by D C Macey
Pushing the 4 x 4 into gear, Sam drove across the runway to where Charles was ignoring his own wound while trying to patch up Angel.
34.
Sunday, 3rd November - PM
The aircraft’s fuselage was partitioned internally by a transverse bulkhead that was fitted with a single door designed to allow flight crew access from the flight deck and crew cabin at the front end of the plane into the much larger cargo bay at the rear.
A single row of six seats was fixed at the front of the cargo bay, three set to either side of the crew’s access door. Facing forward, they offered only the uninspiring view of the solid dividing bulkhead, just an outstretched arm’s length in front. A single porthole was positioned in the plane’s side at either end of the row - offering a glimpse of the world outside and a little natural light for passengers. The rest of the cargo bay depended for light on two rows of electric lights, spaced evenly along the full length of the bay - they had not been switched on.
At the rear of the otherwise empty cargo bay, amidst the shadows and the half-light afforded by the two distant passenger portholes, the control vehicle was secured.
Helen sat at one end of the row of seats, staring out through the porthole, her face pressed up against the window glass, trying forlornly to make space between herself and Ro who had taken the seat next to her. Ro had freed her ponytail and fanned her hair out, allowing his fingers to trawl repeatedly through the auburn tresses. Each time she raised her bound hands to push his away, he slapped her face and forced her hands back down into her lap.
Sat on Ro’s other side was one of his team; the other surviving members sat in the three seats on the other side. She could see Bob Prentice’s shoeless feet sticking out into the aisle marking where, in the absence of a seventh passenger seat, he had been forced onto the deck in the space between the bulkhead and seats. The Korean guards rested their boots on his body. His frequent groans signalled each occasion the guards chose to kick or stamp on him.
She braced herself against another lurch and gravity pulled at her stomach as the plane continued its struggle up through the rainclouds. As the bumping and rocking continued, Helen bit her lip, she had known smoother take-offs. She braced her feet against the bulkhead in front of her against a particularly violent bump. After what seemed like an age, they pulled clear of the clouds and brilliant sunlight flooded through the pair of little portholes. She blinked for a moment at the sudden brightness.
Focus returned in a hurry when she felt a hand fumbling in her lap.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said, pressing her hands down to resist Ro’s.
In silence, he reached his other hand round, took a grip on her wrist binding and jerked her hands up leaving her lap exposed. With his other hand, he completed the release of her seatbelt. He stood, dragged her up and, having ordered the seated guard next to him out of the way, pulled Helen out of her seat before propelling her deeper into the cargo bay.
He half pushed, half dragged her onwards. She tried to stop herself by gripping the driver’s side door of the control vehicle. Ro just banged down on her fingers and continued to move her deeper into the bay. Reaching the darkest shadows at the rear of the control vehicle, he pressed her back against it and gripped her by the throat. ‘You were Cameron’s special lady. Now you are my little redhead bitch. I’m going to teach you how a woman should behave.’ He brought his free hand round and slapped Helen’s face hard. ‘Never speak back to me again, slut, or I’ll beat you until you cry tears of blood.’ He slapped her face again.
She couldn’t help the tears, they were involuntary, but she bit her lip, no way was she going to cry out.
Ro released Helen’s throat and reached for the control vehicle’s rear door handle. ‘Today is a great day. I intend to celebrate, starting with you. Get in there. Now,’ he said, pulling open the rear door. Helen turned on him, kicking hard between his legs, but Ro had a full array of martial arts moves, defensive as well as offensive. He parried her kick, caught her heel in his hand, lifting it high. With bound hands, she was unable to break her fall and fell with a violent jolt onto her back.
Lying in pain, she felt Ro grab her bound wrists and drag her up. He shoved her towards the vehicle’s rear access door.
Then he paused and looked back along the cargo bay towards a member of the flight crew who had just appeared at the access doorway set in the bulkhead.
‘Ah, beer, I’ll take one of those.’ He pushed Helen hard, sending her sprawling onto the floor of the control vehicle. Then he hurried forward to get his drink.
Taking the bottle from the flight attendant, he took a mouthful and waved it towards the control vehicle. ‘Bring me more over there, and plenty of it.’ The attendant gave a smile of acknowledgement and disappeared back through the access door to get more beer.
Ro looked down at his men, each holding a beer; they raised their bottles to salute him for a successful mission. Stooping slightly, he reached along the row and clinked his bottle against each of theirs in turn. ‘Now we party,’ he said leering in the direction of the control vehicle. His men gave a raucous cheer as he headed back to the rear of the cargo bay and the control vehicle.
Inside the vehicle, Helen was searching frantically, scanning the worktops fitted down each side of the vehicle’s interior for anything that might cut her bonds or serve as a weapon. There was nothing. She glared defiantly at Ro as he entered through the rear door. She knew exactly what Ro intended and had no intention of making it easy for him.
Two steps inside, Ro paused and looked at her thoughtfully, then he laughed before taking a long drink from the beer bottle and let out a contented sigh. He stood in front of her. ‘Now you will obey me,’ he said. Reaching out a hand, he stroked her cheek. Helen jerked her head away. Ro returned his hand to her face. Now the gentleness was gone. He gripped her face hard, using all his strength to force it round so he could see her eyes. His thumb and index finger sought out the soft flesh of her cheeks, pressed in hard between her upper and lower jaw, driving her lower jaw down and fixing her mouth open. He laughed again.
Turning his own face slightly, he raised his bottle up and took a mouthful of beer, then turned back to stare into Helen’s eyes. He swilled the beer in his mouth and finally swallowed. Leaning in close to Helen’s face, he let out a long theatrical gasp of pleasure that released a blast of warm moist beer fumes into Helen’s open mouth. She forced back the overwhelming urge to vomit and knew now was the moment she had to act.
Helen clenched her fists and brought her bound hands up sharply, catching Ro hard under the chin. His lower jaw jerked up, catching his tongue between upper and lower teeth, an unintentional bite that drew blood. Ro cried out in pain and instinctively released his grip on Helen’s face to tend his wound.
Before Ro’s hand could reach his bleeding face, Helen banged her fists up a second time. Tooth bit on tooth and a splinter of tobacco-yellowed incisor fell unseen onto the floor. Suddenly the plane banked sharply as though executing an unexpected manoeuvre. Helen and Ro were both thrown to the side. Still facing one another, less than a breath apart, she jutted out her elbow to steady herself against the worktop.
Searching for stability, Ro leant his bottle holding hand on to the same worktop while clutching at his damaged face with his other hand. Helen could see blood trailing from his mouth; knew she had prodded the dragon and had to follow through before Ro’s shock at her actions turned to rage. Still bracing on the worktop against the plane’s sharpening turn; she shifted her bodyweight onto one leg and brought her knee up hard into Ro’s groin. Spluttering blood, he gasped in pain at this new assault, he dropped to his knees. His hands abandoned their other duties and grasped at his privates in a vain attempt to diminish the agony.
Glimpsing the beer bottle now rolling away towards the rear door, Helen lunged across the worktop to grab it. She looked at it, reversed her grip so the neck was in her hand and raised it high before bringing it down hard on Ro’s head.
There was a hollow thudding sound as the bottle made contact and bounced back from his head. Ro roared and began to force his body up.
Helen brought the bottle down again, putting every ounce of her strength into the strike. The shock of impact ran up to her elbow, hurting. She knew it was hurting much worse for Ro. This time, the sound was of breaking glass, the bottle breaking across his head. Ro collapsed back down to his hands and knees, his initial moan transposing into a rising growl.
She raised the bottle again and looked at the wicked edge on the broken bottle’s neck - all she had left as a weapon. Helen tried to work out how she could hold the glass at an angle that would allow her to cut her wrist bonds. She needed to get free quickly. Having spotted the pistol in Ro’s waistband, she wanted it, knew it was her only hope against the rest of his men.
A hand gripped the waistband of her bush shorts and applied drag. Ro began to pull himself up. She looked down and saw his angry eyes staring back at her as he rose from the deck. Another hand reached up and took a tight fistful of her top, pulling it down while he began to lever himself up.
‘You’re dead, bitch. You’re going to die; die a hundred deaths, starting right now.’
Helen looked down in horror at the face rising towards her, she felt the hand levering up from her waistband, saw his bulging fist dragging on her top. There was no escape, only one option. She swung her hand down, driving the sharp edge of the bottleneck into the back of Ro’s hand. For just a moment, he didn’t feel any pain. Helen’s top turned red with his blood. She twisted her wrist, and as glass scraped bone, he screamed. His hand immediately released her top and dropped away, his other hand released her waistband and clutched at its sliced-up twin. Ro’s head was beside her feet; she stamped, and he writhed away.
Reaching her still bound wrists down, she brought the bottleneck against Ro’s belly and twisted so her empty hand could snatch his pistol. Gripping it, she straightened up. She had to get out of the vehicle. All she had was surprise and a pistol to overcome Ro’s guards and free Bob Prentice, so he could untie her. And it had to be now, before they realised something was amiss.
Still steadying herself against the destabilising motion of the banking plane Helen edged to the rear and took a breath, readying herself to go on the offensive.
Leading with the pistol, she reached the vehicle’s rear door and came to an abrupt halt. Her pistol was pointing at the midriff of the flight attendant who was just about to enter the vehicle’s rear. She could see three bottles of beer in the attendant’s left hand, just as Ro had ordered; they shielded the pistol held in the attendant’s right.
‘You!’ said Helen. ‘What are you doing here?’ She thrust her pistol forward into the attendant’s face. ‘Move and you’re dead.’
The attendant froze, then gradually allowed her left hand holding the beer bottles to drop down by her side. Helen could see the attendant’s pistol was pointing directly at her chest.
‘It’s not how it looks. Let’s stay calm here, Helen, and everything will work out just fine,’ said the flight attendant.
‘I don’t think it will; you’ve lied to me. Have you been in with Ro all along?’
‘You’ve got it wrong, honey. Come on out, and I’ll show you.’ Tracy backed off a pace; the bottles dangling between the fingers of her lowered left hand clinked as she moved. The pistol in her right hand still pointed in Helen’s direction.
Helen glanced down towards Tracy’s pistol then back to fix eye contact. She saw Tracy suck her lip in slightly as she weighed the situation, then with a disarming smile the CIA agent lowered her weapon.
Helen’s confusion deepened when a familiar voice reached her from outside the vehicle.
‘Ro, give it up, man. Your boys are taken, there’s no way out for you.’
‘Rupert? Rupert is that you?’ Helen kept her pistol pointed at Tracy as she glanced sideways, striving without success to confirm the identity of the voice.
‘Helen?’
This time she recognised his voice and, confused, brought her eye contact back to Tracy. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s okay, Rupert,’ Tracy called over her shoulder, ‘crisis averted. She’s already put Ro down.’
‘What? How in heaven’s name did she manage that?’ Rupert’s smiling face appeared round the doorframe. He grimaced slightly as Helen’s pistol turned on him. Then, reading Helen’s confusion, he smiled again and waved Helen’s gun aside. ‘Come on now, Helen, we’re all on the same side.’ He looked down at Ro and gave an approving nod. ‘Good work there, but I think we need to get him tied up now, don’t you?’ Rupert glanced over his shoulder towards Tracy. ‘That’s a very impressive piece of handiwork down there. Are you sure she’s not one of your assets?’
‘Nope. She’s a civilian. American civilian.’
Rupert repeated his languid smile to Helen then turned his head round towards Tracy. ‘Natural talent then; a bit like another American lady I know. I assume you’ll be making her your protégé?’
‘What is happening?’ said Helen. She sensed that neither Rupert nor Tracy presented a threat to her, they seemed as friendly as in her past contacts with them and unfazed by her pointing pistol, but she still maintained her guard.
‘Well, it’s really quite simple,’ said Rupert, slowly reaching out a hand to guide Helen’s pistol muzzle away and down. ‘Once we knew Ro had no choice other than to use a plane to get ACE out of Tanzania, we had to set up an intercept plan.’ He climbed through the rear doorway of the control vehicle and pointed towards Ro. ‘Would you mind, please? I’d very much like to get him secured.’
Helen turned sideways and allowed Rupert space to pass.
‘Thank you, and now, perhaps you’ll allow me?’ He paused while squeezing past Helen, quickly loosening her wrist ties. ‘I can reuse these ties now.’ Then he stooped over Ro.
‘Well, old man, looks like we’ve finally got you where we want you. It’s taken a long time; I think you bit off more than you could chew this time, don’t you?’
Ro mumbled an incoherent response through his broken teeth, and Rupert gripped his arms, tying them tightly together with Helen’s ties. He glanced up at her and smiled while tugging on the bindings to make sure they were secure. ‘A pleasant irony here, don’t you think?’
‘You’ve taken over the plane? How did you manage that? I never heard a thing.’
Standing up, Rupert shooed her out of the vehicle. ‘We didn’t do anything of the sort; we can’t go leaving things to chance like that. Come on, let’s get a seat and we’ll tell all.’
Tracy reached out a guiding hand to help Helen down and they all headed back to the row of seats. The sense of immediate relief grew when Helen saw Ro’s men trussed up and secured against a bulkhead - they were going nowhere. Two armed men in civilian clothes stood at the seats that were all empty save one, which was occupied by Bob Prentice.
‘What about Sam?’ said Helen. ‘Ro left him on the runway.’
Tracy and Rupert exchanged glances. ‘We’re going back right now,’ she said.
Helen was suddenly aware of the plane’s descent and felt the bumping and turbulence start to build.
‘Come on, let’s get seated,’ said Rupert, waving them towards the seating. He rested a hand on Bob’s shoulder.
Bob raised his beer bottle in acknowledgement.
Helen sat between Rupert and Tracy. This time she was in charge of her own seatbelt. ‘So, if you didn’t take over the plane, you’d better explain what’s happened.’
Rupert leant forward, looked round her towards Tracy. ‘It can’t do any harm now,’ he said.
Tracy gave a little nod of agreement and Rupert switched his attention back to Helen.
‘Once Ro needed to charter a cargo plane, we knew he was limited for choice. There are air charter companies with planes of the right capacity and loading facilities spread all around the world. But only a very few of them that would be prepared to take on a dodgy black flight contract like
his. Fewer still who actually had planes in the right place; in fact, there were only two possible planes available. Thankfully, once our governments’ little spat over ultimate financial responsibility was resolved, our people have deep enough pockets to move pretty quickly when it comes to covering up embarrassing problems. We used anonymous front companies to charter the two available planes and got them flying off to wherever—’
‘Leaving a CIA front company plane as the only one Ro could charter at short notice,’ said Tracy with some satisfaction. She leant across Helen and bumped beer bottles with Rupert.
They smiled at one another. ‘Perfect international teamwork,’ said Rupert, and they both drank. Helen was silent for a long moment while her neighbours exchanged further self-congratulatory accolades.
‘Do you mean you had Sam and I go through all that for no reason? Seriously? People have been killed, wounded, and we don’t know for sure how Sam is right now. There’s a bunch of wounded Maasai down there, desperate for medical help, all unnecessary casualties. You were always going to intercept Ro; that was your plan from the outset.’
The pair fell silent for a moment. Then Rupert tried to calm her. ‘No, no, you misunderstood. Not from the beginning. At first, we did need Sam to trace Ro through Kenya. Local politics meant we really couldn’t put anyone in to do that. Then it was pure serendipity that the terrorist attack snarled up the Tanzanian border, trapping Ro inside the country. It gave us more time to find him and implement a recovery plan. Once you and Sam had rumbled his plan to fly out and you delivered the runway tip-off we were able to get our charter plane to the front of the queue and Ro jumped at it because you were closing in on him.
‘You and Sam found the runway. And it was Sam’s presence in theatre that propelled Ro to take the first available charter plane rather than wait for one he knew and trusted.’ Rupert looked to Tracy for backup.
