by Loui Downing
The plane was now adrift amongst the grumpy grey hair of the earth; gliding at what looked like a slow pace. The plane chopped through the clouds like a knife slashes as the craft climbed the air to a higher altitude. They were over the Atlantic Ocean as the raw look of the sea came into view in Rupert’s eyes through the gaps in the clouds. Rupert looked at his watch and tried to work out how long there would be until they could see Ireland. He was dreadfully exhausted and worried for Kerry who was also twitching whilst in her sleep, although she appeared peaceful on this occasion. Rupert didn’t realise that they would be approaching the shores of Ireland in a little over six hours. He longed be would be reunited with his family the next morning.
The three rows of two seats contained sleepy persons as it approached 12:13am, some snoring loudly and others not making a sound whatsoever. Two airhostesses were surveying the conditions of the isles to prepare for the mornings arrival in London. A middle-aged lady stowed a bag back onto the luggage area for the persons were sound asleep and she did not want to wake them. Francesca lay sound asleep in her cot on the plane, not even making a single gurgle.
Kerry sat up in slow motion, retaining a vertical position as she noticed the quietness of the plane. She glanced over at Rupert who was fast asleep with eye covers on. Kerry pressed the down arrow on her control board next to her which enabled the window cover to retreat back up to its compartment; revealing the intoxicating rays of white lights of the English sky. People around them both yawned and moaned at the early signs of the morning; stretching intently. Kerry looked out of the window; peering over Rupert's shoulders to view part of the Cornish coast, as she noticed an airhostess approaching her.
‘Hi madam, we are landing in twenty-five minutes. Can you close your blind please, some others are requesting to sleep’ instructed the young woman she remembered the face of.
‘Oh…sorry…ok’ replied Kerry and the plane restored to darkness again. Kerry opted for a tiny nap seeing as though there was some time left and the fact that it was as black as your hat in the plane, which left her with no option to remove the pillow she had kept under her feet and place behind her head. She adjusted the seat to lean a tad back on her chair and wriggled to gain comfort. Her eyes fell repeatedly, pricking the lower lid of her eye before they eventually stuck down and she drifted off. The minor turbulence helped her sleep, like a rocking chair for a child she felt at ease, something which had taken a while for her to accomplish.
‘The wind was blowing wildly into the overcoat of Anna who was slumped across Tim. Both of them sat in a rescue dingy they managed to access in the vital seconds before the impact. Kerry was observing her parents from afar, for some peculiar reason she didn’t feel like going over to them, as they looked so pale. She was clinging onto an unsupported chair that dangled above her. She glanced towards the main exit to see the emergency boat drift off into the distance’
Kerry sat up with a fantastic jolt as if she was about to perform a magic trick. Rupert lifted his concentration from his book and glanced towards Kerry where he saw a shocking face emerge. Kerry’s face was pale white with a hint of lime; as if she had seen a ghost. Rupert didn’t really know what to say so he let out a nervous smile and carried on reading; pretending that she hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Kerry’s palms and back were drenched from the sweat of her dream; she believed it, she could taste the salt in her mouth from the ocean. Kerry reached for her seatbelt and headed off to the toilets on the plane at the rear; around twelve rows away. As she waited patiently for a stocky gentleman to vacate the toilet, she managed to regain thought on what she had seen in her dream and not on the behaviour of the man.
Flashbacks kept entering her mind as she went off along the corridor just for a walk around. As the five foot five man vacated the bathroom, Kerry soon followed his footsteps and was looking closely at the mirror on her right, adjusting her smile, which formed wrinkles that swooped around her eyebrows giving her a rustic complexion. She began rubbing the bags from under her eyes in hope of revival, clearly she had not had a good night’s sleep. The images of her mother and father entered her mind, the times when she was young being pushed on swings and on day trips. She felt herself contented and at ease, only to feel heavy turbulence. Consequently, her mood changed; forcing her back to reality which saddened her.
‘This is your captain speaking, will all passengers on this flight and crewmembers please be seated. Fasten your seatbelts; the plane is approaching to land in around ten minutes. The time is seven minutes to seven. I would like to welcome everyone to England and I hope you have a pleasant stay for the duration, thank you’ informed a young man with an enthusiastic voice as the plane was ploughing its way through the morning sky over London. By now most of the passengers were awake or just emerging from their sleep; yawning lightly and flashing their eyes in a state of confusion. Rupert opened one eye to discover that Kerry was wide awake with the plane almost fully lit, resulting in a deep feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach; the prospect of having to remove himself from the comfy seats was painstakingly agonising. He lent forward and rose as he lifted his head above the seat in front; viewing an airhostess wheeling a tray of croissants, muffins, cereal and an English breakfast, which Rupert thought smelt very keen on his taste buds. He turned to Kerry and gave a mild hello, asking how she is, which she replied as fine whilst sipping a tall latte; hugging it for her life. Rupert gazed out of the window to try and wake his senses slightly as he saw the odd thick clouds collude around the built up areas. The plane gradually approached London. The people and buildings looked microscopic from such a height, which made Rupert feel like a giant looking down on his servants.
The plane doors connected with the airports boarding bay with a hum and a clunk as the metal collided. Passengers were eager to leave the plane, for they wished to stretch their legs for the first time in a long while. Out came Rupert, Kerry along with Francesca who was bobbing around in her carrier-cot as they walked down the white tunnel to enter the airport; through the main waiting rooms for boarding.
The airport was busy with tourists and businessmen rushing around importantly in deep black suits holding briefcases; all taking no consideration for each other.
On arriving at St Pancras, the new designs of the station caught Rupert’s eyes and he wished to look at them close up. Kerry remained adamant that they went and ate first, as she didn’t feel up to plane food. The meeting point statue stands tall in a chocolate chip brown imitation of where lovers meet; creating a feeling of fantasy and an everlasting warming welcome to London. They approached a statue of Winston Churchill; looking dominant and inspirational. Rupert reached for his birthday present camera from his brother to take a photo. He waved to Kerry and Francesca who had wondered in front whilst Rupert was reading the monument. Rupert instructed them to stand next to the statue for a picture, where they were snapped up smiling next to Churchill’s raised arm. The main entrance was straight ahead, greeting trains from all over the EU. One train was just departing for France; the train was spacious with bubbly blue metal beams crisscrossing the stations skyline in a dome over the people below.
Underneath the platforms were shops, cafes and restaurants for all passenger’s needs. Rupert and Kerry decided to buy a coffee from one outlet as they proceeded to the street exit and looked for the nearest available cab. They’re destination was Frankie’s apartment in Soho. They were informed to take the underground due to its distance and cost on land; Rupert takes his brothers advice as gold dust. As the three paid at the booths for their tickets and slotted coins into the machines that spat them back out, they walked to a map and began planning their route. The escalators were tall and the journey felt never ending; they proceeded down a two directional platform where they went left and waited for around three minutes before boarding the silent slithering worm to their destination of Kensington, only a short journey away from Frankie’s house.
The house was situated on a light increment next to
a private school, a yokel public house and a rather demeaning set of what looked like government owned accommodation; its appearance withered and deflated.
The sky echoed a healthy blue and a peeping dash of white, with the sun shining through. The cold winds chilled the very spine of the land, brushing intensely on its every surge.
Since Frankie had joined the London Intelligence Agency he had been given a substantial pay increase, allowing him to afford this extravagant home out of London slightly and a smaller apartment in Soho for business which he rented out occasionally as he preferred the commute to work, feeling a sense of escapism once work was over. The house bore an old porch that was evident from the rain marks and sodden wooden attachments surrounding it. The front door was situated on the face of the house, with the dining room window, a bedroom and a small window that looked like a storage room or shower area.
Rupert paid the cab machine as it performed a u-turn near his father’s house, skimming over the mud near the grass verge that lead to a farm house and land. The three looked at each other with their tired and drained eyes and posture, excited about the prospect of being greeted by his father and chatting around a fire and clean water. The pebble stones bounced as Kerry kicked them across the driveway onto the perfectly positioned pavement up to the porch of the house. They climbed a few cobbled steps to the door; level with the door. Rupert placed Francesca on the stoned embedded concrete slab near the front door. He knocked on the wooden door that felt damp and unsteady and receded near to Kerry, looking around at neighbours. There was no reply for around twenty seconds, when Rupert decided to give it another knock as Frankie may be busy and not have heard them. He knocked on the door on this occasion, where he accidentally clattered with extra force; opening the door on doing so. Rupert immediately was astonished and reverted back at Kerry for a reaction.
‘Honey, should we call someone, it does look a bit suspicious’ said Kerry now holding Francesca as she woke from the loud banging on the door.
‘You stay here, I’ll go and see what’s going on, it may just be he forgot to lock it’ replied Rupert in the knowledge that his father commutes and doesn’t really have time for the upkeep of both apartments or even one for that fact.
Rupert lifted his left leg, presenting a half boot to the doormat before him in front of the door that was now fully open. Kerry took a glance inside and then seeing Rupert gesturing that he will be back in a minute as he closed the door leaving her and Francesca outside. Rupert picked up the mail that was scattered all over the floor like a sea of white, brown and the odd black and white lines of a few newspaper prints. He picked them up and placed them on a wobbly table next to the door which had a coffee ring stain on a portable telephone and an old notebook; open at February 15th 2012, which males Rupert question how long had his father been away, as he always uses his diary. Rupert walked forward to the landing area smiling. He then went into the living quarters; where he saw the diary again. It was deserted of life. This made him rush around the house gaining an ounce of adrenaline. He searched everywhere for his father, yet they came no signs. His stomach overturned and rumbled at the mysterious happenings lately, and the fact that his father was nowhere to be found. Rupert had been searching for more than fifteen minutes now and didn’t want to take that long for fear of frightening Kerry. Reluctantly not giving up the search, he entered his father’s study, one that when he was younger he was never allowed to enter; although he had done on occasion when his father was out on business.
The study was a long room with a wall length book shelf on the furthest wall containing various books from fiction, philosophy, evolution, technology and human anatomy; his father loved to read in his spare time, finding it his greatest outlet. He had a few textbooks published himself at the age of twenty-four and then again at twenty-nine entitled ‘the contemporary study of neurobiological studies and technological innovation to enhance performance in military and covert operations’ and ‘Mirror images: a study on how the face of communication transformed fraudulent activity’ which proved very successfully both within England and America. The room was all dusty making Rupert sneeze as he entered, tripping on a box where a bunch of photographs fell out of and sprawled across the tiled floor revealing images of planes, tanks, campsites and men in armory discussing something around a rather large table. Rupert bent down to collect them and placed them in a pile on top of the box as he walked towards the desk and his father’s computer, hoping to find something key to his whereabouts.
Kolievof was starting his shift on the Iranian borders as nightfall was approaching. His job, unlike any other of the team members was to survey the area likely to be under threat from civil opponents, and also western troops on covert missions. The sniper post behind him stood tall, marking the sky. From here the villages were clearly visible, although the tower was covered with specially designed camouflage and hidden from the forestry that swooped each side. The Iranian president had tightened the country's military forces, which sequentially has sparked a religious conflict between nations, resulting in rebellion against the western schemes of seeking control of Iran’s nuclear activities. The Iranians claim this to be a breach of trust and modern propaganda to abide to the western’s idea of terrorism prevention that impact on culture and beliefs around the world. The whole idea is like a never ending wheel, as one country believes that there must be action taken out on people causing harm, another country has its beliefs and religion threatened which increases the likelihood of an attack which we have seen over the last twenty-nine years.
The snow was falling thick and fast; covering a soldier as he paced around the barracks that had been built slightly lower than land level to disguise itself from enemy planes; positioned perfectly near the border so that it could not be surrounded.
‘Ready Sir?’ enquired the man in the front seat of the helicopter, wearing a set of unhealthily large ear phones; looking back at the man strapped up in diving gear as he was reaching for his chute pod. The pod was based on the principles of an aircraft, but rather the person lies in the middle and straps themselves into the craft, creating a better, quicker diving experience and also prevents from being detected on military radars and navigation pointers that scan the night’s skyline.
The dark figure was only visible from behind the helicopter doors as the young man slid them open, where he was blown back a few steps into another colleague. The wind was guzzling in from the open compartment ahead of him as he stared he thought that this may be his last moment of peace; the frantic fear for his life grew like the sun spinning wildly towards the Earth.
In the next instance all that was visible was the back of the man falling towards the potent pale purple sea. The vibration on the face and clothes was astoundingly terrifying as the masked man plunged further and further towards the sea at a staggering speed. The man and pod fell horizontally until the pod was released from the grasp of the man as he released his parachute, which tugged him back into the air, rapidly reducing his speed towards the open sea. However, the pod was still plunging towards the sea, crashing into the ocean but then surfacing and being taken along with the current towards land.
Frankie could feel the deeply cold freezing feeling of the water below; descending violently. Just as he was about to plunge, he released his parachute and gained speed for the remainder of the fall; crunching into the crisp corrosive sea whilst holding his breath for his life. He collided into the sea, bubbles whizzing around him from the impact that he and his craft had just made in the water; making him disorientated and fumble. He reached for his pocket-knife and began cutting the weight of the equipment, as he was decreasing quite quickly. He struggled for what seemed like an eternity as he tried to free himself from the straps that would not budge. The darkness loomed overhead as he descended deeper down the sea's intestines; he held his breath until he could attach his oxygen cylinder and mouthpiece. Finally, the strap broke free, by now he was grasping on his last breath; his heart was racing like he had
never felt. The icy cold waters were so penetrating that he felt his skin being eaten away by the very thought of it against his skin.
The pod was lonesome on the sea's surface, drifting aimlessly around when the equipment and oxygen cylinder shot up from underneath the water. Frankie surfaced after a moment of despair of losing his cylinder, resulting in him having to swim frantically to the top. When he emerged he let out a whining inhalation that did not stop for a while, as he really did feel numb, anxious and full of adrenaline.
After sorting himself out with the oceans current and regaining his breath he looked for the pod and swam courageously over to it, where he boarded and then started to clean some of the equipment; meddling with the levers onboard. Frankie drifted off to sleep soon after eating the food bars provided and sipped some purified water. He sunk back into the uncomfortable pod, looking amid the stars and thinking of his son and his granddaughter that he hadn’t even seen yet. He had been contemplating retiring from the agency for a while now, with the prospect of having a granddaughter made him want to be there for her at every instance. He wished to build his relationship with Rupert and Kerry back, feeling very distant and regretful he shut his eyes and prayed for his life unaware of his position and location.
The hail hit him hard cracking his visor as it fell from the sky in all directions, although Frankie thought it was all on him which was contributed to his mood that progressed from the night before. As he lifted his head he realised he had fallen asleep and before he had time to navigate he had already drifted ashore a country unaware of what it was or where. He scanned the shore, the sun shining on the cliff edge as the sand and stones were darkened from the shadows of caves and wreckage; noticing a quiet aura on this desecrated coast.
