Meanwhile, now at the rear of the plane, Aldridge was trying to explain to Brian why they needed to go to the lower level of the craft.
‘Are you crazy? Do you know how bloody cold it is down there?’ Brian tried to reason.
‘Do you have a better idea?’ Aldridge retorted. ‘We need to get into that cockpit. There is no other way. We need to try and trigger the door’s release mechanism manually. Would you rather we do nothing and leave our fate in the hands of the psychopath who has taken control of the flight?’
Brian didn’t answer but led Aldridge further back to where a small staircase led to the basement level of the plane. Aldridge jumped down most of the steps, although Brian’s descent was somewhat more considered. When both men reached the floor, there was a noticeable drop in temperature. At most it was only one or two degrees above freezing. Brian’s teeth chattered as he led Aldridge towards the hold.
‘Here we are,’ he said when they reached a zipped opening. ‘The luggage is all stored behind this sheet.’
‘Okay,’ Aldridge responded, beckoning Brian with his eyes to undo the zip.
‘No way,’ said Brian shaking his head vehemently. ‘I am no’ going in there.’
‘The hell you’re not!’ countered Aldridge.
Brian decided not to argue with the would-be spy and, having cut the security tag, he unzipped the hold. There were various cases and hold-alls scattered about the floor, but thankfully it was not full to capacity; most of the passengers must have brought carry-on luggage for the short flight, so at least the two men could walk through the hold. As Paxton had described, at the far side of the area was a small metal door that led directly underneath the cockpit.
Aldridge put the phone back to his ear, ‘You still there, Paxton?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Good. We’ve made it to the front of the hold and found a door, which I assume will have the various control panels beyond it. Any ideas what will trigger the door mechanism?’
‘We’re on the phone to the aircraft’s manufacturers as we speak. They are trying to get one of their engineers on the line. I’ll patch you through once we have someone.’
‘How long will that take?’ demanded Aldridge, all too aware that the grains of sand were flowing freely through the hole in this hourglass.
‘We’re working on it, Mr Aldridge,’ Paxton replied testily, unhappy at being dictated to by a stranger.
Aldridge examined the small portal before them. It was two foot wide by four feet tall and as Aldridge looked at it, he knew it would be a tight fit for him to squeeze through. Brian on the other hand…
‘Pass me that Phillips screwdriver will you?’ Aldridge asked Brian pointing towards a tool belt that was hanging from the wall.
Brian was as uncomfortable with identifying tools as he was with undoing a bra strap, so he approached the belt nervously, unsure what type of screwdriver the spy wanted. He knew that there were two types but didn’t know the terminology to differentiate. He was mightily relieved when there only appeared to be one screwdriver on show.
‘This one?’ he asked, handing it over.
‘Thanks,’ acknowledged Aldridge without looking up. He took the tool and started to untighten the screws holding the door in place. He was still holding the phone to his left ear and was glad to hear Paxton’s voice eventually return to the line.
‘Right, I’ve got a Bombardier engineer on the line with us now. I’ve briefly explained the delicate nature of the situation and he is going to attempt to talk you through what’s required. Tim, over to you.’
‘Hi, I’m Tim,’ said a nervous sounding youth. ‘How can I help?’
‘Great!’ thought Aldridge. ‘A kid!’
‘Listen, son,’ Aldridge began, not afraid to hurt the youth’s feelings, ‘We are only moments away from crashing into the ground. I need to release the cockpit door’s automatic locking system so that we can get inside and relieve the suicidal pilot of control of this plane. I have no time for nerves or stupid questions. Do you get me?’
‘Understood,’ replied the youth trying to sound more confident.
‘I’ve unscrewed the panel that leads under the cockpit,’ Aldridge continued, glancing in Brian’s direction. ‘I’m going to send one of the cabin crew inside and I’ll relay what you tell me to him. Okay?’
Brian’s eyes widened as he realised what was being asked of him. He started shaking his head but Aldridge stared him down and ushered him into the small opening. In fairness, the Scot’s frame was considerably smaller than Aldridge’s so he couldn’t really complain about the decision. As he squeezed through the opening, he found himself in an enclosed box, about four feet square with various flashing lights, cables and switches. It felt like he had climbed into an old VCR.
‘It’s as black as night in here,’ he moaned.
‘Hold on,’ said Aldridge, switching his phone to speaker mode so that he could use the device’s flashlight to brighten the area. It didn’t help a lot but it was something.
‘Tell me what you can see,’ said Tim.
‘I don’t know what I’m looking at,’ pleaded Brian. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t swap places?’
‘Look, Brian,’ said Aldridge tensely, ‘there isn’t the time. Just describe what you can see. Take your time.’
Turbulence caused the two men to tumble. Brian steadied himself and glanced around the enclosure, desperate for something recognisable that he could begin with.
‘I see switches, boxes, lots of wires, some thin, some thick, there are flashing lights,’ he jabbered.
‘Okay,’ said Tim. ‘Are there any labels or stickers on the boxes in front of you?’
Brian shuffled further forward and confirmed he could see some sticky labels with what looked like barcodes on them.
‘That’s good,’ replied Tim enthusiastically. ‘Look for a label that has the code 6, 3, dash, e, d, r, dash, 5, 6, 7. Can you see it?’
Brian started hunting for the relayed code and was dismayed by how small the code digits on the labels were.
‘Are you kidding me?’ he squeaked. ‘There are dozens of labels with the smallest of digits. This could take hours!’
‘We haven’t got hours,’ interjected Aldridge. ‘Minutes at most. Come on!’
‘There should be a red plastic handle attached to the box with that label,’ Tim offered.
Brian felt like his whole body was perspiring as he rescanned the enclosure for any kind of red handle.
‘I’ve found it!’ he exclaimed giddily.
‘Good,’ said Tim. ‘You need to turn it counter clockwise until it will not move anymore. That will release the pneumatic seal holding the door in place.’
Brian nodded his understanding involuntarily and reached out for the handle.
‘Shit! It’s boiling hot!’ Brian shouted as the handle singed the skin of his right hand.
‘Sorry,’ replied Tim hurriedly, ‘I assumed you were wearing gloves. Put some on and try again.’
‘Gloves? There are no bloody gloves,’ Brian retorted angrily.
‘Listen, Brian,’ interrupted Aldridge, thrusting a handkerchief at him. ‘There are eighty or so people upstairs relying on us to get that door open and to stop this plane crashing. I know it’s hot but if you don’t get that handle turned, we are all going to die. I know it’ll hurt, but you can do it.’
Brian hated Aldridge for making him feel guilty in that moment, but it was enough to focus his mind. He took several deep breaths and then grabbed hold of the handle again, forcing his fingers to grip around it. The searing sensation brought tears to his eyes but he did all he could to ignore the pain. As the handle started to turn, it filled him with renewed confidence and he knew he was going to do it.
As soon as the handle clicked into a locked position he shouted to Aldridge, ‘It’s done.’
‘Great,’ Aldridge shouted back, turning and running towards the staircase. ‘Get yourself out of there, get some ice on that hand and I’ll see y
ou back upstairs.’
Aldridge made it through the hold in seconds and as he took the stairs two at a time he bellowed into the phone, ‘How long till we hit the ground?’
‘Two minutes at most,’ Paxton replied. ‘Has the pilot engaged the landing gear yet?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Aldridge replied as he raced up the plane to the cockpit.
‘If the landing gear is not down in the next twenty seconds, there won’t be enough time to get it locked into position,’ Paxton urged.
‘We should be able to open the door now,’ Aldridge beckoned to Nina and Ruth who were trying to soothe passengers’ fears.
Both turned and watched as Aldridge rushed at the door, ready to barge it. As his left shoulder made contact with the steel, he had expected it to fly open, but it hardly budged, opening barely an inch before it repelled him backwards to the floor. Aldridge quickly stood up and tried to push the door again, but it would not open any further. It meant only one thing: the pilot had barricaded himself in. The inch gap wasn’t much, but it was enough to allow the pilot to hear him.
‘Mister, whoever you are, I know you can hear me,’ he pleaded, his lips pressed into the gap. ‘There are eighty very frightened people back here who don’t want to die. I don’t know why you want to crash this flight, and frankly I don’t care, I just want you to do what you know is right in your heart: land this fucking plane!’
Aldridge waited to see if the pilot would show any desire to open communication, but there was no response.
‘Come on!’ Aldridge shouted. ‘It doesn’t matter what has happened in the past. All that matters is what you do in the next thirty seconds. In life we have to make choices; choices that can dramatically alter the course of our lives, both for the better and the worse. Clearly you have a reason for what you have done today, but it doesn’t need to end this way. Look, I work for the M.I.5. That means I have the ability to change things for the better. Think about it, this story doesn’t have to end with this plane crashing and all of us dying in a ball of fire. Imagine if the story ended with a pilot coming round, having passed out mid-flight through illness. He miraculously regains consciousness moments before the plane would have crashed and saves all the passengers inside. Can you picture it? You would be a hero. They’d write books about you, make films even. You’d be a fucking hero and I can make that happen. It’s your choice: die a coward or live a hero!’
Nina rushed over to where Aldridge was crouched and told him he needed to get strapped in as it wasn’t safe for him where he was. Looking around, he could see that Brian was now seated back at the rear of the plane, his head between his legs and his hand wrapped in a towel with ice. Ruth was seated next to him, strapping her oxygen mask on, preparing to put her head between her legs.
Aldridge thumped the steel door with his fist, causing the mobile phone to drop from his hand, and then moved back over to his seat, quickly strapping his belt and mask on. The man seated next to him again demanded to know if what was happening was anything to do with him, but Aldridge shook his head, not quite able to look him in the eye as he lied. Aldridge had tried everything in his power to prevent what was now inevitable, and as he bowed his head down, he offered up a final prayer that his passing wouldn’t be too painful.
5
The sound of the landing gear being engaged was met with loud cheering on board Flight BZ-1209; only Aldridge knew that it was ninety seconds later than Paxton had said it was needed. That meant the plane would reach the ground before the landing gear was fully extended, meaning any hopes that they were now safe were far too premature. He kept this nugget of information to himself for the time being.
A familiar screeching of rubber meeting concrete confirmed they were down and at first it seemed that the landing gear was holding firm, despite the obvious friction between wheels and runway. As a second ripple of cheering, and even some applause on this occasion, sounded out, Aldridge knew in his gut that the danger had yet to pass. Not until the plane had stopped and he had disembarked would he offer up a prayer of thanks.
The craft continued to bump along, but what was becoming evidently clear was that the plane was not slowing down. Whether that was because the brakes would not work unless the landing gear was fully extended, Aldridge didn’t know. On most flights he had travelled on, at this point in proceedings there was usually a sharp pull of gravity on the shoulders as the plane began to decelerate. If anything, it felt like this craft was speeding up.
Several thoughts were racing through Aldridge’s mind: Why had the pilot engaged the landing gear, for one, as if his intention was to kill all the people on the flight, it would have been quicker to leave the wheels up and as metal sparked against concrete, a fireball would have been the outcome killing all within. Aldridge hoped that what he had said to the pilot through the door may have been the catalyst to the change of heart, but if that was the case, why was the plane speeding up?
A loud bang and a lurch backwards suggested that one of the rear wheels had buckled and the gasps of passengers over Aldridge’s right shoulder confirmed these suspicions. The good news was that this development had caused the plane to slow slightly but at some point it was obvious that they were going to run out of runway and depending on which direction they were pointing they could be on course for a collision with the terminal building or with the ever-busy M27 motorway. Aldridge wasn’t sure which outcome he preferred.
A second bang and lurch backwards confirmed that the second rear wheel had buckled, and now there was a distinct scraping sound as the plane’s tail dragged along the concrete, again causing the plane to decelerate once more, yet still they travelled along. The screams of the passengers were now hysterical, with some now adamant that they would lose their lives. Aldridge glanced up to check that Nina was okay. She was still fastened in her seat and bent over with her head between her legs. She must have sensed him watching her as she briefly glanced up and made eye contact. Her teary-eyed panic was obvious.
A movement in his peripheral vision caused Aldridge’s focus to shift from Nina to the cockpit door to her left. With all the bumping, the door was flapping open and shut making a barely audible smacking noise. The door was now definitely open wider than the inch it had been before, as if the plane’s unconventional landing had somehow dislodged whatever had been previously barricading the portal. It was all the sign that he needed and within seconds, he had unbuckled his belt, torn the mask from his face and was now crawling towards the door. Such was the vibration and speed of the craft, it felt like he was wading through mud as he put one hand in front of the next, but he eventually made it.
He glanced through the gap, as the door swung backwards and forwards. From within he could see one pilot to the left not moving, his head slumped to the right, eyes shut. The second white shirted man was very much alive and doing what he could to hold the flight’s controls steady. Aldridge stretched out a hand and pushed the door open. The pilot didn’t appear to notice as the agent slid in through the gap until he was within touching distance of the pilot. Having no weapon with him, the best Aldridge could threaten the pilot with was words.
Aldridge was about to say something when he glanced up just in time to see the craft plough through the safety barrier, now on a collision course with a row of hedges that separated the airport from the motorway. Before Aldridge could react, he felt the pilot’s elbow make contact with his cheek, as his position became exposed. The blow was minor and Aldridge was able to retaliate with a quick fist of his own, cracking the pilot’s nose like a walnut. The pilot released his hands from the steering block, involuntarily reaching up to protect his now bloody nose. Not knowing where the brake was, Aldridge did all he could think of and grabbed the turning block forcing it down to the left. If he couldn’t stop the plane, he was going to make damn sure he limited its impact. The sharp turn caused the rear of the plane to bump around in a type of skid, but it was enough to change the craft’s direction. The plane’s right wing came around
and made contact with the row of hedges. Aldridge smiled to himself as he felt the plane slowing, until it eventually came to a standstill.
Aldridge let out a deep sigh and carefully climbed to his feet. The pilot next to him was still holding his nose, rocking back and forth, moaning. Aldridge reached out and grabbed the pilot’s headset, placing it over his own ears.
‘Control tower,’ he began, ‘this is Aldridge. The plane is now stationary and the pilot has been incapacitated. Please send an Emergency Response team to our location and contact the local police authorities.’
Aldridge didn’t wait for a response as he dropped the headset to the floor and exited the cockpit.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he shouted over the din of squeals. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are now safe. Please remain in your seats until further notice. Help is on its way.’
Aldridge dropped to the floor, exhausted. The yelling quickly turned into cheering and whooping and when a pair of arms was placed around his neck in a gentle embrace he knew it was Nina.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
*
Nina glanced at the time on her watch. Ironically, in all the craziness that had ensued that afternoon, the plane had landed five minutes ahead of schedule. That had been nearly two hours ago, but she still wasn’t any closer to going home. After the craft had come to a complete halt, and Aldridge had re-emerged from the cockpit, the control tower had told her, courtesy of Aldridge’s discarded phone, that the emergency services were now outside the plane and that she should open the doors. Nina beckoned Ruth over and, between them, they deployed the inflatable slides to enable the passengers to disembark. The first two people onto the plane were dressed in dark suits and moved straight to the cockpit where they apprehended the pilot and led him away. Aldridge disembarked with them. Nina had stood up to follow them through the door but had been ordered to wait by a bespectacled man outside the plane with a megaphone. The megaphone barked that the passengers were in no immediate danger and should remain on the flight until they were given the all-clear to leave.
Shadow Line Page 3
