ABOUT THIS BOOK
Shadow Line
STEPHEN EDGER
THURSDAY NIGHT
The pilot of a routine flight from Paris deliberately crash lands the plane at Southampton airport. Miraculously, there are no fatalities, but who is the man in the Panama hat risking his life to save all on board and who is the mystery eighty-third passenger?
FRIDAY MORNING
An insurance broker carrying an automatic gun opens fire on his colleagues before turning the gun on himself. What motivated him to take such drastic measures and where did he get the weapon?
SATURDAY MORNING
A student enters the West Quay shopping centre with a bomb strapped to his chest. He takes control of the complex and begins to preach from the Qur’an. Why is he bringing his terrorist act to Southampton and why did he choose today?
IN THE SHADOWS
Charged with leading the three investigations, D.I. Jack Vincent is under enormous pressure to deliver results. The last thing he needs is the Security Services poking around. With three seemingly unrelated cases occupying his time, this really will be the toughest week of Jack Vincent’s life.
SHADOW LINE
Murder, espionage, suspense, terrorism and a face from the past: Shadow Line is the thrilling follow-up to Redemption.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Stephen Edger 2013
Stephen Edger asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
STEPHEN EDGER
Shadow Line
THURSDAY
1
Nina Johnstone crossed her right leg over her left and gently massaged her aching calf muscles. She could feel tiny static charges between her fingers as they glided across the nylon material of her tights. She playfully balanced her heeled shoe on her toes before allowing it to fall casually to the floor. It felt like she had been on her feet for hours and this opportunity to just sit was well deserved. The calf massage wasn’t really enough, she needed a full body massage to work out the various stresses and strains of the last five days, but that would have to wait. For now.
Nina unfolded her legs and pushed her foot back into its shoe while she gently rotated her head to stretch her aching neck. She had been in the same seat for the last thirty minutes, which meant they would be preparing for descent imminently. She had finished her last shift aboard a 737 travelling between Istanbul and Paris. This short flight from Orly in Western Paris to Southampton was a lift home, and thankfully she was just a passenger on this occasion. She could see two of the blue uniformed stewards wheeling the refreshments trolley into its locked position at the rear of the plane and didn’t envy them. She did enjoy working as a stewardess, but after five straight days of work, she needed a rest. She wasn’t due to fly again for another week, and was looking forward to just lazing about at home with him. She hoped he had managed to get the time away that he had promised. It was his gentle and warm massaging fingers that she craved. He had such strong hands that even a shoulder rub was like foreplay for her.
Nina had been dating Troy for the last eighteen months. They had met whilst she had been serving on a flight between Gatwick and JFK. He had been seated in First Class, clearly a man with expensive tastes and he had called her over half a dozen times before eventually confessing that he really didn’t need her help, he just wanted to ask her out for a drink. The company she worked for had a strict ‘no dating’ policy when it came to its passengers, but the way he had looked at her made her decide some rules were made to be broken. He had met her outside the Rockefeller Plaza, just off West 49th Street, and had taken her to Atelier, the French restaurant at the Ritz-Carlton on West 59th Street, near the south entrance to Central Park. She hadn’t known at the time, but this was where he was booked to stay for the two days of his visit. He had been exquisitely attired and had the look of an aged Daniel Craig. He was easily ten years her senior, but that hadn’t seemed to matter once he had started complimenting her. He certainly hadn’t been her usual type, but when she was with him, it was like she was Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He had provocatively suggested they retire to his room for a night cap. At first she had politely refused, insisting that she hardly knew him. He had taken her hand in his and whispered, ‘then come and get to know me.’ Just thinking about that moment still sent a tingle down her spine. He had opened a chilled bottle of Cristal and before she had finished her first flute, she was in his arms. They had made love three times that night before she had eventually excused herself and made her way back to her own hotel, the slightly less glamorous IBIS, just off Times Square.
It wasn’t until she had spent a week away with him in Venice, three months later, that she discovered he was married. He was not the first married man she had slept with but the admission had hurt at first, however he had explained that his wife was the daughter of one of the chairmen of his company, and that he was only with her until he had secured his place on the board. She had slapped him, and called him a pig, but had still found herself back in his arms that evening. She hated herself for being an older man’s ‘bit on the side’, but the truth was: things were just better when he was around. He had promised to come and stay with her for a few days this week once she was back on home soil, but she wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t let her down again. She tried to shake the thought from her head and remain positive.
The plane shook as it hit a pocket of air.
The Bombardier DHC-08 was a twin-engine aircraft capable of holding ninety-five passengers at capacity, but, as Nina looked forward, she could see at least ten empty seats. This was hardly surprising given that it was a Thursday evening flight. Most of the passengers seemed to be either retired couples or tired businessmen in crumpled suits. It still amazed Nina that so many companies still paid to fly their employees from the U.K. to France despite the affordability and convenience of the Eurotunnel. If it hadn’t been free for her to catch this flight back home, she probably would have opted for the romance of the Paris to London train. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, she reminded herself. The airline that owned this small jet was a no-frills provider, and all that had been offered to the paying customers was the opportunity to purchase an over-priced drink from one of the on-board stewards. From what she could see, a couple of people had ordered small bottles of water, but that was it. On those rare occasions when Nina booked to fly abroad herself, she much preferred the luxury of First Class, but then she could afford it as her employee discount made the flights inexpensive. She liked being able to recline, with sufficient leg room and an attendant regularly topping up her champagne flute. There was no better way to travel in her eyes.
The plane shook as it encountered some more turbulence.
The flight was being piloted by a Captain Dale Adams, but he hadn’t spoken a word to his passengers save for the initial greeting where he had advised likely arrival time back in the U.K. This wasn’t unusual in itself, but some pilots were just a bit chattier with their ‘cargo’. Still, looking at those seated before her, they probably wouldn’t have been enthused by a pilot with verbal diarrhoea.
She was still wearing the uniform of her own employers, which contrasted somewhat with the clothing of the on-duty pair, so she was hopeful that none of the passengers would mistake her for cabin crew. One man did seem to be trying to catch her eye, however. He was probably in his early thirties and was dressed in a casual shirt and trousers. She assumed he wasn’t on business or retired, like so many of the other passengers. She had noticed him when she had first boarded, after all the
other passengers had seated. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite place: a familiarity, but not an obvious one. Was he somebody she recognised from television? She doubted it. Whilst he wasn’t unattractive, he certainly didn’t have the good looks traditionally associated with the average soap actor or presenter. He would glance over every five minutes or so but it wasn’t obvious if he actually wanted her attention or not. He was sitting next to another fish-out-of-water, this one dressed in a manila suit and Panama hat. She couldn’t tell if the two men were travelling together, but neither seemed to fit in with the other clientele aboard this budget flight.
Nina bent over and picked up her hand bag from between her legs. Her overnight suitcase was stashed above the man in the Panama hat. She reached into her hand bag and pulled out a red lipstick and casually applied some to her lips. She wanted to look her best when she exited the flight even though she knew he wouldn’t be there to collect her. Still, at least they were nearly back. She could glimpse lights through one of the passenger windows, which meant they were now over land and that it wouldn’t be long before the pilot engaged the landing gear in preparation for arrival. At the rear of the plane the two attendants were pulling down their seats in preparation for landing as well.
Nina’s seat was next to the entrance to the cockpit. The pilot and co-pilot had already been sealed in when she arrived so she had not had the opportunity to thank them for allowing her to tag along. Since the air atrocities of ‘9/11’, it was now the policy of most airlines to seal their pilots into the cockpit throughout the duration of any flight. In this way only those within the cockpit would be able to release the door’s locking mechanism, once the flight had landed safely. There was also an unpublished directive within most airlines that pilots should not unlock the cabin door even if the lives of cabin crew and passengers were threatened. Since the secret directive’s introduction, there had been no known hi-jacking attempts of an airline.
Nina was thinking about picking up the intercom to pass on her gratitude to the pilots when she heard a strange commotion coming from the other side of the door. At first she thought she had imagined it but then there was further thudding and the cockpit door actually shook. It was unusual to hear any noise coming from within so she lifted the handset of the intercom and pressed the call button. It rang four times before connecting.
‘Is everything okay in there?’ she managed to say before a gruff male voice shouted back, ‘It’s the captain, he’s attacking me.’
With that, the line went dead.
2
Nina pressed the call button on the intercom again but there was no response. It didn’t even ring this time, which suggested the handset had not been replaced on the other side of the door. Without wishing to alarm any of the passengers, Nina tapped the door with her knuckles and tried to whisper to the pilot and co-pilot, but she knew it was no good. The steel that separated them from her was designed to keep out noise as well as unwanted visitors. Nina didn’t even know the co-pilot’s name, so she decided to dial the intercom at the rear of the plane for support. The female, a blonde by the name of Ruth answered the phone.
‘Ruth, hi it’s Nina,’ she began. ‘Can either of you come up here for a moment please? I heard some strange noises coming from the cockpit.’
Ruth agreed and hung the receiver back up, before making her way between the two rows of passengers up to Nina’s seat.
‘What kind of noise did you hear?’ asked Ruth when the two were closer.
‘I don’t know how to explain it. A shuffling or a banging, kind of like a scuffle? I’m sure it’s nothing but I really don’t know either of the pilots so I thought maybe you could try and make contact?’
‘Did you try the intercom?’ asked Ruth condescendingly.
‘Of course I did,’ Nina replied defensively. ‘I heard a voice say he was being attacked and then the line went dead. I’ve tried redialling, but the handset is off the hook.’
Ruth looked suspiciously at Nina, trying to judge whether this was part of an elaborate prank. On seeing the serious look on Nina’s face she tried knocking on the door herself.
‘Justin,’ she began. ‘It’s Ruth. Is everything okay in there? Can you replace the intercom so we can speak?’
There was no response on the other side of the door. Just silence. As if sensing trouble, the second steward, a short man with ginger hair sauntered up the gangway towards them.
‘What’s goin’ on with you twos?’ he asked with a camp highland twang.
‘We can’t get through to the cockpit, Brian,’ Ruth replied.
‘They’re probably busy trying to land the plane,’ he replied dismissively. ‘Why’s you need to speak to them anyways? We’ll be on terra firma in twenty minutes or so; speak to them then.’
With that, Brian turned and started as if to return to the rear of the plane. Nina reached out and pulled him back.
‘I heard a commotion coming from within the cockpit,’ she began, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I think something is wrong.’
‘What kind of commotion?’ he responded suspiciously.
‘I was just saying to Ruth, it sounded like a scuffle of some sort. I’m not sure; it’s hard to explain.’
‘Is this a joke or something?’ he asked, starting to grin, believing Ruth and Nina had concocted this ruse to wind him up.
‘This is no joke!’ Nina admonished. She was frustrated that neither of them were taking her seriously. ‘I’m telling you, something is wrong in there.’
‘We tried using the intercom but it’s not connected on the other side,’ Ruth added, offering a moment of solidarity to Nina.
‘It’s probably jus’ been knocked off,’ Brian suggested, but the scowl Nina shot him soon shut him up.
‘Okay,’ he finally offered, ‘in situations where communication has been lost with the pilot, the protocol is to use the air-phone to talk to ground control and ask them to make contact with the cockpit. For all we know, the intercom might have become damaged somehow. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll go find the air-phone,’ he added before gliding off to the rear of the plane.
‘I’m sure Brian is right,’ said Ruth, smiling to try and reassure Nina. ‘The intercom’s probably just broken. I’m sure when he phones air traffic control they will sort this confusion out.’
Nina forced herself to smile back. Ruth patted her shoulder before heading back down the plane, stopping once to reassure a passenger that everything was okay. Nina felt bad about worrying the passengers over something that was probably trivial, yet a nagging thought remained in her mind. Whoever had answered the phone had claimed they were being attacked by the captain. Assuming it was the co-pilot who had spoken, why would he say that? And what was that commotion she had heard? If it was something innocent, she would have expected the pilots to somehow communicate that everything was okay.
Nina was still pondering this, when she saw Ruth signalling for her to come join her. She removed her belt and putting on her best ‘Everything is okay, there is nothing to worry about’ face, she calmly walked to the back of the plane.
‘Well?’ she said in a whisper when she got there. ‘Is it all cleared up?’
‘Not exactly,’ replied Brian, looking uncomfortable. ‘The air-phone isn’t working.’
Nina snatched the phone from him, as she said, ‘What do you mean it’s not working?’
‘Listen,’ he replied. ‘There is no dial tone. It’s as if the phone has been disabled.’
Nina looked from Brian to Ruth, hoping that either of them were about to offer a reasonable excuse for such an outcome. Both stared blankly back at her.
‘Maybe there is some kind of electrical fault,’ Brian suddenly suggested excitedly. ‘Or maybe a transmission fault? Something that has jammed both the intercom and the air-phone. That would explain it wouldn’t it?’
‘It sure beats the other possibility,’ Ruth interjected, staring glumly at the cockpit door, ‘that one o
f the pilots has manually disabled them and knocked the other one unconscious.’
Brian and Nina followed her gaze up to the front of the plane and swallowed loudly as they reached the same conclusion.
‘Maybe we should go back up there and try knocking on the door again,’ Brian proposed.
‘Agreed,’ said Nina, leading the way with Brian and Ruth quickly following suit.
The steel door to the cockpit was shining brightly, reflecting the overhead lighting.
‘Can they even hear if you knock on the door?’ Ruth asked as they reached it.
‘I’m not sure,’ Nina replied. ‘I’ve never needed to knock on it to get a pilot’s attention before; I’ve always used the intercom.’
‘Is everything okay,’ asked a male voice startling them. Nina turned to see the man in the Panama hat standing behind them.
‘Everything is fine, Sir,’ replied Brian. ‘The pilot has engaged the ‘fasten-seatbelt’ sign so you really should be seated now, please.’
‘No he hasn’t,’ replied the man.
‘What?’ asked Brian, pushing past him to look at the overhead dial. Sure enough the ‘fasten-seatbelt’ sign was no longer glowing. ‘He’s right,’ continued Brian pushing past the man once more. ‘The sign has been disengaged.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Nina asked the pair of them, but all she received back was two pairs of shrugged shoulders.
‘Can one of you tell me what is going on please?’ asked the man in the Panama hat again.
‘With respect sir,’ said Brian condescendingly, ‘we’re handling this, please retake your seat.’
‘I’m with the British Security Services,’ he replied, withdrawing identification from his inside jacket pocket. ‘If there is a problem with this flight, then I need to know about it.’
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