Rubin rubbed his palms on his pants legs and gripped the control column.

He had not taken command of the aircraft again since climbing over the

glacier's peak. He took a deep breath and pressed the "Autopilot

Release" button on the control column. He was too unsure of himself to

slip the Boeing into a bank with the ailerons so he used only the rudder

controls to gently crab around in a flat Turn. As soon as the nose came

onto a straight course he felt something was wrong.

"Rpms dropping on number four engine," said Ybarra with a noticeable

tremor in his voice. "It's starving for fuel."

"Shouldn't we shut it down or something?"

"I don't know the procedure," Ybarra replied dumbly.

Oh, dear Lord, Rubin thought to himself, the blind leading the blind.

The altimeter began to register a steady drop. The airspeed indicated a

decrease too. His mind strained beyond reason, Rubin tried to will the

plane in the air rather than fly it.

He also tried to fight time as the distance between the plane and the

sea slowly, relentlessly narrowed. Then, without warning, the control

column began to grow sluggish and vibrate in his hands.

"She's stalling," shouted Ybarra, his stoic face showing fear at last.

"Push the nose down."

Rubin eased the control column forward, fully aware he was hastening the

inevitable. "Lower the flaps to increase our lift!" he ordered Ybarra.

"Flaps coming down," Ybarra replied through pursed lips.

"This is it," Rubin muttered. "We're going in."

A stewardess stood in the open cockpit door listening to the exchange,

eyes wide with fright, face pale as a sheet of paper.

"Are we going to crash?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Rubin tensed in his seat, too busy to Turn. "Yes, dammit!" he swore.

"Strap yourself in."

She spun and nearly fell down as she raced back to the main cabin to

alert the other flight attendants and passengers for the worst. Everyone

realized there was no putting off the inevitable, and thankfully there

was no panic or hysterical outcry. Even the prayers came softly.

Ybarra twisted in his seat and stared down the aisle. Kamil was

comforting an older man who was shaking uncontrollably.

Her face was completely calm and seemed to bear a smiling expression of

contentment. She was truly a lovely woman, Ybarra thought. A pity her

beauty would soon be erased. He sighed and turned back to the

instrument panel.

The altimeter was falling past two hundred meters. Ybarra took a great

risk and increased the throttle settings on the three remaining engines.

It was a useless gesture born of desperation. The engines would burn

their last few gallons of fuel at a faster rate and die sooner. But

Ybarra wasn't thinking logically. He could not sit and do nothing. He

felt he had to perform one final, defiant act, anything, even if it

meant hastening his own death.

Five tormenting minutes passed as one. The black sea reached up to