“There is a military airfield here,” Malachi said. “Carnmore. It has a long runway, but it’s built right on the cliffs.”

“Can we land there?” I asked.

“We have to,” Malachi said. “The fuel tanks are nearly empty.”

He looked at the radio panel.

“Grace, we need to talk to them.”

I reached for the hand microphone hanging beside the center pedestal.

My hand was shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

I checked the active frequency.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” I said into the mic. “This is Flight Seven Eight Two. We have an onboard emergency.”

The static crackled, then a sharp, clear voice came through the speakers.

“Flight Seven Eight Two, this is Shannon Center. We have you on radar. State your emergency.”

“Our captain is unresponsive,” I said. “We have a twelve-year-old boy at the controls. We are descending to land at Carnmore.”

There was a long silence on the radio.

“Seven Eight Two, confirm,” the controller said, his voice tense. “You have a child flying the aircraft?”

“Yes,” I said. “He is the only one who can do it. We need a clear runway.”