She smiled at him. “Sure, Mr. T. I’d like that.”

“We’ll plan on it, then.”

Her throat was aching. “You bet.”

After that, they flew on without speaking, deep in their own thoughts, their own regrets, until the last of the fuel ran out and the Cheetah had started its final descent.

Yup, that’s that. We’re going down.

She had known for the last twenty minutes that they had missed the island. Since then they had flown in expanding circles, hoping somehow to find the beacon. But she had little hope of finding Tarabao or anyplace else. It was a minuscule island, and the Pacific down this way was very empty. In going on four hours since they’d left Hawaii they’d never seen a single light, not even from some lonely freighter.

She trimmed the tabs slightly back for as long and slow a descent as possible- funny how, even now, you did whatever you could to give yourself maybe two more minutes aloft, as if it made any difference -sat back, and slid open the window to let in the cool night air. She took two deep breaths, shivered, and closed it again.

“What do we do now?” Torkelsson asked.

“First get your life jacket on. And you know there’s a raft stowed right behind us, right? If something happens to me and I can’t-”

“Claudia-”

“-and I can’t open it for us, you just pull the inflation handle, you don’t have to open the valise. Make sure you wait till you get it out the door first.”

He managed a dry laugh. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Now get that jacket on. And then pull the seat belt tight. Don’t worry, we’re going to be all right.”

“Of course we are.” He said it like a man already dead, but he shrugged the mildewed orange jacket over his head and pulled the bands tight. Claudia did the same with hers.

“I’m really sorry I yelled at you like that,” she said a few moments later. “I had no call to do that. You’ve been great to me, Mr. Torkelsson, you and your brother both.”