by R D Shah
‘Try not to let this get to you, Chloe,’ Harker yelled to her. ‘We’ll be on the ground soon enough and you’ll have a great story to tell your grandkids.’
His attempt to put a bright spin on this nightmare trip was met with an unamused glare. ‘I wasn’t actually planning on having any kids,’ Chloe called back, ‘and even if I do, I’d rather have made up the story than experience it for real.’
Outside the window next to them one of the turbines, without warning, now suddenly began to wind down before stopping altogether, offering an eerie calm on the right hand side of the aircraft. ‘Oh, come on,’ Harker muttered to himself in disbelief as the pilot now throttled up the remaining engine in an effort to compensate.
‘Everybody hold on. We’re coming into land,’ he announced. As the aircraft’s nose dipped, Harker spotted something that overshadowed his anxiety with a huge sense of relief. Through the cockpit window he could see two rows of landing lights looming out of the darkness ahead, and the jet descended until it was within just fifty metres of the black and shiny rain-swept runway. It was then that all hell broke loose.
An alarm started wailing from the cockpit just as the left-side engine cut out in a high-pitched wind-down. Within seconds all that could be heard was a whistle of wind and the rain crashing down against the plane’s exterior.
‘This is going to be tough,’ was all the pilot had time to say before the Gulf Stream touched down with such a force that the front wheel buckled. The whole aircraft then smacked forward onto its nose with a metallic crunch and began to slow amid a shower of sparks as the aluminium frame scraped across the tarmac.
Sparks could be seen flaring up past the windows and for a moment Harker found himself obsessing over just one thought: the fuel tanks. His sudden feeling of dread was immediately replaced with the sense of being an idiot when he remembered that there was no fuel left in the tanks, which was the reason they were scraping along the runway in the first place.
The aircraft came to an undignified halt halfway down the runway and within moments the pilot was throwing open the external door and waving them outside. It was a gesture that was totally unnecessary because Harker and Chloe were already hurling themselves towards the entrance and out into the cold and the surprisingly refreshing torrent of rain pouring from overhead. Behind them, Brulet made a rather more dignified exit, followed by the two pilots who immediately began inspecting the damage.
The entire underside of the nose was crumpled and worn away after the weight of the aircraft had left black scorch marks running behind it for half the length of the runway, and the fuselage had cracks behind the door where the pressure had snapped the frame. All in all, and considering the impact with which they had touched down, the damage wasn’t that bad, but it was a safe bet that the aircraft wouldn’t be flying again any time soon, if ever.
‘Good landing, gentlemen,’ Brulet said, congratulating each pilot in turn with a pat on their back. ‘I trust I can leave it to you to make the necessary arrangements to get her somewhere safe?’
‘Of course, sir,’ the lead pilot answered, and the two of them began making their way towards the fire truck and back-up vehicles that were already approaching from the far side of the runway.
Brulet turned his attention instead to a silver van which had emerged from one of the hangars and was just now pulling up alongside Harker and Chloe. The driver’s door swung open and out jumped a young man with dark skin, cropped hair and wearing a red boiler suit. ‘Is everyone OK?’ he asked in English, but with a heavy Columbian accent.
‘A little shaken up but we’re fine thank you,’ Harker replied.
‘Mr Brulet, is it?’
Harker shook his head and gestured over to Brulet, who had already pulled open the van’s side door and was directing Chloe inside, before turning his attention to the driver.
‘We need to reach the heliport as soon as possible,’ he explained, gesturing for Harker to get inside as well.
‘Of course, sir. I will take you there immediately.’ The driver glanced over at the buckled Gulf Stream. ‘Nice landing,’ he muttered to himself.
Brulet waited until Harker had got in the van before joining him, sliding the side door shut as their guide hopped into the driver’s seat.
‘You must be paying serious money to persuade a helicopter pilot to fly in this weather,’ the young man said, as he started up the engine and headed for a back road running the length of the airport. ‘There were three crashes yesterday and another one today – not counting your own.’
‘Are you saying this storm has been raging for two days non-stop?’ Harker asked in surprise. ‘Is that normal?’
‘There’s nothing normal about it. One second it’s a beautifully clear day and the next it’s turned like this.’ The driver pointed to the dark swirling of clouds above and the continuous lighting strikes emerging from them. ‘It’s the worst storm I’ve ever seen and I’ve lived here all my life. It’s even got the airport radar system going haywire.’ The driver took a right at one end of the hangar and turned in the direction of the main entrance, heading past a green helipad sign pointing straight ahead. ‘San José is on the edge of this storm but it’s reported to extend all the way to the north coast, which is one hundred and fifty miles away if you can believe that.’ The driver shook his head in disbelief. ‘You really are lucky to have made it down in one piece, Mr Brulet.’
‘Then you should know that we are heading next to Macuira National Park.’ Brulet explained.
The young man’s eyed widened, clearly stunned at learning their next destination. ‘You know that will take you right into the centre of the storm,’ he gasped.
‘I know.’ Brulet glanced back at Harker. ‘Let us hope our luck holds, shall we?’ He lowered his black-lensed sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose, so Harker could now see the adventurous glint in his star-crossed pupils. ‘Well, then, my friend… once more into the breach.’
Chapter 39
The single-file sixty or so passengers stood patiently next to the Boeing 747, as a set of white boarding steps was rolled into place directly underneath the aircraft’s entrance. The group consisted of men, women and children, all neatly dressed and carrying a modest selection of briefcases and carry-on bags. They waited there silently on the wet tarmac of Finkenwerder airport, as they had been doing so since being dropped off by a procession of grey Scania coaches which had arrived ten minutes earlier. Located in the south-western part of Hamburg, with a single runway overlooking the river Elbe, this private airfield was part of the Airbus plant and housed the Airbus A380 major component-assembly factory. The facility was also regularly used for freight, test and delivery flights … but not today.
At the head of the queue a man wearing a flight jacket and blue nylon trousers climbed to the top of the steps and pulled open the door before beckoning to the first in line to join him. The passengers gradually began to ascend the steps and head into the aircraft, each of them focused on getting to their seat, and totally oblivious to the man crouching behind a nearby freight container, watching them closely.
Michael Shroder poked his head around a corner of the large metal crate and considered his next move, as the line of passengers began to shorten. The car containing Bekhit’s unwelcome visitors had originaly been spotted arriving here by a local policeman who had quickly responded to the alert placed on their registration number. The airport was less than half a mile away across the river Elbe, and could actually be seen from Bekhit’s now burnt-out apartment block. But, with no boat available, it had taken Shroder almost twenty minutes to make his way back over the Billhorner causeway and continue on to the Airbus facility. Fortunately, he had reached it just in time to witness the coaches arrive, and had managed to take cover behind the cargo crate he was currently huddling against.
‘Are you people all Magi?’ he whispered quietly to himself. Having expected to find only the two men and the car they were driving, this mixed group of travellers was vexin
g to him. That there were so many different faces and many of them were children, which only added complications to the plan he had devised on his way over.
Slipping on the Airbus security cap he had commandeered from one of the security guards, Shroder made his way over to the Boeing 747 as casually as his bruised chest would allow. He had made it to within metres of the last person standing in line, when a man in a dark blue, expensive-looking Armani suit appeared from behind the boarding stairs and interposed himself between Shroder and the final passengers.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, eyeing Shroder with suspicion.
‘We had a report of an intruder on site,’ Shroder replied. ‘I have some men skirting the perimeter. Have you seen anyone?’
The smart-suited man shook his head, taking a moment to glance around the otherwise empty airstrip. ‘No, nothing.’
‘Good,’ Shroder replied. ‘It may have been a false flag but we need to check around, OK?’
Reluctantly the man offered a nod of his head. ‘Very well, you may carry on.’
‘Thank you.’ Shroder replied before looking directly over the man’s shoulder with a deliberate look of inquiry. ‘Who is that?’
The man had barely turned his head to investigate when Shroder pulled out his Browning and dug it firmly into the man’s chest. ‘You move, I shoot, understand?’
The suit turned to face Shroder and, even though his body had visibly tensed, the man nodded submissively as beyond him the line of people continued to shuffle forwards, unaware of the activity going on right behind them.
‘What’s your destination?’ Shroder demanded but the man stayed silent, and instead he looked over his interrogator’s shoulder with the same kind of interest that Shroder had expressed moments earlier. ‘Oh, please,’ Shroder voiced with disdain. ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’
‘Then an idiot you must be,’ a voice whispered from behind him and Shroder felt the muzzle of a gun pressing into his back. He swivelled his head far enough to see another man, dressed just as smartly as the first, fixing him with a cold and icy expression. ‘Put the gun down,’ the newcomer ordered fiercely.
Shroder glanced towards his own hostage, then back at the latest arrival. ‘Well, isn’t this a pickle,’ he remarked with a smile.
The newcomer took a step closer and pressed the gun deeper into Shroder’s back. ‘Not really,’ he gestured towards Shroder’s hostage. You may kill him if you wish, but I will certainly kill you.’
Shroder took a moment to think this, before bobbing his head in compliance. ‘Then I suppose now would be a good time to drop my gun wouldn’t it?’
The armed man was already grinning when the three of them were suddenly lit up by a dazzling white spotlight directed somewhere far overhead. Then a booming metallic voice cut through the night air: ‘Lay your weapons at your feet and get down on the ground.’ At the same time half a dozen black sedans, with flashing lights, appeared on the runway and began closing in on them at high speed.
With the man behind him completely stunned by the spotlights, Shroder spun around fully and knocked the gun from his hand, then punched him hard in the face dropping him to the floor. This, though wasn’t to be the case with the first man, who kicked Shroder in the back sending him crashing to the ground, before taking off past the remaining passengers who had all obediently dropped to their knees with hands held high.
Shroder leapt back to his feet and turned to see the nearest sedan speed past him and clip the escapee with one side of its bonnet, sending him flying off balance and skidding face-first into the unyielding tarmac with a painful sounding crunch.
Shroder trained his gun on the remaining suit, who was still streched out on the floor, as the other vehicles came to a halt in a semi-circle around the foot of the boarding stairs, hemming in the crouching passengers. Meanwhile another vehicle pulled in front of the Boeing’s front wheel, just in case the pilot got any stupid ideas. From two of the sedans jumped out an assault team wearing balaclavas and they immediately headed up into the aircraft leaving one member behind to handcuff the man Shroder had initially knocked to the ground.
Shroder holstered his gun and listened out for any weapon fire inside the aircraft but all he could hear were muffled screams amid offerings of surrender. It was clear that the passengers had no desire to engage in a firefight, for which Shroder was relieved because it meant more survivors to question.
‘So much for your waiting,’ a voice called out to him, and Shroder turned around to see his friend, the German intelligence officer, Karl making his way over.
‘I couldn’t afford to wait longer,’ he replied with a relieved smile, retrieving the bulky satellite phone from his pocket and holding it out in front of him, ‘anyway, I knew you were listening in.’
Karl shot him a cold look, pulled out his own satellite phone and turned it off. ‘Maybe so, Michael, but lucky for you we got here in time.’
‘You’ve never let me down before.’
Karl grunted despairingly as Shroder made his way over to the same cuffed man whose ribs he had stuck his gun into and who was starting to wake up from the knockout blow.
‘I need a room where I can speak with him in private.’
‘There’s the factory hangar over there,’ Karl pointed to a large building on the far side of the runway. ‘The whole place is empty at this time of night, so there must be an empty room you can use.’
Shroder knelt down and brought his lips close to the prisoner’s ear. ‘A friend of mine once told me that you Magi are tough bastards, and incapable of cracking,’ he whispered grimly. ‘Let’s put that to the test, shall we?’
Chapter 40
The Bell 430 helicopter was buffeted wildly as another clap of thunder crackled overhead out of the swollen black rain clouds that hung from the heavens like morose charcoal-coloured drapes. Inside, Harker clutched at his tanned-leather seat grimly as he continually bumped around due to the turbulance. The beautiful sleek furnishings and plush walnut interior meant little when contemplating one’s own fate. His uneasy demeanour was nothing compared to that of Chloe, who had been freaking out ever since the rocky take-off from San José airport.
‘These things crash, Alex,’ she exclaimed desperately. ‘We should land right now and hike the rest of the way.’
‘That’s not going to happen, Chloe,’ he replied, pointing through the window to the dense woodland below. ‘There’s nowhere to land and, besides, we would never make it past the wildlife.’
‘Wildlife?’ she echoed, finally distracted by something other than her own impending death.
‘Yes.’ Harker said sternly. ‘There are bears, snakes, even mountain lions in that forest below us. We would be picked off one by one.’ Of course that could be a lie because in reality he had no idea. For all he knew, there could be a settlement of brightly coloured and highly territorial Care Bears living among those trees but, nonetheless, his answer appeared to distract her and she became far more quietly preoccupied with staring out the window at the dark woodland below rather than worrying about the tin can they were being rattled around in. ‘Don’t worry we’ll be there soon,’ Harker said reassuringly to the back of Chloe’s head, her now silent distraction allowing him to concentrate on his own fears.
Since taking off, Harker had been keeping an eye on the pilot’s demeanour. If the fellow looked calm, then he felt calm too, but, as he stared up towards the cockpit, he could swear the young man looked nervous as hell.
He glanced over at Brulet, whose eyes were also keenly fixed upon the young pilot and obviously just as concerned at the uneasy glances being thrown in their direction. ‘Anything you need to share?’ Brulet called out above the ear-numbing growl of thunder outside.
The pilot shifted in his seat so as to face them as best as he could, and it was only then that they both could see he was looking not so much nervous as panicked. ‘We’re close to the mountain now but I think we need to turn back,’ he yelled, as more of a plea than a su
ggestion. ‘This storm’s getting too heavy.’
‘How far are we now from the base of the mountain?’ Brulet shouted back, not wanting the pilot’s anxiety to rub off on Chloe, who was now also listening intently.
‘We’re almost there but the storm is becoming too violent.’ The pilot glanced back out at the heavy rain cascading down the cockpit windscreen. ‘I’m struggling now to just keep her in the air. I’m sorry but we need to turn back to San José. This is becoming too much of a risk.’
He focused his attention on the control panel, leaving Harker and Brulet unsure of what to do next. The genuine fear in the young pilot’s eyes said it all but if they turned back now who knew how long it would take them to get back here.
Brulet raised his hand from the armrest and pulled back his sleeve to reveal the arm-sword neatly strapped to his forearm. He then shrugged his shoulders as if inviting Harker to decide whether this was the only viable course of action left open to them. Harker stared back blankly. Forcing someone at knifepoint to continue on a course towards potential oblivion was not a scenario he had ever contemplated, but then he had never been faced with attempting to prevent the end of the world. He was still wrestling with the dilemma when the decision was plucked out of his hands, as a thick bolt of lightning struck and consumed the helicopter momentarily, lighting up the interior like a camera flash before plunging them back into darkness. The strike caused the entire fuselage to rock violently and Harker was slammed back against the cabin wall and, as he struggled to pull himself upright, he could hear the whine of the helicopter’s engines begin to falter.
‘Didn’t we just go through this on the jet?’ Brulet yelled, as Harker thrust his face against the window in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning reach down and strike a tall conifer a long way down below them, which then burst into blistering flames sending a scattering of fiery ash to the ground below.
