Fighting down her horror-stricken thoughts, April Wayne set her teeth and took a deep breath. "Joe Hardy, we are not going to crash!" she yelled over the rolling swell of thunder. "I’ve already crashed a plane once this week. Once a year is too much; twice in one week borders on the ludicrous."

In the relative calm following the thunderclap, Joe stared at his companion. "How can you make jokes at a time like this?" he demanded, his voice escalating in both pitch and volume.

"If I don’t make them now, I might not get another chance!" she responded with a tight smile.

"Gee, thanks, April, that makes me feel so much better!" Joe gulped, feeling his insides trying to turn flips and freeze at the same time.

"Besides, what makes you think I’m joking? If I ruin this plane too, Jack will never let me hear the end of it….Now concentrate, Joe!

"I am concentrating!" Joe snapped furiously. When I get a chance, I’m gonna be so sick…. He gritted his teeth as lightning danced about the little plane, and it shuddered in a swirling wind gust. He stole a glance backward once, to check on Frank. The older boy was sprawled limply in his seat; the safety belt held him securely in place, but he was still getting jounced around, and his head jerked forward and then back again as Joe watched. Ouch, whiplash city! Joe thought, and winced; then he was trying frantically to pull the craft’s nose level once again.

Ten minutes…fifteen, twenty…half an hour of fighting the elements. Joe was exhausted, nauseated, and scared to death. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and he felt his shirt plastered to his back beneath his jacket. April tried to help, whenever she could, but most of her concentration was on navigating, with an occasional attempt at using the radio.

"Bayport Tower, this is a Mayday, please respond…."

"November Papa Charlie 218, we read you; can you hear us now?" A voice crackled through the static. "We’ve been picking up your message, but we couldn’t punch through to you."

"Yes!" Joe nearly screamed in exultation. "Finally!"

Through the sputtering static, April explained the situation: one pilot unconscious; another hampered by injuries; the person who had to land the plane had had flight instruction, but didn’t possess a pilot’s license. Joe winced as he listened. Never hear the end of this one is right….

When April ended her conversation, she grinned over at Joe. "They’ll have an ambulance there for Frank, available as soon as we land. We just have to get the plane on the ground first. Piece of cake, right?" she quipped.

"How can you be so calm?" Joe tried to peer out as rain sluiced across the windshield.

"When you’re 20,000 feet in the air and in control of a two-ton plane that can destroy half a city if it crashes, you don’t dare be anything except calm." April retorted. "Now start taking us down, Joe, little by little. Nice gradual descent…don’t worry, we won’t miss the airport – after all, we can circle for awhile, if we have to."

The thought of staying aloft in a holding pattern for any length of time nearly made the boy retch. "Let’s get it right the first time, okay?" he muttered.

"Fine by me."

As if in a dream, Joe heard April echo her words of a few days before: Fine by me…that sounds painful…and he set his jaw grimly. I’ll get it right the first time – I will get it right! She’s not going to be in another crash if I have anything to say about it…!

Down, down, down….the instruments were no help; the lightning had caused most of them to malfunction earlier, and they didn’t come back online now. Joe looked out, trying to see through the rain-streaks, and beheld the lights of Bayport.

"There—" he croaked hoarsely, and unclenched one hand from the yoke long enough to gesture toward the lights. April looked, then nodded and smiled.

"Relax Joe; movies are always having people land airplanes bigger than this with not even as much prior training as you’ve had. If they can do that, you can do this."

Joe wasn’t sure he found comfort in that. "Yeah, but it’s in the script that they don’t kill anyone. And if they fail the first time they can always reshoot the scene. I haven’t read the script for this little adventure to know if we live or die and I certainly don’t want to reshoot it."

"Poor Joe. You are doing great. We’re almost there," she said. "Just one more hurdle."

Joe didn’t take his eyes off the controls in front of him to even look at her. "Just one more? And here I was just beginning to enjoy them; are you sure you can’t throw in a few more just for good measure?"

April laughed. "He made a joke; we might live through this yet." she commented. "Okay Joe, ease the yoke forward until the little plane on the control panel is at thirty degrees. I know with this weather it’s going to be difficult, but you have to keep it at that angle. I’m going to lower the landing gear now.

She reached over him awkwardly with her uninjured arm and pulled the lever that would release the wheels for landing. After doing so, she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "Okay, Joe, that’s great. You are a natural at this…even if you do look a couple of shades closer to a frog than a human being. Now ease up on the throttle and start your descent. Slow and easy; you can see the runway lights now. Just aim between those lines of lights. As soon as the wheels touch the ground, you’re going to feel resistance in the yoke; don’t let go. Pull the yoke forward as hard as you can and take your foot off the throttle, and hit the brakes. We’ve got plenty of runway so don’t worry about hitting anything."

Joe, listening intently to her instructions, couldn’t help but grin a little. "We won’t run the plane right into the control tower? Surely that would be a disaster."

April lightly punched his arm good-naturedly. She had seen the movie Airplane many times as well, and knew exactly what he was referring to. "No Joe, we won’t run into the control tower…and don’t call me Shirley."

Joe shook his head, a little nonplused. "I can’t believe I’m about to land this thing, and maybe kill all three of us and half a city, and I’m making movie jokes! The stress must have made me flip out."

"We’re not going to die, Joe Hardy, and the city is safe. Just be glad that Frank isn’t awake to see you be less than calm, cool, and collected. He’d never let you hear the end of it. Fortunately for you, I remember exactly how less than calm, cool and collected I was last week when I knew I was about to crash. So I can’t fault you at all….That’s good, Joe, slow and easy…."

"Here goes….hang on, April, hang on!" Frank, at least you’re unconscious and won’t feel the impact! Joe watched the ground rise up to meet him, bit his lip hard – and touched the wheels down.

The plane jolted, bounced, and was airborne again. Joe reduced speed to next to nothing and shoved the yoke forward. They hit the runway with an impact that threatened to snap the landing gear, but this time the wheels stayed on the ground. Joe applied the brakes, tentatively at first, then with greater assurance. Lights flashed by on either side: the beautiful, reassuring runway lights that indicated safety. With a last convulsive shudder, Jack Wayne’s precious blue-and-white treasure came to a halt at the end of the runway.

"YEEEEE-HAWWW!!!!" Joe’s version of a Rebel yell split the night. "We made it!" He turned off the ignition, and the sibilant throb of the engines died away. "We’re down, April, we made it!"

"I knew you could do it!" she exulted. "I knew you could!"

"We did it," Joe corrected her. "You and me – together we did it."

Unable to stand being in the cockpit any longer, Joe yanked open his door and climbed out of the plane, unmindful of the rain streaming down. Flashing lights were rapidly approaching; the emergency vehicles were on their way. April clambered out too, and made her way to Joe’s side.

"You were great, Joe!" April was swiping at her face with her hand; Joe wasn’t sure if she was brushing away raindrops or tears. Impulsively, he caught her into a tight embrace, and kissed her resoundingly.

"I couldn’t have done it without you!" he cried. "April Wayne, you are one heck of a flight instructor!" But even as he spoke, Joe felt his knees begin to knock; reaction was setting in, displacing exhilaration. He gulped and shivered; braced himself with a hand against the plane. "I feel sick…."

For a moment, April looked shocked, then she began to laugh. "Kissing me makes you feel sick?" she teased. "Gee, no wonder I never have any dates!"

Joe’s attempted apology was swallowed up in the noisy arrival of the airport’s ambulance. Two EMT’s leaped from the vehicle and hurried toward them.

"More EMT’s," April groaned. "If I never see one again, it’ll be too soon."

"We’re okay," Joe waved the medics toward the plane. "But my brother’s unconscious, in there." He reached through the open door for the thermos. "I think he was drugged – something in this coffee." He handed the container to one of the EMT’s, who put it in her bag as she climbed into the plane’s interior. "And he was thrown around quite a bit, during the flight and the landing!" Joe called after her. "So be really careful moving him, huh?"

"Get into the ambulance out of the rain," the second EMT recommended, preparing to follow his partner. Joe took April’s arm and steered her toward the vehicle; they climbed in, grateful for the shelter. The moisture had penetrated their clothes quickly, and Joe found himself shivering; he still felt queasy despite being safe on the ground. The two teens sat quietly, not attempting to make conversation; it was enough just to know they were safe.

A tap on the window made them both jump. Someone was standing beside the ambulance, the rain flattening his blonde hair against his head. Joe rolled down the window.

"Hi?" he said cautiously to the man.

"It’s Roger," April told him. "Roger Taylor. He works for Jack."

Not having met the man before, Joe surveyed the DEA agent with interest. Looks kind of nerdy…probably makes a good cover for him to look like that. He extended a hand out the window. "Joe Hardy; I’m Frank’s brother."

"I’m glad to meet you, Joe. April, what happened? I heard from Jack that you three were flying back, and then the next thing I heard was that you were coming in on an emergency basis!"

"Something happened to Frank; we’re not sure what," she explained. "He got dizzy and then passed out. Joe thinks maybe he was drugged."

"How could that happen?" Taylor asked. "And who could have drugged him?"

"We don’t know," Joe stated tersely. "And if you’ll excuse me—" He saw the medics exiting Jack’s plane, wheeling Frank on a stretcher and heading toward the ambulance. Joe slid out of the vehicle and hurried to walk beside his brother. Frank had been tightly strapped to the stretcher; he was wearing a cervical collar, and his face was very pale. "Is he all right?" Joe demanded.

"All his vitals are good." The male paramedic reassured him. "He has some bruises, and probably some muscle strain – you were right about him getting tossed around, I think – but nothing appears to be broken. He’ll be pretty sore though, when he wakes up." They lifted the stretcher from its wheeled base and slid it into the ambulance.

"We want to go with him to the hospital," Joe said. "We’ll be ready in a minute ." He stepped to the front of the ambulance, where Roger and April were still conversing. Roger moved to intercept him.

"How is Frank?" he asked.

"I don’t know for sure," Joe admitted. "but the medic said his vitals are okay; he’s bruised, though, and still unconscious. I’m going to go with him in the ambulance. April, you coming?"

"I want to, but we can’t exactly leave the plane in the middle of the runway," she reminded the anxious boy. "Someone needs to come get it, or we need to taxi it back to the hangar."

Joe ground his teeth with impatience as Roger tapped him quietly on the shoulder.

"One question, Joe – did you bring the cocaine back with you?"

Joe blinked. The question seemed inappropriate, somehow.

"Uh – no, it’s still in Toronto. Jack and Dad will bring it back tomorrow, I think. Why?"

"Well, I’m responsible for it, after all," Roger reminded him. "I should return it to headquarters as soon as possible." He stepped back, sensing Joe’s impatience. "I’ll let you go on with Frank now, then. I may catch a flight up to Toronto yet tonight, so that Jack doesn’t have to worry about bringing the evidence back." He walked away, and Joe started once again to get in the back of the ambulance. He stopped, seeing April’s thoughtful frown as she watched Roger Taylor walk away.

"Funny thing…" she said quietly. "I’ve never liked him very much, for some reason. I guess I must subconsciously blame him for what was happening with Jack. Jack started acting weird right after Roger started working for Wayne’s World, and I must have associated the two events."

Joe smiled. "I can tell you something about Roger that you didn’t know. He’s an undercover agent for Drug Enforcement, and he’s been working for Jack so that he could keep an eye on the situation with Deke and Ernie. He was in on the sting operation tonight."

April glanced at Joe in surprise. "Really?" She considered it a moment, then nodded. "That explains it, then."

"Explains what?"

"Why he was on Jack’s plane right before I took off, on Monday. He got on, and then off a couple of minutes later. I suppose the package he was carrying had something to do with the sting operation that was supposed to go down, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it must have," Joe replied absently, watching the medics securing Frank’s stretcher in place. "Can’t we leave the plane here for a while?" he pleaded. "We can come back and move it after we make sure Frank’s okay."

"Well—" April hesitated. "I’ll check with the tower control and see if that would be okay. I suppose the traffic controllers can route around this landing strip." She started toward the plane again, intending to use the radio. Joe watched her, an errant thought niggling at his brain.

Forgetting his unconscious brother, unmindful of April, leaning against the plane as she chatted with the control tower, heedless of the persistent nausea that threatened to overwhelm him, Joe took off running across the tarmac, cutting straight across the landing strips, heading for the cargo hangars whence Roger Taylor had disappeared into the rainy night.