“That’s not always true. Sometimes the human race surprises you in its ability to band together for the greater good – where altruism beats greed.”
“Really?” Tom grinned. “Name one.”
“The Montreal Protocol.”
“The what?”
Sam smiled. It was his I’ve won this argument grin. “The Montreal Protocol was agreed upon in 1987 and entered into full force by 1989. It consisted of two treaties designed to protect the ozone layer by phasing out the production of numerous substances that were responsible for ozone depletion. As a result of the international agreement, the ozone hole over Antarctica is slowly recovering. In comparison, effective burden sharing and solution proposals mitigating regional conflicts of interest have been among the success factors for the ozone depletion challenge, where global regulation based on the Kyoto Protocol has failed to do so.” Sam took a deep breath and continued. “The two ozone treaties have been ratified by 197 parties, which includes 196 states and the European Union, making them the first universally ratified treaties in United Nations history. To this date, it’s considered the world’s greatest unified achievement of the human race for the benefit of the planet.”
“I stand corrected. When a gun is put to the human race’s head, sometimes it doesn’t respond by pulling the trigger itself.” Tom grinned and stood up. “Think this yacht has a bathroom onboard?”
“I’m sure you’ll find one down below.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Tom walked down the spiral staircase, and used the bathroom. As he walked out to leave, he spotted a muscular and wiry man with pale white skin standing at the back of the yacht. The guy sported a yachting outfit that must have come straight out of the Calvin Klein catalogue. With his right hand, he was dabbing at his nose with a designer handkerchief.
“Are you okay?” Tom asked.
The guy was roughly average height, and had to lift his eyes to Tom’s, six inches above. The stranger had the most unusual green colored eyes that Tom had ever seen. Tom thought he could see something in them, too.
What was it, recognition?
Oh shit!
The man reached inside his trouser pocket and removed a small flick knife. He jabbed it at Tom’s gut with a quick and well-practiced move. Despite Tom’s size he was surprisingly agile. Stepping to the left in an instant, he jammed his attacker’s arm holding the knife against the side of the yacht. Putting his entire hundred and fifty pounds of force behind it, he watched the man grimace in pain.
“Sam!” Tom yelled. “I might need a little help down here!”
The man recovered quickly. Unable to move his armed hand away from where Tom had pinned it, he kicked Tom directly behind his right knee. The blow landed on Tom’s wounded leg, sending a sharp pain behind his knee and thigh as though he’d been shot.
An instant later, the man changed the direction of his efforts. Instead of trying to push Tom off, he twisted, and pulled.
With the injury to his right leg, Tom was unprepared for the change in force, causing him to fall backward. He recovered in time to take a step backward, where he stepped off the back deck and fell into the water.
Tom surfaced upright a second later. The yacht’s freeboard – the space between the waterline and the deck – was too high to reach. Instead he quickly swam across to the diving barge. He glanced backward, and spotted his attacker racing across the flotilla with Sam already running after him.
He lost sight of the chase for a moment when several hands reached to pull him up aboard the barge. At last sight, the guy was leaping over the boat deck, headed for the seaplane at the end of the mooring. Sam was already on his way, climbing down from the top deck to continue the pursuit.
As soon as he’d gained his feet, Tom started after them, gaining on them because of his long legs, but still limping with his injury. He was still yards behind when the guy reached the end.
The guy scooped up the tethering rope to the seaplane and tugged it hard, then clambered in and started the motor. As soon as the propeller started turning, he moved the seaplane away from the barge, just before Sam caught up. Tom watched in disbelief as Sam smoothly dived into the water, swimming powerfully, and caught the back of the pontoon.
Using the pontoon as leverage, Sam heaved himself from the water and climbed on, clinging to the struts and making his way to the cockpit. Tom shook his head, half in admiration, half in dismay. He stopped for a moment to orient himself, and then headed for Ridley’s pleasure cruiser. The tiny Robinson 22 helicopter looked like his only choice.
Ridley looked out at Sam climbing onboard the back of the seaplane’s pontoon as its pilot circled around, ready for takeoff. “What the hell does he think he’s doing? This time he’s definitely going to get himself killed.”
The de Havilland Canada DHC-3 Otter was a single engine, propeller driven seaplane. With its high wing, and high power to weight ratio, it was designed for short take-offs and landings. Its single propeller whined loudly, and the aircraft started to skip along the still water of the Great Blue Hole until it built up enough speed to break the confines of gravity. It was setting up on a direct approach to the flotilla.
Ridley looked at him, his mouth wide open. “What the hell is the pilot trying to do?”
Tom yelled, “Duck!”
The aircraft took off right over their heads. Tom and Ridley instinctively dropped to the floor as the pilot banked sharply to avoid the collision.
Tom stood up and moved toward the Robinson 22. “Is your helicopter fueled?”
“Of course, it’s bloody well fueled and ready to fly. Why?”
“I need to borrow it.”
Ridley shrugged, as though the three hundred-thousand-dollar helicopter was a trivial possession. “Sure. What are you going to do?”
Tom grinned, and called over his shoulder. “What I always have to do. Make sure my mate doesn’t get himself killed in the process of being a hero.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The de Havilland Canada DHC-3 Otter was designed to carry ten passengers and one pilot to remote areas where other aircraft simply couldn’t reach. This one had been upgraded with a STOL kit that allowed a short take-off and landing, by modifying the wing with a contoured leading edge and drooped wingtips for increased performance. Without it, Sam doubted the floatplane would have gotten off the water within the Great Blue Hole.
The narrow and robust aluminum fuselage was connected to two slender floats by a total of six struts – joined by three on each side – and a single boarding ladder that led to the rear hatch. There was also a forward hatch next to the pilot, but no ladder, which made it impossible to reach while the aircraft was moving.
Sam gripped the side of the ladder until the whites of his knuckles shined bright. He breathed heavily, and his heart pounded in his chest. And like a child who’d climbed the highest tree only to realize the inherent dangers, Sam glanced down at the water racing by and swallowed hard.
What have I just done?
He planted his feet hard on the slender float below.
The floatplane banked heavily to the left. The pilot’s movement was more of a swift jerking motion than a controlled maneuver. Sam’s weight instantly shifted with it, and the soles of his wet bare feet slipped off the pontoon.
Sam’s legs fell into the open void and his hands slipped, falling to the second rung of the ladder. The wind rushed over him, trying to drag him away with it. The pilot straightened the floatplane and its 450-kW Pratt & Whitney R-1340 geared radial engine grunted as they started to climb.
Sam gritted his teeth and in one quick motion pulled himself up onto the pontoon again. He crossed his legs around the boarding ladder and entangled an arm through a rung so that his elbow formed a permanent lock, while his other hand gripped the edge of the ladder. He breathed heavily again catching his breath.
He shot a glance at the water. It was more than fifty feet below now – much too far to jump, even if he had wan
ted to. He returned his attention directly above, and his eyes trailed the row of windows along the fuselage. Except for his would-be-assassin, who was piloting the floatplane, the aircraft was empty.
That meant the pilot would have trouble defending himself, but also presented the problem of how to incapacitate the man without crashing the de Havilland in the process. Either way, he needed to come up with a solution before the pilot reached the mainland, where, chances were, his attacker would have reinforcements.
Sam climbed the four rungs up the ladder. His right hand reached the cabin door and tried to turn the handle. It didn’t budge. His luck had run out. The door was locked, and he was fresh out of keys. Or anything else to force the door.
Inside, the pilot glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him with all the confidence of a man who knew he’d already won.
Sam returned the smile. He didn’t lose very often, and when he did, his opponent’s victories never came easy. He had nothing more than the shirt on his back, but there were still a few cards left to play. On the other hand, so did the bad guy. The pilot’s eyes returned to face forward and a moment later, he banked hard to the right.
This time, Sam was prepared for it.
His hands gripped the rungs of the ladder, and his legs kept their footing at the base of the ladder. The plane leveled out again, and the pilot started to seriously put the little seaplane through its paces – banking sharply, diving, and then climbing to shake Sam off. As the plane dipped again, Sam considered his best option may still be to jump next time the aircraft dipped low enough that he might survive the fall.
He glanced back at the Lighthouse Reef to see how far they’d traveled. It was already more than a couple miles away. An impossible distance to swim in the open ocean, where the currents would constantly pull him off course.
The seaplane banked hard enough that it nearly rolled. The airframe gave a distinct creak with the greatly increased wing loadings and g-forces. Sam gritted his teeth and locked his hands together through the ladder’s rung. It was obvious the pilot was willing to risk crashing the aircraft to win. Sam shook his head. His forearms burned.
Could his grip outlast the strength of the airframe?
The pilot could keep playing all day until the seaplane ran out of fuel, or its structure finally gave out. Either way, Sam couldn’t hold on that long. He needed to do something, and whatever action he was going to take, he needed to take it soon while he still had some strength in his reserves.
He glanced across the horizon, trying to get an idea where the pilot was heading. The afternoon sun was somewhere to the right of the aircraft’s nose, which meant they were heading west, toward the Belize mainland. Up ahead, Sam could make out the sandy outline of a beach and surrounding shallow green waters of Turneffe Atoll.
His eyes darted backward toward the Great Blue Hole, confirming his predictions about their location. The sky looked clear and the water inviting. Sam squinted. There was something else on the horizon. Between him and the rapidly dwindling sight of the reef was the most welcome sight he’d had in at least a week.
Was it a small helicopter?
Sam remembered the tiny Robinson 22 on the back of Ridley’s pleasure cruiser. He didn’t know how, but he was willing to bet his life that Tom had either appropriated the helicopter or convinced its owner to follow them.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to swim after all.
Now all he had to do was force the seaplane down, so the fall wouldn’t kill him. Sam’s daredevil nature had put him in many crazy predicaments, but the sight of his old friend once again coming to the rescue somehow made him braver than he probably should have been. They were approaching the mainland rapidly now, and Sam could see Belize City on its little pimple of land sticking out from the mainland.
Sam mentally checked his resources. There wasn’t much. He’d simply thrown on a casual shirt over his board shorts after peeling out of the wetsuit. He climbed the top step of the ladder and gripped the large strut fixed to the wing. It gave him a clear view of the pilot. The man looked at him, and then dipped the wing to the left, trying to throw him off.
The pilot was close to succeeding at it, too. With his elbow wrapped around the strut, Sam ruefully considered his $4000 titanium dive watch. It wasn’t the price tag that upset him. The watch was a gift from his dad, and he hated the thought of losing it. Deciding his life was worth more than the watch or the sentiment, he unclipped the lock clasp and waited.
When the pilot banked again, Sam was ready for it.
The aileron – that small hinged flap at the trailing edge of the left wing – jolted upward. The immediate reduction to the overall camber of the wing reduced lift and caused the left wing to dip. The seaplane rolled to the left.
Sam gripped the strut fixed to the wing, and then using his left hand, he shoved the titanium wristwatch into the small gap between the aileron and the leading edge of the wing, so the aileron was now permanently locked in an upward position.
Under normal circumstances, ailerons worked to turn the plane by creating more lift on one wing while decreasing the lift generated by the other. The upward aileron reduced the overall camber of the wing exposed to the relative airflow, which reduced its ability to create lift. As the wing dips, the aircraft rolls and then turns to that side.
Sam watched as the pilot tried to bring the steering column back to straight and level. It didn’t budge. Instead, the seaplane continued to dip farther to the left. The loss in the overall lift of the wing caused the nose to drop, and the entire aircraft to stall – entering what is known as a death spiral, losing altitude as it spun in a tight circle.
The contents of Sam’s gut raced upward as the seaplane plummeted to the ground. He held on and cursed himself for having so much success with his plan, as he raced toward the sea with deadly speed. He wanted to force the aircraft to crash, but hadn’t planned to kill himself in the process.
He glanced toward the pilot, who was madly working the other controls to compensate. The engine whined, as the pilot tried to extract every pound of lift, and the tail rudder was hard all the way over to the right, in an attempt to counteract the roll.
The pilot’s damned good, Sam noted – but not good enough. They were going to crash, and they were going to crash hard.
He had no intention of dying today. It wasn’t just his life at stake. The code to extinction needed to be broken and right now he was the most likely person on the planet to do so. If he died, billions of others might soon follow.
Sam swallowed and pulled the watch free from the hinge.
Instantly, both ailerons started to move wildly. They settled into a neutral position and the calm sea below raced to greet them. Sam’s eyes turned from the sea to the pilot. The man had dipped the nose to gain airspeed. It was probably the only option, but risky too. If he didn’t have enough time, all the pilot would have achieved by doing so, was to ensure that he struck the water faster and harder.
With his heart in his mouth, he yelled, “For God’s sake, pull up, man!”
The pilot glanced at him. His blue-gray eyes were malevolent, and he grinned like a man possessed – a man who’d risked everything and lost. For such a person, all options were available.
Sam felt his gut churn with fear, as comprehension greeted him like an unwanted stranger – he’s going to kill himself just to be certain I don’t survive.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam knew he was out of options.
If he or the seaplane struck the water at this speed he would be dead. There was no point trying to jump. His downward momentum was already deadly.
There’s an odd feeling of peace that comes across a person who realizes that death is imminent and that there is nothing they can do to change it. If there had been more time, he might have reflected that his life had been extraordinary. That he’d lived more days in his short life than most could have in ten lifetimes. But instead, his final thoughts turned to the future of mankind.
&nbs
p; Best hope to hell you can break the code to extinction, Billie!
In the cockpit, the pilot firmly pulled the control wheel toward his chest. At first, the de Havilland’s nose refused to move. But a split second later, it was coaxed to rise.
The dark blue of the deeper water appeared to race faster to meet them, as though it was eager to reach them, before the seaplane could be manipulated into leveling out.
The sea lost and the little de Havilland won.
It leveled out precisely as it reached the water. The slender pontoons skimmed across the top of the water, as the pilot pushed the throttle all the way in, and the floatplane started to climb again.
Sam grinned as he struggled to maintain his grip on the wing’s strut. He gazed at the pilot, who’d now recovered full control over the aircraft.
The pilot glanced backward and met his eye, grinning wildly and laughing at the same time. “Sam Reilly – you sure are one crazy son of a bitch!”
Sam stared at him, trying to read some sort of purpose in his attacker’s face. “I did ask earlier to get off the ride…”
The pilot laughed. When the laughing eventually stopped, he smiled. It was a surprisingly engaging smile. “I’m glad I got the chance to meet you. This has been one hell of a fun day, hasn’t it?”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Sam returned the smile. “Now what happens?”
“I’m afraid you’re really going to have to die. It’s nothing personal. Bigger things at stake than you or me. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” The pilot grinned like the devil. “If it’s any consolation, you weren’t going to live much longer anyway. No one is. Now at least your death will serve a purpose. The colony thanks you.”
Code to Extinction Page 11
