then it stopped.
    The singing ended abruptly. People screamed. The baby’s wailing went off the charts. And Jordan’s heart thumped in her chest as she swung herself the rest of the way up the stairs from the main cabin. If this thing was going to start flying again, she’d damned well better be at the controls.
    Upstairs it was dark. Eerie and silent. A blanket covered the captain’s inert form, a shadowy bump in the middle of the aisle. Jordan stumbled over it, leaping into the empty cockpit. She sat in the captain’s abandoned seat and waited, her legs rigid with pent-up adrenaline, her hands guarding the control yoke.
    Come on—show yourselves
. Bravado might not quell her apprehension, but it couldn’t hurt.
I’m ready for anything you want to throw at me. Let this machine loose and I’ll prove it!
    The ribbed wall in front