Touchfeather

by Jimmy Sangster

  But whatever my training had lacked in the emotional area, it had still been thorough enough to prevent me from telling Bill what I really did for a living. Of course, it may have been a sneaky feeling of shame on my part that made me keep my mouth shut; he might have confused my motives for being with him, and I didn’t want any of that at this stage. Later I would tell him everything, but at the moment it was sufficient that I was an air hostess and I spent most of my time living in London where I had a cosy little flat which could possibly be rearranged to accommodate two.

  The headwinds we had met going out were now helping us, and we put down in Khartoum thirty-five minutes ahead of schedule. The passengers who were travelling on remained in the designated airport area, while the half a dozen who were leaving us disappeared through customs and immigration. And here we in first class picked up two more passengers. They were Americans by the look and sound of them. They were deeply engrossed with each other, no doubt talking about the oil refinery they had just sold, or the diamond mine they had just bought. Immediately after takeoff I offered them a drink, which they refused a little impolitely, and then I rejoined Bill. With nothing much to worry about any longer, and with the comfort of Bill sitting next to me, I dozed off. I’d had very little sleep the past two nights, and there was a lot of catching up to do.

  When I opened my eyes I had no idea how long I had been asleep, or what had awakened me. I wasn’t sure, but there seemed to have been a slight change in the pitch of the engines. If one flies a great deal, one becomes very conscious of the slightest variation in the established flight pattern. I was facing Bill as I opened my eyes. He was sitting on the inside seat, and I started to smile, until I noticed that he was staring past me into the aisle. I turned to see what he was looking at so intently and found myself peering down the barrel of a gun, held inches away from my face. It was being held by one of the Americans who had boarded at Khartoum.

  Even as I saw the gun, it swung away from me to embrace the other passengers. All of them, that is, except the Asiatic gentleman who had been with us since Bombay. He was standing in the centre aisle facing the economy section. I couldn’t see his hands because his back was towards me, but from the faces of the economy passengers, he was obviously holding a gun, too. I looked round for the other American. The door to the flight deck was open and I could see him leaning over the co-pilot, talking to him. I could also see Captain Singh’s arm hanging limply over the side of his seat. Groping my way up out of sleep as I was, it took a full three seconds for all this to sink in. We were being hijacked. It was almost too ludicrous to be true, but the whole thing was confirmed as I made to shift my position. The gun held by the American swung back lazily, until I was looking down the snout once more.

  ‘Stay where you are, darling,’ said the American. ‘No fuss, no trouble.’

  I reached out blindly for Bill’s hand and clutched at it. It should have been a comfort, but it wasn’t; all I could see was the gun. With it went the knowledge that we were flying at twenty-nine thousand feet and, should the American be misguided enough to fire it, he’d puncture the pressurised cabin and we’d all be dead. I wondered whether he was aware of this fact. Better mention it, I thought.

  ‘You’re not going to fire that gun, I hope,’ I said tentatively.

  ‘Not if I can help it, darling,’ he said.

  ’You’ll puncture the cabin if you do.’

  He grinned at me equably. ‘I know it, darling,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry your pretty little head about it. We won’t be up here for long.’

  I noticed then that our flight path was a descending one. I glanced past Bill out of the window. We were flying over desert and were already far lower than I had thought. I shifted my glance to Bill, who squeezed my hand.

  ‘How long was I asleep?’ I asked.

  ‘Thirty-five minutes.’

  I tried to work out quickly where we were. Assuming we had kept roughly to our original course. Cairo couldn’t be far off. This was small comfort considering the relationship that Nasser had with most of the world. What on earth were we carrying that could interest these modern-day pirates? I had no idea what was on the cargo manifest but, whatever it was, it must have been a pretty big prize. I mean, people just don’t go around hijacking two-million-pound VC10s unless they’ve got pretty strong reasons.

  I looked out of the window again. Cairo it was. I could see the Nile, and to the East the high cliffs of the Mokattam Hills. I’d only put down there a couple of times, but there was no mistaking it. I looked back towards the flight deck. The second American had stepped back from the co-pilot and was letting him fly the aircraft. It was just as well, because a VC10 is a lot of aeroplane and needs a great deal of care and attention, especially when you’re only a copilot and not supposed to have to handle it by yourself.

  I slipped on my seat belt and told Bill to do the same, wishing that the American had had the sense to disable the co-pilot and not Captain Singh. The other American, the one standing close to me, made no effort to sit down. Neither did the Asiatic who was watching the economy section. Perhaps if the aircraft was put down heavily enough they’d be knocked every which way and we’d have a chance. But I realised almost immediately that it was a stupid hope, because even if they were all knocked out, the aircraft would be on the ground and too far along the runway to take off again without taxiing back. And if we were expected, as we obviously were, whoever was waiting for us wasn’t going to allow us to taxi anywhere, except where he wanted.

  There was a baby crying in the economy section and, for a moment, I thought of asking whether I could move back there. Then I realised that I couldn’t see any of the other girls; they must have all been back with the other passengers. So I gritted my teeth and mentally joined the co-pilot to help him land the aircraft. It was a creditable effort considering all that he had against him but, as the reverse thrust of the engines roared out halfway along the runway, I felt Bill gently disengage his hand from mine. Glancing down I could see the deep indentations made in his palm by my fingernails. I looked at him, wanting to apologise, but he wasn’t really with me. I’m sure that if I hadn’t been sitting between him and the American, he would have made a grab for the gun. But Bill was a professor, a man of books, a gentle man. I, on the other hand, had seen what a bullet can do to a human being, and I didn’t want to see it happen to Bill. I took his hand again quickly, trying to distract him. For one moment I thought I hadn’t succeeded; I could feel the muscles in his hand and arm standing out stiffly.

  ‘No, Bill,’ I whispered.

  He glanced at me as though he didn’t recognise me; then the staring look in his eyes faded and I felt the muscles relax. I breathed again as we turned off the runway onto a taxiing apron.

  From the window I could see that we weren’t heading for the main airport buildings; they were way over to our left. We were making for a group of maintenance hangars on the edge of the airfield. The American on the flight deck stayed where he was until the engines were switched off. In the silence that followed, the child crying in the economy section sounded almost deafening.

  Then there was a clattering against the outside of the aircraft and one of the Americans moved to open the main passenger hatch. A moment later the aircraft seemed full of small brown men in ill-fitting dark suits. One of them spoke rapidly to the American in a language I didn’t understand and gestured angrily towards the passenger cabins. The American replied then turned to his companion, who nodded.

  ‘Everybody out!’ he barked.

  The second American repeated the order to the Asiatic then moved to the front of the cabin as we unbuckled our seat belts and stood up.

  We were led out of the aircraft into the baking heat outside and quickly ushered across the few yards that separated us from one of the hangars. Inside, it was even hotter, the sun’s rays magnified by the high metal roof of the hangar. The child started to cry again. I wished I had been a few years younger, then I could have joined her.
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  We were herded into a group, thirty bewildered souls, while our American cousins and a couple of the Egyptians kept a steady eye on us. One thing I was glad to see was that Captain Singh had recovered sufficiently to make his own way from the aircraft. There was a thin streak of dried blood coming from beneath his turban, but all he looked was livid. He started by shouting at one of the Egyptians, but when that had no effect, he switched to one of the Americans.

  I picked out phrases like ‘international incident’, ‘freedom of the airways’, ‘piracy’ and the like. But one of the Americans shut him up with a jab from his gun and, looking like a man whose whole world had suddenly disappeared in a puff of smoke, Captain Singh moved over to join us.

  I was still standing hand in hand with Bill, so I was in a good place to hear and see everything that followed. A man appeared suddenly, outlined by the glare of the sunlight in the hangar door. At this distance, dwarfed by the dimensions of the hangar, he looked small, but as he walked towards us I could see that he was in fact enormous. Not only was he well over six feet six inches tall, but he was built with mountainous proportions, barely concealed by a sweat-soaked suit.

  One of the little brown men fell into step beside him, taking three strides to his one. One of the Americans moved to meet him. Then the three of them came towards us. As he drew nearer I realised that it wasn’t just the size of the newcomer that impressed. He was completely hairless, without even eyelashes, and his skin was almost dead white, as though it had been bleached. His features were generally Mongolian and his eyes were two small black buttons, dull and opaque. I’ve met some pretty frightening customers in my time, but this one was the daddy of them all. The child behind me started to scream now, and I didn’t blame it one little bit. But worse was to come. He stopped three paces away from Bill and me, and the smell of his huge body was almost overpowering, a sickly sweet smell of sweat and cheap toilet water. He glanced at me briefly and then his eyes switched to Bill.

  ‘Professor Partman?’ His voice was high-pitched and sibilant, incongruous with a man of his size. I felt Bill stiffen beside me, but his voice was level and controlled as he answered.

  ‘Yes, I’m Professor Partman.’

  ‘You will come with us, please.’ The man turned on his heels, about to move off, when Bill spoke again.

  ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ he said.

  The big man turned back, a glimmer of surprise on his face; obviously he was accustomed to having his orders obeyed without question. Bill continued levelly.

  ‘You have committed piracy, kidnapping, assault, theft, diplomatic mayhem and God knows what else. Why should I do anything you say?’

  ’Because there will be serious trouble if you do not,’ came the sibilant hiss.

  ‘You don’t even know the meaning of the word,’ said Bill. ‘But, by Christ, you will when this lot gets out. There’ll be an international clang all the way up to the United Nations.’

  ‘You are one of thirty people, Professor Partman. The fate of the other twenty-nine rests entirely in your hands. You come with us and the others will be able to continue their journey immediately. You give me any trouble and I’ll kill everyone, starting with her.’

  He pointed a stubby finger at me like the barrel of a gun, and I felt my knees go weak. I knew the difference between threats that were idle and those that were genuine. This one was as genuine as I had ever heard—and Bill knew it, too. There was a moment’s pause and then I felt him gently disengage his hand from mine. I tried to keep the contact, scrabbling for his fingers, but he moved away from me, and when I tried to move after him one of the Americans blocked my path.

  ‘You stay right here, darling,’ he said.

  ‘Bill!’ I said. He turned. I felt the tears well up in my eyes and I couldn’t say another word. He smiled at me then, that gentle smile that had come to mean everything to me during the past couple of days. Then he turned and moved off after the big man. As he moved away to an office at the side of the hangar, the little brown men among us started to urge us back towards the main doors.

  I walked with the others, but my eyes were fixed on Bill. I saw the group enter the office and, through the glass in the wall, I saw the big man turn and say something to Bill, who shook his head. I paused for a moment at the hangar door, still looking back, and I wished from the bottom of my heart that I hadn’t. I saw the big man reach into his pocket. There was a metallic flash as he moved quickly, his arm crossing in front of Bill’s face. Bill dropped back out of sight. A second later he was dragged back into view by the two Americans who were standing one on either side of him. Even from this distance, I could see that his face was covered with blood.

  FIVE

  I was barely conscious of getting back on board. By the time I had pulled myself together, we were airborne with a course set for Rome. Captain Singh was on the radio almost before we got off the ground, speaking ahead to Rome and setting in motion the wheels necessary to blow the whole thing into the international scandal it undoubtedly was.

  For me, though, it was just a personal tragedy. The broader implications meant nothing as far as I was concerned. Realising that there had been something between Bill and myself, the other girls left me alone on this stage of the journey, doing my work for me. The passengers were excited now that everything was over. They had been part of something they would be able to talk about for the rest of their lives. Fear was replaced by ebullience and they chattered among themselves like a flock of starlings. The economy section had been opened up into the first class and drinks were being served free. Amid all this I remained a small oasis of misery, staring unseeing out of the window.

  I had been right about Bill; that much was plain. And I consigned to the bottomless pit those faceless individuals who had allowed him to travel. It was painfully clear that whoever had failed to pick up the original microfilm had done the next best thing and gone straight to the source. There could have been nothing on that film that wasn’t locked in Bill’s head, and now they were in the process of unlocking it. I prayed hard and long that Bill wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to hold out on them. I had learned since working for Mr. Blaser that there is no man living who can hold out against a determined and knowledgeable adversary who holds all the cards. There are ways of making a man talk that defy description; even hearing about them during my training had been sufficient to make me feel physically sick. And from what I had seen of the big man, he probably knew things that I hadn’t even heard of.

  Dear Bill! Darling Bill! My Bill, who had called me his brown love. I couldn’t help it. The tears just wouldn’t stop. They poured silently down my face. I tasted their salt and I died a little during that flight.

  Our arrival at Rome had to be seen to be believed. There were a dozen cars and two dozen motorcycle police waiting for us on the arrival apron. All the passengers and crew were whisked into the cars and driven past mobs of screaming reporters to some airport offices set aside for the purpose. There we were received by officials from the Indian, British, American and Swiss Embassies, together with half a dozen members of the Italian Government and one extremely embarrassed gentleman from the Egyptian Consulate. But every time he opened his mouth everyone shouted at him, so he didn’t make much of an impression.

  We were questioned together and individually as the officials tried to build up a picture of what had occurred. It was plain that we were already an international incident and the world press were howling like a pack of wolves outside the door. I answered the questions as best I could, which wasn’t easy, as each time I thought of Bill and his blood-covered face, I started to cry again. None of the officials interviewing us was cleared as far as I was concerned, so I couldn’t beg off. To them I was just another hostess, with no deeper involvement than that which appeared on the surface. If Mr. Blaser had wanted me to make my true position known, he would have got word to me somehow. He hadn’t, so I played it straight.

  After a couple of hours the passengers
were all loaded into another aircraft to continue their journey to London. The crew were to rest overnight and then fly back to Bombay the following day. Deprived of the passengers, the press seemed to grow tired of the whole thing, and we were loaded into a minibus without too much trouble. The drive into the city was conducted in absolute silence, except for Captain Singh, who every now and then uttered one short, sharp expletive that did nothing to relieve the tension we were still under. The tears had dried up by now; there just weren’t any more to shed and I had practically succeeded in anaesthetising myself by the time we reached the hotel. We checked in and departed to our various rooms without a word to each other. Everything that could be had already been said.

  As soon as I reached my room, I phoned Mr. Blaser. I was tired and I felt sick. I didn’t want to go to Bombay the next day; I wanted to go home, and I told him so.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I’m tired and miserable and sick to the teeth of you and your whole bloody department,’ I said. Then my training got the better of me. ‘Sir,’ I added.

  There was a long pause before he spoke again.

  ‘The fact that you failed on an assignment isn’t sufficient excuse for rudeness, Miss Touchfeather.’ He continued before I could explode. ‘And please remember this is an open line.’