The chief went pale. “How’d you know?”
Captain Harris was mid-sip of coffee. “Sir, you’re not—” Ifly 737 Max Crack
They dropped. Ears screamed. Babies cried. And Alex watched the crack freeze at the seal—holding, just barely, by a thread of laminate and luck. The chief went pale
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” Harris said, voice suddenly young. “Ifly 737 Max, Flight 822. Descending to ten thousand. Requesting vectors to nearest divert. Declaring emergency.” ” Harris said
He unbuckled and walked forward, calm as a man headed to the lavatory. “Don’t touch the intercom,” he murmured to the flight attendant, showing his FAA badge. “Get me in the jumpseat.”
“We’re descending,” Alex said. “Now. Declare emergency. Tell them rapid decompression risk.”