Swimming to Catalina (Stone Barrington 4)

“Several just like it.” He pulled onto the runup pad at the end of the runway, revved up to 3,000 rpms, checked the magnetos, the oil pressure, and the temperatures, then called the tower. “Ready for takeoff on Twenty-one, VFR departure to the west.”

“Cleared for takeoff,” the tower controller replied.

Stone taxied onto the runway, eased the throttle all the way forward, and released the brakes. They were off the ground in less than a thousand feet.

“Where are we?” Dino asked.

“Open your eyes, and you’ll see,” Stone replied.

They were crossing the beach now, and they could see the dim outline of Santa Catalina Island in the smoggy distance.

“That’s where we’re going,” Stone said. He leveled off at a thousand feet. “Watch for other airplanes; we don’t want a collision.”

“A collision?” Dino cried.

“Help me avoid one, okay?” He consulted the chart to stay well out of the Class B airspace surrounding LAX. “Down there is Marina Del Rey, where I’ve been spending a lot of time lately.” He dipped a wing so that Dino could see out the left side of the airplane.

“Don’t do that,” Dino said through gritted teeth.

Stone pointed out another light airplane off the coast and made a course adjustment to avoid it. “That’s what I was talking about,” he said. “Watch for more.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dino replied.

They flew along for ten minutes without speaking while Catalina grew larger in the windshield. Stone pointed again and put the nose of the airplane down. “Look at that,” he said.

“The big boat?”

“Let’s get a closer look.” He descended to five hundred feet and flew past the yacht on a parallel course.

“Her name is Contessa,” Dino said.

“That’s the one we’re looking for; she’s on her way back from Marina Del Rey to her mooring off Catalina.” The yacht was slowing now as she approached the anchorage, and Stone circled. “See all those little things floating in the water? Those are empty moorings. They’ll be full this weekend, so tonight is a better time for us to go.” The yacht slowed, and a man in a small boat drove up to her mooring and tossed a rope onto her decks, where it was received by another crew member.

“Two aboard,” Stone said. “One at the helm.” As they watched, the man in the small boat turned toward the harbor and went away. “The skipper told me he could run her with a mate when the owner isn’t aboard.”

“Well, it’s a very nice boat,” Dino said. “Can we go back to land now?”

“Look at the anchorage; I want you to have a good idea of where we’re going when we come back here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I see it, now let’s get back to land, okay?”

“There’s a life jacket in the back seat, in case we have to put down in the water.”

“Just shut up and get me back to land,” Dino said.

“All right, we’re done. Aren’t you enjoying the flight?” They hit a patch of bumpy air, and Dino clung to his seat.

“Not much,” he said. “Get me out of here.”

Stone turned back toward Santa Monica and tuned in the recorded weather information. When they were ten miles out, he called the tower. “I’m a 172 approaching from Catalina for landing; I have information bravo.”

The tower came back. “Enter a left downwind for Twenty-one; you’re number three for landing after a 182 and a Citation.”

Stone entered the traffic pattern as the other Cessna landed. “I have the Citation,” he said to the tower.

“Keep the Citation in sight, cleared for landing.”

“Jesus, will you look at this city,” Dino said, at last seeming to appreciate the view.