The Jagged Edge

by AJ Frazer

  “I have my ord—”

  “Your orders? You are about to commit me to torture and imprisonment. And for what? For helping to stop Sagen? Those men are brutal, merciless killers. Have you been down to your engineering room and seen what they’ve done to him?”

  Captain O’Donnell slumped down in his chair. It was as if he had a sense of what was happening in the bowels of his ship and it sickened him. “What would you have me do?”

  “Reroute our transport to Halls Creek. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Jesus Christ, I could be court-martialed for that.”

  “Your original orders were to rescue me and apprehend Sagen, right?”

  “Close enough.”

  “I’m not under arrest. I’m a British citizen on a Royal Australian Navy vessel and I request to be taken ashore with my companion who needs immediate, specialist medical treatment.”

  The captain stared at his desk for what felt like a long time while Dominic fought the nervous desire to fidget or chew his lips.

  “Petty Officer Taylor, escort Mr. Elliston and his critically wounded companion to the flight deck. They need immediate transport to Halls Creek for urgent medical treatment.”

  Petty Officer Taylor smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Dominic exhaled, the relief washing down his shoulders.

  “I do not condone the actions of the CIA on my ship,” said Captain O’Donnell. “I do not wish for any of this to be happening and I certainly will not be complicit in the international clusterfuck that would kick off between the United Kingdom and the United States if I allowed you to be taken by the CIA.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain.”

  The captain nodded his chin to the door. “Get off my ship.”

  Dominic practically jogged back to his room. After collecting Dax, Petty Officer Taylor led them down to the flight deck the long way to avoid going anywhere near the CIA’s operations room.

  On the flight deck, the hulking gray Sea King already idled, its rotors thumping the air. A deckhand helped Dax into the large side door and got him inside and belted.

  “Thank you!” yelled Dominic above the noise to Petty Officer Taylor.

  “Glad to help!”

  Dominic looked at her, his hair lashing at his eyes. “Be safe!”

  Taylor put her hand on Dominic’s arm. “What did you see in the engineering room?” she yelled into his ear.

  Dominic gave her a look that said it all. He simply shook his head before climbing into the waiting helicopter.

  The door closed, and they lifted off the deck immediately. Dominic looked from the window to see Taylor still on the deck, watching them leave. As the helicopter turned slowly, the ship disappeared behind them. Dominic shuffled in his seat and put on his headset. For a moment he considered that he could have been duped, that the helicopter could still be headed for the US Marine base in Darwin. Adjusting his headset, he reached forward and tapped the crewman in front of him on the knee, pointing to his mic. The crewman flipped a dial on the wall unit behind him and Dominic heard, “Yes, sir?”

  Dominic felt his heart in his throat. “Just checking our destination.”

  “Halls Creek Airport, sir.”

  Dominic put his head back against the wall in relief. Before long, his thoughts drifted back to Sagen and the fact that he had left him there in the hands of those psychopaths. He felt the tension return to his chest, along with an uncontrollable wave of emotion. He let out a painful sob, the lump in his throat felt like a tennis ball. He ripped off the headset, hung his head, and wept.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As soon as Dominic and Dax had climbed warily out of the helicopter, the Sea King’s engines roared and it lifted off, dropping its nose back toward where it had come from, and was soon gone, leaving them in the aching outback silence.

  Dominic saw his jet on the tarmac, but no sign of the pilots or the aircrew.

  “Wait here, Daxy,” he said. “I’m going to the hotel to find the crew.”

  Dax settled awkwardly on an aluminum bench under the roof cover. “Standing by—or rather sitting by.”

  Dominic set off at a run back to the hotel, which was just down the road. The heat was already unbearable, and he was a sweaty mess by the time he got there. He tracked down the pilots in the restaurant having a late breakfast—continental, because there was no power for anything to be cooked. The loss of power was benign in the tiny outback town that was used to power cuts and phone lines being down.

  “Right, gents,” he said breathlessly to the two pilots, “get the cabin crew. We’re out of here now.”

  The pilots looked at each other, unsure what to make of Dominic’s appearance.

  “Move! We’re leaving. Now!”

  The pilots were visibly taken aback by Dominic’s outburst and rose quickly from their table.

  “What’s going on, Mr. Elliston?” demanded the senior pilot.

  Dominic closed his eyes and mustered his patience and control. “Just get the others and get the plane in the sky. That’s what you’re fucking paid to do. Now move.”

  The pilots scuttled off to prepare for the flight. Dominic was left catching his breath and his composure.

  Walking back outside, he noticed the four-wheel-drive that had been arranged for them when they arrived. It hadn’t moved, and he had no idea where the keys were, so he marched back to the airport double time. In fewer than twenty minutes, Dominic was walking into the air-conditioned cabin of the plane. As he did, he felt another wave of relief wash over him. After helping Dax into his chair, he threw himself down in his seat, and put a shaking hand to his temple, closing his eyes.

  “Christ, I’ve never looked forward to a long-haul flight quite so much.”

  “Can’t say I feel the same, mate.” Dax tapped his bandaged leg.

  “Trust me. That was the least of your worries on that ship.”

  “So what the hell’s going on? Come on, level with me.”

  Dominic took a breath. “The day we arrived on the ship, CIA agents arrived to interrogate Sagen. I say ‘interrogate,’ but really they were there to torture him. I saw him last night. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen. He was beaten beyond recognition and had been tortured in ways I still can barely fathom. And it’s all for nothing—there’s no way to stop Biblical.”

  “So that’s why you looked like you’d seen a ghost this morning.”

  “I may well have. I’d be very surprised if Sagen is still alive. Those butchers had more in store for him.”

  The plane was taxiing now, bumping and crashing over potholes. The pilot swung the jet around to point down the runway and in one smooth action, pushed the throttles and hurtled down the strip. Once airborne, Dominic relaxed and prayed they would not be shot down by overzealous CIA-sanctioned air-force planes. He knew it was extraordinarily unlikely, but then these were extraordinary times.

  He wondered how the hell they were going to fly home to the UK without GPS navigation. Unclipping his seat belt he walked up to the cockpit door and knocked before opening it. “Apologies for the urgency back there.”

  “You’re the boss,” replied the more senior pilot without looking up from the small array of analogue controls on the instrument panel.

  “Yes, and it was a matter of life or death, namely my imminent death, but I am sorry for the outburst.”

  “Not a problem, sir. We’re on our way now.” The pilot nodded out the window. “Severe clear conditions will help us.”

  “Yes, I take it you’ve noticed there is no satellite navigation.”

  “We have. GPS, Glonass, Galileo, and BeiDou are all down.”

  “So how exactly are we going to get back to the UK?”

  “The old-fashioned way,” said the pilot.

  “Which is?”

  “Map and a compass.”

  “All the way back to England?”

  “Sure. It’s been a while. Might have to make a few unexpected stopovers.”
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  Dominic smiled. “As long as we don’t have to land in the US.”

  “Given that we’re flying in the completely opposite direction, if we hit the US, we’ll have had the map upside down.”

  Dominic smiled. “Right. I trust you can set a map then.”

  “We’ll manage. The good thing is, all commercial air traffic will be grounded, so we’ll have the air path to ourselves, provided there are no military aircraft.”

  “Do you think there will be?”

  “I’m ex-RAF. I’m fairly certain every sovereign country will be scrambling their air force to ensure no one tries to take advantage of the situation.”

  “Jesus, will they shoot at us if we’re flying in their airspace?”

  “Can’t rule it out. We appear to still have shortwave radio operating, so we should be able to communicate with planes in our vicinity. Also, we’re clearly not a hostile aircraft. Relax, sir, we’ve got it from here.”

  “Excellent. Thank you. And again, sorry for my behavior earlier.” He gripped the pilot’s shoulder before heading back to his seat. When he got there, one of the cabin crew came over to take a food order. The sinking, sickening feeling of guilt descended on him again. Sagen certainly wasn’t getting food. Dominic had left him for dead—to be chewed up and taken apart.

  He declined the food and sat back gazing out the window, while the knot in his gut consumed him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dominic was woken as they approached the English coastline. The copilot came down the aisle looking grave. “Sir, the captain thought you might want to see this,” he said, beckoning to the cockpit.

  Dominic stood. “What is it?”

  “Probably best to just see for yourself, sir.”

  Dominic looked over at Dax. “You coming?”

  “Sure, give me a hand.”

  They walked up the aisle to the cockpit. Entering, Dominic bent over to see the view in front. Beyond the green English countryside, London was in the distance with what must have been hundreds of plumes of smoke rising up like towers. The low, setting sun cast a sepia tone on the panorama. The whole thing looked fake, like something from an over-CGI-ed movie. He stared at the scene, transfixed.

  “Looks like the whole city is burning,” said Dax.

  “It does,” agreed Dominic.

  “I’ve had a call on the shortwave, advising that inner London airspace is closed to all civilian aircraft,” said the pilot. “That’s Heathrow, Luton, Gatwick, Stansted, the lot.”

  “Are we OK to land at Fairoaks?” asked Dominic.

  “Only just.”

  Dominic went back to staring at the ghastly diorama in the distance. “Imagine what must be going on down there,” he mumbled.

  “Was a hell of a flight over Europe. We ended up taking a very non-conventional route to avoid flying over some more trigger-happy places like Ukraine. A lot of diversion requests that we had to adhere to as well to avoid major cities.”

  “And you did all that using maps?”

  “Visual flight rules and inertial navigation. Thankfully the radio beacon network is still operational across most of Asia and Europe. We also had some contact with European air traffic control.”

  “Well bloody done all the same,” said Dominic.

  They walked back to their seats.

  “What’s the plan when we land?” asked Dax.

  “First, get to the estate somehow. There’s no way to call Jacs or Alex. So we may be thumbing it.”

  “How far is it from the airport? Can we walk it?”

  “About eight miles. So, yes, we could walk it—if you weren’t buggered up. But it’ll be dark soon and I don’t fancy stumbling through paddocks at night.”

  “Neither do I. Crazy rich bastards might shoot us.”

  “Almost certainly. Christ, I’d shoot you if I saw you skulking around my manor.”

  “You’d miss.”

  “Then I’d let loose the hounds.”

  “Ha! Glad to see you’re getting your humor back.”

  On the ground, the plane taxied to the hangar as twilight hung over the airport. Stepping off the plane, Dominic breathed deeply, hoping to get a lungful of crisp, cool air laced with summer grass. Instead all he got was a mixture of smoke, from the London fires, and aviation gas.

  The airport was empty. The only noise was that of the plane’s engines winding down. Striding out onto the tarmac, he felt like the entire country was deserted. There were no signs of life.

  “What, no welcome-home party?” quipped Dax, standing at the door of the plane.

  “Not a bloody soul,” replied Dominic, scanning the area. “We need transportation. I’ll take a look around—you stay here.”

  He headed off toward the main hangar. Outside, he noticed two cars, both locked. He had no idea how to jump-start a car, so he checked for keys on top of the tires. No luck.

  As he headed back to the plane, he saw a small gray tractor parked to the side. Jogging over, he noticed that it had the keys still in it. “When needs must,” he said to himself, sparking up the engine, finding first gear and bouncing off jerkily.

  He pulled up to the plane, shut off the engine, and jumped down.

  “Nice motor.” Dax was now sitting on the steps of the aircraft.

  “Beats walking. Especially for you.”

  Dominic told the pilots and crew to stay with the plane and that he’d send Alex to pick them up. He and Dax mounted the tractor and headed for the road home. Dax sat on the wheel guard to the left of Dominic with his crutches between his legs. The most it could do was fifteen miles per hour, so it took them thirty minutes to get to Glenraden.

  At the gate, Dominic went to enter his security code on the keypad. The normally illuminated keypad was dark. Of course it was, realized Dominic; the security system was connected to the internet. Thankfully, someone had left the gate unlocked and they drove the tractor down the dimly lit driveway.

  Jacqueline and Alex came out to meet them at the front door. Jacqueline gave Dominic a long hug. “Christ, you had us worried.”

  “I had myself worried. Hairy situation we found ourselves in.”

  “It was all his fault,” chimed in Dax.

  “It always is,” said Jacqueline. “What the hell happened to your leg?”

  “Like I said, his fault.”

  “Looks serious!”

  “Just a scratch,” replied Dax.

  “Everything been OK here—aside from the obvious?” asked Dominic.

  “All fine, chief,” replied Alex. “People around here are in lockdown. I reckon it’s a different story in London, though.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Dominic said. “We saw the smoke plumes as we came into land. Can you please drive over to Fairoaks and take the pilots and crew wherever they need to go?”

  ‘Sure, chief, I’ll head over there now,” said Alex.

  “Come on inside,” commanded Jacqueline. “You must be exhausted. But I want to hear all about it. You knew what was going to happen, didn’t you?”

  Dominic helped Dax up the steps to the main door. “In concept only.”

  They went through to the kitchen where Dominic outlined the events of the last few days. He glossed over the details of Sagen’s interrogation.

  “It’s a mess in London,” said Jacqueline. “People have dealt with self-isolation and social distancing before, but they were always connected by the internet. For most people, they are completely disconnected from everything now.

  “There are riots all over the country and today there was a massive protest outside Downing Street. Christ knows how the managed to organize it with no social media. The hospitals are in chaos; the banking system no longer exists; power and gas networks are offline. The cellular networks are all down, but good old fashion fixed line phones are still operating. Trouble is, the landlines are so congested that it’s impossible to get through to anyone. Much of the worldwide web has gone dark. Globally, the flow of data has dropped from 17 zetta b
loody bytes per day to just a few terabytes, it’s incredible.”

  “The supermarkets are still operating and food is getting through, but for how long, no one knows. Panic buying was being managed by police at the supermarkets, rationing the amount of food and bottled water people can purchase. But the bigger problem now is looting as the banking system is down and people don’t carry cash anymore.”

  “So, how are you getting this information?”

  “The fiber and copper networks are still up, for what it’s worth, but barely any site or app is live. Somehow, Jagged Edge is still running, while every other news organization is down. So we’re the only communications link for much of the world.”

  “Well, that’s a plus. Any other good news?”

  “Thankfully, the water system is unaffected,” Jacqueline said. “So, for now, tap water is still fine to drink and people can flush their loos. The police and other law-enforcement agencies seem to still be operating. The trouble is, no one knows if they’ll still be there tomorrow.”

  After dinner, Dax adjourned to a couch near the kitchen and elevated his still throbbing leg. Dominic and Jacqueline cleaned up the kitchen. Dominic noticed the sound of the generator down in the back garden gently layered with the silence of the countryside. His mind went back to the sound of the engines deep down on board the Canberra. Sagen. Was he alive? Almost certainly not. He had left him in that torture chamber. The overwhelming sense of guilt made his face flush with humiliation and it felt like a donkey kick to his heart. It was gutless, spineless of him. But Dominic knew there was nothing he could have done. Elaborate escape plans were great in films and books, but not in the real world. There was no way Sagen was leaving that ship, unless they let him go, and there was clearly no chance of that happening.

  While he was grateful to be at home back in England, he couldn’t relax. The world was going to pieces. The CIA, he knew, would still want to talk to him. And something that Sagen said to him—just before the TAG team had arrived—had him chewing his lip.