by Jay Stringer
Chase lowered the chopper enough to draw Bekele’s attention and pointed toward the river, then raised up and pushed ahead, leading the way.
Entering the Blue Nile was tricky. A small tributary covered the transition between the river and the lake, with rocks, small islands, and patches of marsh. Chase slowed down and hovered unsteadily above the river, watching to make sure Bekele navigated it safely. The boat skipped across some of the marsh and rocked a couple of times as it hit something solid. Once Bekele was past the trouble, Chase turned and pressed on.
Heading along the river, Chase started to get confident and show off. Climbing and descending, accelerating, turning in wide circles. She wanted more of this. Maybe when she got home, once all the media attention about the Ark died down, she’d take lessons.
Twenty miles south of Bahir Dar, they came to the small town of Tissisat. The river turned left, toward the famous Blue Nile Falls, a tourist hot spot that would soon be crawling with visitors. Coming up before that was a small dock and a human-made canal that met the end of Tissisat’s main road. Bekele coasted along the dock and jumped out of the boat to tie up. She started talking into the phone again, and Chase watched a black transit van pull out from beneath the cover of a shack.
Phone.
Perfect.
There was a satellite phone mounted onto the dashboard. She typed in a number and waited while it rang.
“Hello?”
Half the world away, Chuy Guerrero sounded sleepy and drunk.
“Chuy.”
“Chase?” The line muffled for a second; she could hear him talking to someone. “What you doing?”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, it’s okay. What you need?”
Guerrero was one of Chase’s closest friends, one of the few people she really trusted. He’d been a pilot in the US Air Force before going it alone as a smuggler.
“What makes you think I need something?”
“You called.”
Chase smiled. No matter how tense a situation was, she always felt better when she talked to Guerrero. “Okay. I’m wondering something. How do you land a helicopter?”
There was a pause. When Guerrero spoke again, he sounded sober. “You’re asking hypothetically? You’ve just had the fun idea to learn to fly, and you thought you’d call your pilot friend?”
“Uh-huh.”
He sighed. “You’re in one right now, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“In the air.”
“Yup.”
“And the pilot?”
“I threw him out.”
“I like this plan. I’m excited to be part of it. Do you know what kind of bird you’re in?”
“A blue one. Maybe silver, actually. Silver with some blue along the side.”
“Talk me through what you’ve figured out so far.”
“I have a stick in front of me that controls the forward and back direction. I have a stick down next to me that I think is a throttle, and I’ve got pedals that help keep me straight.”
Another pause from Guerrero. “You’re doing pretty well. And what’s the terrain like? Is there space for you to come down without hurting anyone?”
Chase explained the location over the phone. There was farmland all around the town, but she didn’t want to get out of sight of the crate. The waterfront was lined with boats, huts, and now a small crowd of people staring up at her.
Guerrero made a noise to show he was thinking, and then, “Okay. Now, I’m going to say a word in a minute that sounds bad, and I don’t want you to overreact.”
“Okay.”
“It takes hours of flight time to get the hang of a helicopter. And I don’t want to try and talk you through a landing near where people could get hurt.”
“…Okay.”
“So it’s easiest if I tell you how to crash.”
“I lied. I’m going to overreact. I’m not happy with that word at all. I called you to avoid that word.”
“Trust me, it’s the best way. We’ll bring you down into the water.”
“Will it work?”
“…Probably?”
Chase closed her eyes. Every time she did something stupid, she promised herself it was the last time. And she’d been in worse situations than this. She’d once ended up hanging to the outside of a plane over the Alps. But the point of not thinking things through was not thinking about them. She could do something impulsive in the spur of the moment and let adrenaline kick in, regret it later. It was entirely different to have time to regret it in advance.
She opened her eyes and let out a long breath.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
“Okay.” Guerrero’s voice was focused. “You over the water?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it calm?”
“Calmer than me. I think there’s a strong current, though. And a waterfall.”
“A water— Never mind. Stay over the calm water, ease off on the throttle.”
Chase did as she was told, and the chopper started to descend. She rocked a little from side to side, then jolted to a stop as she followed Guerrero’s instructions.
“Now keep your foot on the pedal, keep straight, and tilt forward a couple degrees.”
Now the helicopter lurched forward, and Chase felt the bottom drop out of her world. As a reflex, she pulled up again on the throttle and back on the control, leveling out but climbing higher.
Guerrero said, “Did you do that?”
“I panicked and went higher again.”
“Okay. Do it again, but this time, rather than climbing when you panic, I just want you to level out, don’t pull the throttle back up, okay?”
Chase followed his instructions. As everything tilted, and she felt her gut start to gnaw, she leveled out.
“Now do that again.”
Chase repeated the move three times, and each time the craft dropped ten feet closer to the water before leveling out. When she was within twenty feet of the surface, Guerrero said to stop and directed her into a safe hovering position.
“Here’s the fun part,” he said. “Down by the base of that T-bar you’re holding, right down where it’s attached to the controls, you’ll see a red or yellow stick with a handle on top. Something you can pull up.”
Chase gripped it and prepared to pull.
“Don’t touch it yet,” Guerrero finished.
“More warning next time, Chuy.”
“Let’s not have a next time.”
“Fair point. Okay. I see the stick.”
“Open the door next to you. If you’re strapped in, unbuckle yourself. Now, when I say, you’re going to pull up on that stick. But I want you to take a couple deep breaths first.”
“What’s it do?”
“Nice and deep. In, two, three…”
“Chuy, what does it do?”
“Out, two, three… One more, deep one, in, two, three… hold it… pull the stick up.”
Chase pulled it.
The engine cut out.
Chase felt the seat trying to push up through her body, as the chopper belly flopped down onto the river, splashing through the surface and continuing to drop for a few seconds, before rising back up.
Chase made a noise like she was about to throw up and shouted, “Dammit, Chuy.”
“She’s going to tip,” he said. “Get out the opposite—”
Chase stopped listening as the helicopter listed hard to the right. Or should she now say starboard? The water flooded in on that side, and to her left, Chase could now see the sky. She climbed up out of the seat, planting both feet on the side of the helicopter. The blades submerged as the craft rolled over, and Chase dove out as far as she could, kicking down and away, clearing the reach of the rotors as they whipped round with the roll of the sinking vessel.
She swam toward the dock, and strong arms pulled her out of the water. She rolled onto her back and coughed, drawing in ragged breaths, before looking up.
T
wo men in black robes stood over her. One held a sword, the other a machine gun.
They stepped back to allow Chase to get up onto her haunches, but the gun was trained on her the whole time. Chase glanced to the black van, where two more robed figures were loading the crate into the back. Bekele was standing between the van and Chase. She was still holding the cell phone at her side. None of the robed men were pointing a weapon at her.
Chase coughed, then laughed. “I should’ve known.”
Bekele took the few small steps to Chase’s side and helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry.”
“We had a deal.”
Bekele turned to gesture toward the armed figures. “They changed the deal.”
The two men at the van shut the door, then walked around to get in the front. The men guarding Chase lowered their weapons and paced back toward the van. One of them climbed in, while the other stood beside the door, gun pointed at the ground, making it clear he was watching what happened between Chase and Bekele.
“And who are they?” Chase gritted her teeth. “Government? Church? I swear, if you say Templars, I’m going to shoot you.”
Bekele offered a resigned smile. “It’s complicated.”
She turned and walked back to join the team in the van.
Chase stood in silence as the vehicle pulled away, leaving her alone on the dock.
FOUR
Twelve hours, three cars, and one bath later, Chase walked into the hotel bar at the Addis Ababa Royale. She was exhausted but wired. The excitement of that morning was still overpowering the tiredness, which paced around the edges of her mind like a lion. She needed to take the edge off, to allow herself to relax into the evening.
The Royale was one of a number of hotels around the world that was friendly to the dark trades. Spies. Smugglers. Mercenaries. Relic runners. The bars of these hotels were treated as neutral ground, a place where everyone could drink together and talk shop. This hotel was one of the most important on the circuit, with Addis Ababa’s position as the political and financial hub of Africa. Anyone who was anyone in the dark trades would pass through the Royale on a regular basis, looking for deals or gossip, hot tips on coming work, or updates on the latest person to be caught or killed on the job. The staff were discreet and knew how to keep the authorities away. Spooks and police would turn up to make deals or get information from the black market, but the boundaries of the bar were always respected as a safe space.
Even still, Chase paused for a moment in the doorway. The black market was a place for misfits and outcasts. People who’d burned up their chances in the legit world, or who’d never fit in to begin with. But the community had seen some mainstream exposure in the last couple of years. Now it was a cool subculture, a target for lifestyle tourists looking for something edgy and mysterious. Real relic runners had to keep an eye out for people who didn’t belong.
The room was full of familiar faces. Pilots, gunrunners, thieves. At least two undercover MI6 agents, and one Mossad field operative. They all did a near-perfect job of pretending not to notice her. The reason for her hesitation was the one face staring straight at her.
August Nash was sitting in the far corner, in the deepest shadows. He raised his glass in silent greeting. His right hand stayed beneath the table.
Chase made eye contact and let him see her choose to ignore him. She headed into the center of the room, where a large circular bar was lit up by lights hanging down from above.
She smiled a greeting at the bartender. “Hi, Doc.”
He returned the smile. “Good to see you.”
Doc was Hassan Dalmer, Hass to most people. He was a muscular Somalian with a shaved head and a habit of wearing vests or T-shirts that were a size too small. Chase had dubbed him Doc ten years ago, when they met in the field. With his strong physique, and his need to show it off, Chase had said he looked like Doc Savage and refused to let the idea die. He’d been a good relic runner. In better shape than just about everyone else in the field, and with a knack for languages, he had a head start on most. He’d come from academia, the same as Chase, but whereas she’d managed to swallow down her guilt over selling history off to the highest bidder, he hadn’t. Hass firmly believed what he was doing was a modern form of colonialism, and it held him back in the field. Caused him to second-guess, hesitate at key moments. He’d retired from the game after a couple of close calls and found steady work as a barman in the network of hotels and bars that supported the black market.
“How’s your mom doing?” Chase asked.
Hass shrugged, noncommittal. Chase knew to let that one go. Until recently, Hass had been working in New York, at a bar owned by another of Chase’s old friends. He’d moved to Addis Ababa to be closer to his family. They’d disowned him years ago, when he first came out as trans and began presenting as male. They didn’t like his “choices,” but they were old and sick now, and Hass wanted to patch things up. Clearly, it wasn’t going well.
He leaned forward across the bar to speak in a low voice. “Everyone’s been talking.”
His accent was a weird mix of all the places he’d been. Chase knew it annoyed him to have lost his original Somalian inflection.
“In detail?”
“Some. Sounds like you’ve had a rough day.” He lifted a glass. “The usual?”
Chase sighed, letting him hear a full day of frustration. “Why not?”
Hass poured her a large measure of bourbon from the array of amber options behind him. Without looking over at Nash, he said, “He’s been asking about you. Wanted to know if you were here.”
Chase downed the drink and handed the glass across for a refill. Doc poured it for her and said, “Are we going to have trouble?”
“I hope not.”
She turned to look at Nash again. His eyes were still fixed on her. He flashed a smile, but there was no warmth behind it. He used his foot to push out the empty chair across from him, waving for Chase to join him. She walked over, noticing that his right hand was still under the table.
“Hass’s worried you want to shoot me,” she said, without sitting down.
Nash leaned back and smiled again. This time there was a genuine emotion in it, something like victory. He lifted his right hand into a Vulcan salute before patting the tabletop. The volume in the room went down a few notches. Just enough for both Chase and Nash to know everyone had half an ear on their conversation.
Nash raised his drink again in a toast. “To the winner,” he said loudly. “Wherever she is.”
Chase sat down. “So you heard.”
“The rumor. Whoever hired her, they got their money’s worth.”
He leaned on the whoever hired her. Fishing. Hoping Chase would fill in the blanks on the office gossip. Who had paid for them to go after the Ark? Where was it now? Could it be stolen?
Chase ignored the opening. “How’s Imran?”
“He’s pissed. Still trying to figure out how to get a helicopter out of the river. That, by the way”—he raised the glass again, already into the toasting-every-thought stage of drunk—“was one of the craziest things I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s all in the reflexes.” Chase paused, letting him smile before throwing his own trick back at him. “I bet whoever hired you wants a refund.”
“I was doing this on my own dime.” He stretched, both arms out on either side, then lowered his right arm back beneath the table. “Retirement fund.”
Chase laughed at that, pretending to relax into her seat and signaling for Hass to bring more drinks. She let Nash see her own right hand slip beneath the table to her thigh. There was no gun there. She’d left her weapons upstairs in the room. But Nash didn’t need to know that, and if he was going to play games, so could she.
They watched each other in silence as Hass brought fresh drinks, setting them down on the table and giving both Chase and Nash a warning look.
“I’m serious,” Nash said. “We’re getting old, kid.”
“You’ve got ten year
s on me.”
“When I was at my best, you’d never have done me like that.” He looked genuinely weary for a moment. “And don’t pretend you’re not feeling it, too.”
Chase didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to give him the benefit of being right, but the thought had been eating at her all day. Five years ago, there was no way she would have let Bekele trick her.
Nash grinned, reading her silence. “See? And some of us can’t go all Hollywood.”
Chase was the main reason relic running had gained mainstream attention. After a brush with fame two years before, she’d been able to restore some of her academic reputation. A book deal and television documentary followed, along with a host of journalists wanting to talk to her about this new subculture they’d discovered.
Chase knew there was resentment among the runners. Some saw her as a sellout; others saw her as a tourist, choosing when to live the life and when to be safe from it. But the truth was that this life was in her blood, and she couldn’t stay away.
“You could maybe set some of us up,” Nash said. “Help out. Send the elevator back down—isn’t that what they say?”
“What would you do with it? Meetings with producers? Playing nice to people who don’t really have a clue what you’ve been through? You’re jealous for a thing you wouldn’t even want.” Chase downed her drink, made a show of yawning. “Anyway, it was good seeing you, August.” She stood up. “Better luck next time.”
“Hang on.” Nash put his hand out, asking for more time. “Did you see it? Did you get to see it?”
Chase glanced around the room. Nobody else was looking her way, but she knew she was answering all of them.
“Yes.”
“What was it like?”
Chase thought it over. How best to explain it?
“It was history,” she said with a smile.
