Moon Mask

by James Richardson

  Raine vanished into the hole.

  West climbed the metal rungs of the ladder which stretched up from the Victorian sewer to ground level, the lead-lined rucksack strapped securely to his back. He heard running footsteps below and knew that Raine wasn’t far behind. The bastard didn’t know when to give up.

  Then West reached the top of the ladder. He heaved on the modern day manhole cover and pushed it open just as Raine reached the bottom of the shaft and fired blindly up it. He missed and started climbing himself.

  West hauled himself out of the shaft and rolled across the tarmac, the bright summer sun glaring. Four Royal Marines ran around the back of the aircraft hangar where the manhole was located. West swore, realising that if the marines had been scrambled then his treachery was out. In truth though, he had expected as much and had planned accordingly.

  Just as the marines raised their weapons and were about to open fire, West fumbled with the detonator attached to his tac-vest. The pack of C4 which he had planted on the side of the hanger earlier exploded, showering the marines with shrapnel. Three of them went down, their bodies impaled with chunks of metal. West finished the fourth off with a gunshot to the head, from one of his comrade’s own weapons, then turned and bolted down between two more hangers towards the runway. On the other side of the runway, thousands of tourists still milled about the tents and food stalls or stood watching as the latest display of three planes came to an end and they touched down on the tarmac, their engines having masked the C4 explosion.

  Behind him, Raine pushed out of the manhole and quickly took in the scene of devastation before setting off after his quarry.

  United Nations Headquarters,

  New York City, USA

  “I don’t understand,” Robertson was saying, more to himself than to Langley over the sat phone. “How does he hope to escape a naval base?”

  Langley had just been pondering the exact same thing. It was one thing to use the sewers to access the mine and steal the Moon Mask, but those sewers were blocked off, according to the base commander, by steal-enforced concrete plugs, so the traitor would have to surface back into the base. Robertson had ordered marines to quickly lockdown every manhole cover in Culdrose, quickly but subtly. The last thing anyone wanted was a mass panic to send the crowds of spectators at the Air Day into a stampede which would undoubtedly cost lives. Nevertheless, the base was locked down. Public access into and out of Culdrose had been halted. Military Police and Royal Marines stepped up their perimeter patrols. There was no way West was getting out of there. Langley knew it. Robertson knew. But, puzzlingly, West knew it too.

  All this processed through Langley’s mind in the exact same instant as he heard the commentator’s voice in the background.

  “Our next display is a Sukhoi Su-30,” the voice boomed to the crowd, “being flown today by Captain Andrayvoz from the Russian Air Force.”

  Langley felt the blood drain from his face while the voice in the background continued its commentary.

  “Oh my god,” he whispered.

  RNAS Culdrose,

  Cornwall, England

  West was out on the runway, running full pelt down its length. The three planes raced past him, their engines almost deafening him but he ignored the pain in his head and the wound in his shoulder as he ran straight behind the three planes towards the Russian Sukhoi. Its canopy was still up even as the sleek, predatory prow came about on the runway, lining up for take-off.

  “West!” Raine bellowed from behind. West stumbled and looked behind, dodging a bullet as Raine opened fire. The sudden commotion on the runway was noticed by many of the spectators and murmurs of alarm rippled through the crowds. The commentator smoothly covered the situation.

  “Don’t worry folks. Just a little demonstration by two of our commandoes, warming up for our famous commando challenge a little later.”

  Raine had read about the Commando Challenge in the Air Day programme he’d skimmed through earlier, where Royal Marines put on a display of their prowess in a mock assault, complete with pyrotechnics and loud bangs.

  But Raine was getting a live preview.

  West fired back blindly at him then drove ahead faster. The thumping of feet as dozens of marines converged upon the runway came from all around. West threw down his gun, as though the lack of its weight would increase his speed, and ran for all his might towards the waiting fighter. The pilot was waving at him to hurry up. The thrum of the plane’s engines reverberated through the tarmac.

  West wasn’t acting alone, Raine realised. He was fully supported by the Russian government. He knew the reverberations of that treachery would vibrate much further than the runway.

  West practically ran into the side of the idling Sukhoi and scrambled up the ladder into the cockpit, falling ungainly into the co-pilot seat. The pilot didn’t give him time to up-right himself. The plane lurched into motion, slowly at first, scattering the bewildered technicians who were gathered about it. West twisted in his seat and pulled on an oxygen mask as the canopy lowered itself with a hydraulic hiss.

  Raine continued running down the runway, head-on with the deadly fighter jet just as its engines roared to life and it bounded with shocking speed down the runway towards him, covering the distance in the blink of an eye. Raine fired his last two remaining shots at the fuselage which rebounded harmlessly away and then he dived to the ground and rolled clear as the jet powered into the sky.

  The audience erupted into enraptured applause as the Russian plane, and the Moon Mask, shrunk into the distance.

  Raine didn’t waste a second. He jumped to his feet and ran into the crowd of gawking technicians. The marines swarmed around him and Raine knew he didn’t have time to explain the situation to them. He needed to get into the sky.

  He searched around, looking from one parked fighter jet to another. One was being refuelled; another had its innards spilled out and was being worked on by mechanics. But a pilot was scrambling into the only plane which looked ready to fly immediately.

  He ran to it, yanked the stunned pilot from the plane and scrambled up in his stead. There was a commotion as the marines, realising a second plane was about to be stolen, swarmed in from all sides. But the plane’s engines were already thrumming, having been warmed up ready for its return flight to its home base.

  He worked the controls, feeling right at home instantly in the cockpit of the small plane. He strapped the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose then throttled up, driving the plane into the mass of marines which scrambled desperately out of his way.

  He lowered the cockpit canopy then gunned the engines and felt the intense thrill of sudden acceleration as the Red Arrow shot down the runway and blasted into the sky.

  But, despite the urgency of the situation, his vanity took over for just a second and he spun the Arrow into a barrel-roll. He pictured the delight and applause of the crowd far below as he tore through the sky in pursuit of the Moon Mask.

  41:

  A Call to Arms

  United Nations Headquarters,

  New York City, USA

  “Where the hell are they?” Langley demanded as he marched into the TOC beneath the Secretariat Building.

  “NSA is repositioning a satellite over Europe to track them,” a voice shot out from the chaos that had erupted.

  “General Rhodes from the Pentagon is on-line, Ambassador.”

  “The only person I want to speak to right now is the Russian Ambassador,” Langley snapped.

  “His office says he’s in a meeting and cannot be disturbed-”

  “I don’t care if he’s in a meeting was the ghost of Tsar Nicholas the Second. I want him on the phone, now.”

  RNAS Culdrose,

  Cornwall, England

  “What’s going on?” Benjamin King demanded as two Royal Marines escorted him into the Operations Centre.

  “Ben, thank god,” Sid threw her arms around King’s neck and kissed him. He gently pushed
her aside, throwing her a reassuring smile. He’d made it back up to the surface in time to see the base in a state of chaos, marines and military police running here, there and everywhere. He’d stripped out of his hazmat gear and allowed his escort to bring him to the O.C. where the rest of the team had relocated.

  All around him, the room was in a state of chaos as men and women in military uniforms punched commands into computers or barked into satellite phones. A glance through the large windows on the southern wall confirmed that the Air Day was continuing unimpeded, the chaos smoothly covered up, but the activity within the O.C. told King otherwise.

  “West escaped on a Russian plane,” Nadia informed him. She and Sid had been stood in the middle of the room, feeling very much in the way. Gibbs spoke animatedly into a telephone while O’Rourke and the others were liaising with the base staff.

  “On a Russian plane?” King repeated. “So the Russian government are involved?”

  Nadia’s face was grim. “So it would seem.”

  King grimaced. “Nadia, I’m sorry-”

  “Do not apologise.”

  “Well, if it helps, I accused Nate of being the traitor too.”

  The Russian woman shrugged. “It helps. A little.”

  Then a thought occurred to King. He frowned. “Where is Nate?”

  Airborne over Europe

  The Red Arrow thundered through the clouds, the sonic boom of its engines rippling out through the sky, turning the heads of people far below.

  The Cornish Peninsula vanished from view in the blink of an eye as the world’s most famous display plane tore east across the southern coast of Britain. Far in the distance Raine could see the tiny speck of orange flame which represented the escaping Sukhoi Su-30. He kept his attention focussed on it, desperate not to lose sight of his prey.

  Despite their global renown, Raine realised to his chagrin, the Red Arrows were a far cry from his technologically advanced prey. While the Sukhoi Su-30 was fitted with all the latest fighter jet mod-cons - sat-nav, radar and on-board computer – not to mention an extensive array of weaponry, the Red Arrow was essentially a tin can fitted with a huge engine. Basic compared to modern day warplanes, the Arrows’ fame came not so much from the planes themselves, but from the amazing flying abilities of their Royal Air Force pilots. The stunning displays they put on as world-wide ambassadors for the RAF elevated those men and women to be recognised as the best in the world. They had inspired men and women to become pilots for generations and Raine was no different. He could still remember the day he’d first seen them in action. “Someday I’m gonna fly a Red Arrow,” he remembered telling his grandfather who’d brought him and his brother on holiday to England.

  Just look at me now, Gramps.

  RNAS Culdrose,

  Cornwall, England

  “Understood,” Gibbs finished barking into the phone then slammed it back onto its cradle. King approached him but he waved him off dismissively. “Not now, Doctor.”

  “What’s going on,” the archaeologist ignored him, “What are we doing about the Moon Mask-”

  “I said not now,” Gibbs snapped and turned his back on him.

  Captain Robertson burst out of an adjoining office, looking flushed and red faced. He marched straight up to Gibbs. “I’ve just got off the blower to Downing Street. I’ve been ordered to pass operational command of the retrieval of your ‘cargo’ to U.N. Headquarters.” He didn’t look happy about it. “Just what the hell did your people find down there?”

  Gibbs’ face was impassive but King had come to know him enough over the last few days to pick up on a concealed smugness. “That information is on a need to know basis, Captain.”

  “And I’d say I damn well need to know,” Robertson shot back under his breath. King remained just within ear shot. “The safety of my base has just been compromised, my men have been killed and a British aeroplane has just been stolen from off of my bloody runway by a member of your team. I’d say I’ve earned the right to know.”

  Gibbs slowly turned to look out the window. “I’m sure he’ll return it in one piece.”

  King couldn’t help but laugh. “I doubt it.”

  Airborne over Europe

  G-Force crushed Nathan Raine as he pushed the Red Arrow’s engines harder. The sleek plane ripped through the skies at phenomenal speeds, a red streak appearing for the blink of an eye against the azure summer sky before it vanished into the far distance.

  The shores of Great Britain were far behind him now. The blue expanse of the North Sea stretched out below. To the south the northern coastline of what he presumed was Germany streaked by. In his head he pictured the route he was taking- a straight line cutting across Northern Europe from Great Britain to the western boarder of Russia.

  United Nations Headquarters,

  New York City, USA

  On the huge wall mounted map in the TOC, two blinking dots represented the progress of West and Raine as they made their dash towards the domineering mass of Russia.

  “Okay, we’ve got two squadrons of F-15 Eagles just taken off from Geilenkirchen.”

  Instantly, on the wall map, another blinking dot appeared, about fifty miles from Cologne in Germany. The NATO Air Base in Germany was the only one of its kind in the world, a truly international military base with personnel from thirteen NATO countries. While two separate entities, the ultimate goal of the United Nations and the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation were one and the same: the maintaining of international peace and security. As such, the NATO commanders had been apprised of what had become known as the ‘Sarisariñama Incident’ and had been kept in the loop on the escalating situation with the Moon Mask. It hadn’t taken much persuading in Langley’s call to NATO’s Supreme Allied Atlantic Commander, to get him to authorise the interception of the Russian plane. The political fallouts and repercussions of a Russian plane being shot down by a U.N. requested NATO force were not something Langley relished being immersed in, but everyone knew the stakes. If the Moon Mask got into Russia, it wouldn’t be seen again. And Russia, the all-time-favourite enemy of the west, would have the power of a tachyon bomb at their disposal.

  “Thank you,” Langley said, relaxing ever so slightly at the news of the interceptors launch. “Patch me through to Raine.” A second later, he got the go ahead. “Nate,” he said into the wireless headset he had been given.

  “Alex?” Raine’s voice came back, a little surprised.

  “That’s right Nate. You can power down and return to Culdrose now. We’re tracking West’s plane and we’ve got two squadrons of F-15’s on intercept. Thanks for the good work up there.”

  Airborne over Europe

  “You’re recalling me?” Raine asked.

  He could still see the afterburner fire of the fleeing Russian plane. He grimaced as he pushed the Red Arrow to its maximum speed, hitting nearly eight hundred miles per hour. About 7 Gs pounded into him and it felt like his chest was going to implode and his eyeballs pop. Most people would have blacked out by now but, like all pilots trained to fly at such speeds, Raine had been taught how to tense his stomach muscles to prevent his blood from rushing into his legs, abandoning his heart and starving his brain. Pilots ordinarily wore anti-gravity suits pumped with pressurised air to prevent this, but he hadn’t exactly had the time to don one. It was an exhausting process, a mental and physical effort to keep his muscles tensed but he knew if he released for even an instant he would black out and die.

  “That’s right, Nate. Get your ass back to safety.”

  “But-”

  Raine heard someone speak to Langley, something about a ‘problem’ before his old commander snapped at him. “That’s an order!” He cut the communications link.

  United Nations Headquarters,

  New York City, USA

  “What’s the problem?” Langley demanded from the young man who had interrupted him.

  “Sir, NSA satellites have just picked up a large f
orce of planes taking off from an airbase near Kaliningrad.”

  Langley felt his heart skip a beat. A thousand shocked expressions threatened to tumble out of his mouth- What? Are they insane? Are you sure? Where are they headed? Maybe it’s a coincidence. Are they really going to intercept West? Would they actually open fire on a NATO squadron?

  Instead, reverting to his military training, he turned to face the large wall map, his eyes focussing in on the tiny coloured block which represented the Kaliningrad Oblast. A tiny area of not even six thousand square miles, the Oblast, Russia’s western most extremity, was totally cut off from her motherland by the boarders of Poland to the south, Lithuania to the north and east, and the Baltic Sea to the west.

  “Model and number?” he ordered.

  “Intel coming in now.” There was a long pause. Too long. “Speak to me,” he demanded.

  “Sukhoi Su-35.”

  “Dear god,” Langley whispered to himself. The Su-35, he knew, was one of Russia’s latest additions to her military hammer. Easily a match one on one with an F-15 Eagle, the Su-35 was armed to the teeth with 30mm cannons, R-73 air-to-air missiles and an array of laser guided rockets and bombs.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “Looks like two squadrons, sir. Around thirty planes in all.”

  So it was a one-on-one round to the death. “Take into account the top speeds of all the aircraft- West’s, ours and Russia’s- their current positions, and super-impose their trajectories on the map,” he ordered.

  Moments later, CGI animation lit up the plasma screen display. Langley watched in horror as three lines drew menacingly away from the three dots that represented West’s plane, the NATO forces and the Russian interceptors. They cut across the map like a surgeon’s knife slicing through the flesh of the earth until they collided in one spot high above the nodule of land sticking up from the top of Germany: Denmark.