The plane groaned as another wave slammed into its side. Noah winced. “We don’t have three hours of this. Something gives, we’ll start taking on water.” “We could try stabilizing the drift,” Jamie offered, “if we can nudge the rudder free.

“Maybe swing us a bit east—closer to the shipping lanes,” Jamie suggested, bracing himself against the mild turbulence.

Noah flicked him a sidelong look. “You think it’s jammed, not busted?”

“Only one way to know,” Jamie said, already unbuckling. He moved toward the rear maintenance hatch, the cramped cabin forcing him to stoop. With a twist of the latch, he disappeared into the narrow service crawlspace, hands and knees on cold metal.

Noah kept one eye on the instruments and the other on the ocean ahead, the steady drone of the engines now underscored by the faint clangs and thuds of Jamie working his way toward the tail.