of ice was slipping under the aircraft no more than 240 meters below. It

was near enough for the ice crystals to reflect the strobe flashes from

the navigation lights. He froze, uncomprehending, trying to make some

sense out of what his eyes told him was true.

If this was an emergency landing, why hadn't the captain alerted the

main cabin crew? The "Fasten Seat Belts" and "No Smoking" signs had

not been turned on.

Almost all of the U.N. passengers were awake, reading or engaged in

conversation. Only Hala Kamil was sound asleep. Several representatives

from Mexico, returning from an economic mission to the World Bank

headquarters, were huddled around a table in the tail section. Director

of Foreign Financing Minister Salazar talked in grim undertones. The

atmosphere around the table was dampened by defeat. Mexico had suffered

a disastrous economic collapse and was going through technical

bankruptcy with no monetary aid in sight.

Dread flared within Rubin, and the words rustled from his mouth: "What

in hell is going on?"

The flight attendant muttered as Her face paled and her eyes widened.

"Shouldn't we begin emergency procedures?"

"Don't alarm the passengers. Not yet anyway. Let me check with the

captain first."

"Is there time?"

"I don't know."

Controlling his fear, Rubin walked quickly, almost at a jog, toward the

cockpit, faking a bored yawn to divert any curiosity at his rapid step.

He whipped the curtain closed that shielded the boarding entryway from

the main cabin.

When he tried the door. It was locked.

He frantically rapped his knuckles against the door. No one answered

from inside. He stared dumbly at the thin barrier that blocked the

cockpit, his mind an incredulous blank; and then, in a flash of

desperation, he lashed out his foot and kicked in the door.

The panel was built to open outward, but the blow smashed it against the

inner wall. . Rubin stared into the cramped space of the cockpit.

Disbelief, bewilderment, fear, they swirled through his mind like a

flood hurtling down a shattered dam.

One swift glance took in the slumped form of the men, Oswald's head on

the floor, face up, ever, staring sightlessly at the cabin roof. Lemk

had seemingly vanished.

Rubin stumbled over Oswald's body, leaned across the panel-staring

through the wind The massive summit of the Hofsjokull loomed beyond the

bow of the plane no more than ten miles away The flickering n lights

silhouetted against the rising ice, the uneven surface with ghostly

shades of gray and green.

Driven by panic, the steward climbed into the pilot's seat and firmly

clutched the control column.

He pulled the wheel toward his chest.

Nothing happened.

The column refused to give.

Glancing at the panel, he observed that it showed a slow but steady

increase in altitude. He yanked at the wheel again, but harder this

time. It gave slightly. He was stunned by the unyielding pressure.

There was no time to think straight. He was too inexperienced to