Vanished

by S. L. Menear

  “Good, we don’t want to be in the valley when the sun comes up.” Mike lifted the front cover and checked on Banger. He and the driver seemed to be comfortable with each other.

  “Don’t worry, Buster will get us there.” I patted Mike’s arm.

  Mike arched a brow. “Buster?”

  “The horse—his name is carved on the stall door.”

  Bryce glanced out at the sky. “No helicopters.”

  We sat quietly as the cart rattled down the lane. I was half asleep when thundering rotor blades jolted me wide awake.

  “Sweetwater’s mercenaries are back.” I peeked out the side. “Looks like they’re coming from the northeast and heading for the river.”

  “Maybe they won’t spot us.” Bryce lifted the side cover a few inches. “Two choppers flying at top speed.”

  Mike peeked out the front. “Hey, Banger, how close are we to the ridgeline?”

  “We’re almost there. Maybe another mile.”

  One of the choppers peeled off and headed straight for us. We pulled the cover down and hunkered inside the cart.

  Banger said to Nathaniel, “Smile and wave when that helicopter gets closer.”

  The pilot circled as his spotlight bathed the horse cart in bright light. Buster whinnied and broke into a run.

  Nathaniel yelled, “Whoa!” and hauled back on the reins as we peeked out at the departing chopper. Buster ignored his master and bolted, the cart rocking violently from side to side.

  The helicopters descended on the river, their floodlights blazing.

  “Good thing they don’t have infrared scopes.” Lisa gripped the sidewall. “I hope they take a long time searching the river.”

  My head hit a cover arch when Buster ran over a deep pothole. “That horse had better slow down before the cart breaks.”

  Nathaniel finally gained control of his frightened horse. Buster slowed to a trot and then a fast walk.

  A few minutes later, Banger lifted the front cover. “Ride’s over. Everybody out.”

  I jumped out and spotted a big cabin biplane tied down beside a grass-strip runway.

  Banger shook Nathaniel’s hand. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Mike reached up and handed Nathaniel another $500. “Forget you saw us and steer clear of those helicopters. We’ll rest and wait for the pilot.”

  Nathaniel nodded and turned the horse back toward the village. His dog stayed in the cart.

  I thumbed at the airplane. “That’s an old twelve-passenger Russian Antonov AN-2. It lands at thirty mph.”

  “I saw one at an airshow.” Lance patted the engine. “This thousand-hp radial engine and the bi-wings produce enough lift for short takeoff rolls, but there’s no telling how old the engine is or if it’s been properly maintained.”

  Mike stood, hands on hips, surveying the airplane. “The puddle of oil under the cowling might be a clue. Either of you ever flown one of these?”

  “Radial engines always drip oil when they’re parked. A friend of mine brought his AN-2 to an EAA airshow in Oshkosh.” I checked the left main wheel. “He let me fly it.”

  “How does it handle?” Lance gripped the upper wing on the left side and gave it a tug.

  “Slow and sluggish, like driving a heavy truck, but it takes off and lands in under a thousand feet.” I grinned. “It’s a hoot to fly.”

  “Check if it has enough fuel, and let’s get airborne before those mercs come looking for us.” Mike glanced toward the river. “Bryce and I will do a quick runway inspection.”

  I opened the cabin entry door on the port side just aft of the left wings and pulled down the folding steps. After walking up to the cockpit, I checked that all the switches were off and set the brakes before I joined Lance outside.

  The airplane sat nose high with two balloon tires on the main wheels and a much smaller tailwheel in the back. Not willing to trust the fuel gauges, Lance hoisted me up to the top wings to shine a light into the fuel tanks. Airplane tanks were usually kept full, a common practice to avoid condensation.

  “Tanks are full. Check the oil and then pull the prop through ten or fifteen times to distribute the oil in all nine cylinders before we start the engine.” I picked up the sphere satchel, spun around, and headed for the entry door.

  Lance turned. “You check the cockpit, and I’ll do the walkaround.”

  Banger untied the airplane and pulled the wooden chocks away from the main wheels, while Lisa inspected the cabin.

  I walked uphill again through the narrow aisle toward the cockpit. Rows of single wicker seats on the left and double seats on the right accommodated twelve passengers, and a large outdated radio bay filled the starboard side behind the cockpit bulkhead. Two steps in the front of the cabin led up to the open entry into the cockpit. I climbed into the pilot seat on the left side and hooked the satchel’s straps over the left armrest.

  Before I began the preflight checks, Lance yelled up to me, “Engine needs oil. Keep the switches off while I check if there’s a can in the baggage compartment.”

  I shined my light around the cockpit while I waited. Everything was labeled in Russian.

  Lance rapped on the left side of the cockpit. “I found a gallon of oil and an aluminum stepladder. Give me a few minutes to add oil and pull the prop through.”

  I opened the side window. “I’ll wait until you join me inside.”

  It took ten minutes for Lance to pull the prop through several times and put away the oil can and ladder.

  He slid into the right seat. “Whoa, this cockpit looks ancient.”

  “Let’s hope the engine is newer than it looks.” I flipped some switches and ran through the usual cockpit preflight checks.

  Mike and Bryce finished the runway inspection and entered the cabin.

  “Runway looks good.” Mike settled in a single seat in the front row.

  Banger sat on a double seat near the front. “Cabin is secure.”

  “Everyone’s on board, the airplane is buttoned up, and we’re ready to roll,” Lance said.

  I yelled, “Clear!” and hit the starter. After a few coughs and sputters, the big radial engine rumbled to life. An exhaust pipe belched smoke on the starboard side until the engine settled into a smooth idle.

  When I pushed the throttle forward and pulled onto the runway, the powerful Shvetsov engine and four-bladed prop sent vibrations into the cockpit, shaking my seat and rattling the controls.

  The old biplane felt alive.

  I did the usual pre-takeoff checks and taxied to the end of the grass runway. When I turned the airplane into the wind, I spotted the helicopters flying low over the river.

  “Everyone ready?” I yelled over my shoulder and heard five affirmatives. “This’ll be a low flight over the mountains to avoid detection. The choppers are only about five miles southwest of us.”

  I eased the throttle up to takeoff power and used the rudder pedals to keep us rolling straight ahead. The radial engine gave a deep, throaty roar as we bumped and bounced along the runway. I eased the yoke forward a little to lift the tailwheel off the ground. Seconds after that, I pulled the yoke back, and we were airborne.

  Keeping the airplane in a shallow climb, I waited as the airspeed slowly increased. The noisy cockpit vibrated. Once we were at optimum climb speed, I pulled back on the yoke and climbed higher than the ridgeline. Then I added full right aileron and right rudder and waited. A second or two later, the airplane began a slow right turn over the ridge.

  “See what I mean about the sluggish controls?” I glanced at Lance, who was on my right in the copilot seat.

  “Yeah, but she was off the ground in no time.” He studied the Russian instruments. “Look at this weird artificial horizon.” He tapped a round gauge. “The sky is black, and the ground is white.”

  “Maybe it was meant for use in Siberia, where the ground is covered with snow, and the sky is dark a lot.” I tapped another gauge. “This altimeter measures altitude in meters.”

  “I gu
ess now would be a good time to discuss where we’re going.” Lance pulled out an aviation chart from a flight bag stored next to the copilot’s seat. “At least this chart is in English.”

  “Thank god for international aviation rules requiring a standard language.” I tapped the airspeed indicator. “Normal cruise speed is a hundred knots, but I’m pushing one-twenty to put some distance between us and those choppers.”

  “That’ll affect our fuel consumption.” Lance glanced at the fuel gauges.

  “Find an uncontrolled airport about halfway to Camp Baledogle that has 100-octane avgas. We should maintain radio silence until we’re close to home base.”

  Mike entered the cockpit. “Better do a three-sixty and see if the choppers are on our six.”

  “Okay, but that’ll take a while.” I looked out the port side window and turned the yoke to full left aileron as I added left rudder. Nothing happened at first, and then the airplane slowly banked left.

  Lance pointed. “Dang! They’re headed this way.”

  “Maybe they decided to take a closer look at the horse cart.” Mike stared at the choppers. “If they spot Nathaniel alone, they might guess he transported us.”

  “And if they realize we took an airplane—” Lance craned his neck as I continued the 360-degree turn.

  “I’ll duck below the eastern side of the ridge and keep us out of sight until we have to climb over that mountain in the distance.” I shoved the yoke forward to dive and waited as we hung in the air.

  “Mike, get everyone in the cabin looking out the windows for those choppers. If they spot us, we’re dead meat.” I breathed easier when the airplane finally began a dive behind the ridgeline.

  “Yeah, the helos can run circles around this old biplane, but don’t get too low. Might be unlighted hazards out there.” Lance surveyed the dark ridge.

  “Microwave tower! The obstruction lights must be inop.” I turned a hard right and prayed.

  As usual, the airplane was slow to respond to my control inputs. Our left wingtips brushed past it, barely missing the metal structure.

  “Dang, that was close.” Lance glanced over his shoulder. “Anybody see a helicopter?”

  “Yeah, they’re searching the other side of the ridge.” Mike pointed. “I can see their floodlights on the trees.”

  I pushed the throttle to the stops. “I’ll run at full throttle awhile and hope the engine holds together.”

  The vibrations in the cockpit increased along with the engine noise.

  Lance patted the center console. “Hang in there, old girl.” He studied the flight chart with his mag light. “I found a field with fuel a little over halfway to Baledogle.” He tapped the compass. “Hold this heading, and we’ll get there in about four hours.”

  “Sounds good.” I scanned the dark horizon. “Keep your eyes peeled for obstructions.”

  Ten

  Sweetwater’s Hideout

  Sweetwater held a satellite phone to his ear. “My new submarine vanished in Atlantis? Are you certain?”

  A nervous voice on the other end said, “Yes, sir. There’s been no communication in twenty-four hours, and the sonar on your yacht can’t find it.”

  Sweetwater clenched his fist. “Tell them to send down the minisub.”

  “Uh, that might not be safe, sir. They’ve heard rumors of a sea monster that guards the city.”

  “Sea monster?” Sweetwater’s voice hardened. “You fool. That rumor was spread to keep subs and Hardsuit divers away. Now launch that minisub and find my submarine.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir. I’ll call as soon as they find something.”

  Four hours later, Sweetwater received a call from Invincible, his two-hundred-foot yacht, anchored over Atlantis. “Yes, what did they find?”

  “The minisub found Pelagic Predator II wedged between marble buildings. The hull is crushed and covered with cracks along its length. No survivors. The crew would be mush at that depth.”

  “Bloody hell! The Americans must have a new underwater weapon. Have the minisub search for Atlantis’s Hall of Records.”

  “Uh, about that—more bad news.” The tense voice hesitated. “We lost contact with the minisub a few minutes after they reported finding your submarine.”

  “Can you see them on sonar?” Sweetwater poured a generous portion of Glenglassaugh whisky and drank half of it.

  “No … nothing.” He hesitated. “Wait, there’s something huge on the sonar, and it’s headed straight for us.”

  “A boomer? Russian or American?” Sweetwater asked, referring to the big nuclear subs that carried long-range missiles.

  “No, it’s … it’s … aahhhh, noooo!” One final scream came through before the call cut off.

  Sweetwater wouldn’t accept that the line was dead. “Hello? Are you there?”

  He paced a few minutes, thinking. Bloody hell. Can’t believe I lost my yacht and my new submarine. He gulped his whisky. Insurance will take care of my losses. A bigger problem is missing out on critical information in the Hall of Records that might lead me to the Blue Dragon. I need that power diamond, and there’s only one option now.

  He called his contact at Camp Baledogle on the encrypted satellite phone. “Everything’s changed. Have you heard from Samantha Starr?”

  “Not yet. They disappeared inside a church in Lalibela and somehow ended up on the Blue Nile River.”

  “I know. My team followed them downriver where they were attacked by a pod of hippos—sank the RHIB and probably killed my men. I’m hoping Miss Starr escaped.”

  “I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

  “If she survived, don’t grab her. Instead, type these instructions and explain they were delivered by a stranger.” Sweetwater dictated the message.

  “Understood. I’ll relay your ultimatum after her team checks in.”

  Antonov AN-2

  Once we had plenty of distance between us and the choppers, I throttled back to normal cruise power. Four hours after takeoff, I landed the airplane at a small, uncontrolled airport a little over halfway to Camp Baledogle. It was 4:20 a.m., and we had to wait until 6:00 a.m. for the fueler to open for business. It was unlikely the airplane’s owner would notice it missing in the middle of the night and notify all the airports, so we relaxed and enjoyed a nap.

  After refueling and adding a gallon of oil, we were airborne again. This time, it was Lance’s turn at the dual controls.

  I checked the chart and glanced at him. “Hold this heading and one hundred and ten knots, and we’ll be there in another four hours with this light tailwind.”

  Lance grinned. “I like flying this antique airliner—makes me feel like I went through a time warp.”

  The sun hovered over the eastern horizon as Mike stuck his head in the cockpit and grinned like a mischievous kid. “Are we there yet?”

  “I wish.” I glanced over my right shoulder at him. “Take a long nap and see if Lance can land without waking you.”

  Three hours later, the engine overheated and spit oil all over the windshield.

  “Dang it!” Lance eased the throttle back to below normal cruise power.

  “Try to nurse it back to Baledogle.” I consulted the chart. “The tailwind helped. We have less than an hour to go.”

  Thirty tense minutes passed before the engine began clanking and smoking. My seat vibrated so much it made my teeth chatter.

  “Hang on a little longer, old girl.” Lance patted the airplane.

  Twenty miles from our destination, the engine belched huge clouds of black smoke and vibrated like a runaway coal-fired locomotive.

  I turned and yelled back, “Strap in tight. We might not land on the runway.”

  “Come on baby, you can make it.” Lance tried to coax the engine into lasting a few more minutes. He glanced at me. “I’ll hold this altitude in case the engine fails.”

  “Good idea. You can always slip it down for the landing.” I squinted through the oil-splattered windshield. “I t
hink I see the runway a little to your left. Line up for a straight-in approach.”

  He leaned forward and peered through the oil. “Got it.”

  I called the tower at Camp Baledogle and gave them our team code. “We’re in an old Russian biplane, an Antonov AN-2, so don’t shoot us down. We’re ten miles west on a straight-in for Runway Niner. Expect landing in five minutes.” I glanced at Lance, and he nodded.

  The controller said, “Are you the biplane trailing black smoke?”

  “Affirmative. Notify the fire trucks.”

  “Understood. Antonov is cleared to land on Runway Niner.”

  Two minutes later, the engine clanked louder, then seized. Flames burst from the right side, and smoke seeped into the cockpit.

  I coughed and called the tower. “Antonov is on fire and landing dead-stick.”

  “Understand engine failed. Fire trucks are standing by. Antonov is cleared to land on Runway Niner.”

  Lance put the airplane in a shallow glide until he was certain we could reach the runway.

  “Time for a steep slip.” He selected cross controls and slipped the airplane in a left-wings-down sideways descent toward the runway. The sideslip temporarily kept the flames and smoke away from the cockpit and allowed him a better view out the left side window.

  Close to the pavement, Lance straightened the airplane, made a smooth touchdown, and rolled to a stop. He set the brake. “Everybody out!”

  I had already turned off all the appropriate switches. The airplane was still and silent, but my body kept vibrating as I grabbed the satchel holding the sphere and bolted from the cockpit.

  Lance ran close behind me as the fire trucks doused the flames.

  I stopped fifty feet from the Antonov and turned to him. “Well, that was quite an experience.” I hugged him. “Great landing.”

  The late-morning heat and humidity enveloped us. Sweat covered my body under my clothes, padding, and heavy robe. The fire-heated cockpit hadn’t helped.