The Victoria Stone

by Bob Finley

  Enrique half-turned his head toward her. "There seems to be a lot that you do not know, Señora."

  "Well, that's what I'm here for, isn't it? To find out!" she shot back sarcastically. "If all you're doing is just ‘driving the plane’, then do it!"

  "I hate to interrupt, but..." Jerry's voice startled them both. Jackie turned to look at him but Jerry was looking at Enrique's eyes in the rear view mirror above the windscreen. "...how long 'til we get there?" Jackie turned back around and also looked at the pilot. In the mirror, Enrique looked from one of them to the other. Then he looked out the window. Finally he answered, his voice flat and tight.

  "Less than five minutes. Unless we turn back." His eyes found hers. "I don't like all that radar. Something isn't right. My...how do you say...intuición..."

  "‘Intuition’."

  "Si, my intuición tells me there is something wrong. I trust my intuición. It has saved my life many times."

  "Well, my in-two-ishi-on tells me that you don't get paid unless I get what I came here for! How about them apples?"

  "Qué?"

  "Never mind...just fly the..."

  She almost choked on her tongue when the first F-15R streaked by them, coming from above and behind. At a blistering 800 miles per hour, its blast furnace pipes were a bluish-orange streak. It was the second one that really did it, though. It came from their right front quadrant and blasted across their path not fifty yards ahead. The twenty-five year old twin-prop Cessna 4l4 bounced hard when it drilled through the cross-vortex left by the two jet fighters and only Enrique's brute force on the yoke kept them flying. He quickly brought the aircraft up to 350 feet for more maneuvering room. Jackie looked at Enrique and was startled to see that his face was deathly pale. She realized how close they'd come. That's when she got scared.

  "Oh, WOW! Did you see that?!" Jerry cried. "I mean, did you see that?!" Jackie looked back at him. The transformation was astounding. He was so animated he looked like a cartoon character. He had slung the camera up to his shoulder and she realized the red light was on. He was live.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes wide.

  "Are you kidding me?" he crowed. "I missed 'em once. I won't miss 'em again!" He held his camera at the safe position, its lens pointing toward the ceiling of the cabin, as if it were a loaded weapon.

  "They're back!" Enrique warned.

  "Where? Where?!" Jerry demanded, darting and dodging about the cabin to know where to point his camera.

  "I don't think you'll have any trouble finding them," Jackie replied in a monotone.

  The two pencil-thin fighters with their twin vertical stabilizers slid slowly and ominously into view, one on either side of them. The one on the starboard side had taken a position slightly above and behind them. The other, on the port side, was almost touching his wingtip to theirs.

  "Wolves," she thought. "A wolf pack moving in to look over its slower and weaker prey."

  "Victor Lima Charlie fiver-two-niner...state your business." The voice that filled the cabin was cool and detached. It must have come from the plane on their left. They could clearly see the helmeted figure looking at them across the slight space that separated them. The message clearly was not a request.

  Enrique picked up his microphone and keyed it.

  "This is Victor Lima Charlie five-two-nine. Is there a problem?"

  "Victor Lima Charlie fiver-two-niner, you are approaching the restricted air space of a United States military exercise. You are advised to turn back."

  "Señora, what have you done?" Enrique demanded under his breath.

  "I...we...haven't done anything. We have a right to be here. We're in international waters and they have no jurisdiction. I think."

  "Señors...Sirs..." Enrique keyed his mic again. "I am a commercial pilot with paying passengers. I have made a contract to carry this señora...this lady and this gentleman to their destination. I cannot afford to turn back. I am a poor man."

  "Victor Lima Charlie, you are ordered to turn this aircraft around immediately or risk being shot down as a perceived threat to the security of the United States military forces. You have ten seconds to comply. Do you understand?"

  Jerry was talking to himself under his breath in the back seat as he twisted first one way, then another, to film both of the lean wolves off their wing tips. He was zooming in to get a 20-power tight shot of the pilot who seemed to be doing the talking when Enrique spoke up.

  "I am going to turn around. I do not wish to die for a few pictures."

  "Turn around?! Turn around?! Oh, no you're not! They're not about to shoot down one of their own, and certainly not in international waters!" Jackie Darlington said indignantly, her voice rising on every other word.

  "I say again, Victor Lima Charlie, do you understand? Unless you turn that aircraft around, and right now, you will be fired upon! Please acknowledge by turning your aircraft around! You have five seconds to comply!"

  "Who do they think they are, telling us...demanding that we..."

  "Señora, I am sorry, I am turning..."

  "Oh, no you're not! You keep this airplane...!"

  "He's gone," Jerry called, looking out the right window. "Uh, oh. There goes the other one! You know what that means."

  "What? What do you mean, gone?" Jackie demanded, momentarily distracted. They all three looked around at the same time. It was true. The fighters were gone.

  "What do you mean, ‘you know what that means’?" she said, looking at Jerry in alarm. She didn't like the tone of his voice. She also didn't like the look on his face.

  "They're pulling back for a strafing run. Or maybe to launch missiles," he said in a strangely hushed voice. The others stared at him in disbelief.

  "Madre mía," Enrique uttered, turning even paler.

  For two seconds that seemed like hours, Jackie continued to stare at the young cameraman, but he knew she wasn't seeing him. Suddenly she sat bolt upright, whirled and snatched the microphone from the surprised pilot. When she turned back to Jerry, she was stone-cold and in command.

  "Are you live?"

  He recognized the transformation and smiled. He'd had that same look in his viewfinder in alleys and jungles and there'd always been bullets and action right behind it. He nodded once, brought the camera to his shoulder and pulled back wide to include as much of the plane's cabin as possible. This was what he'd come for. The money was just gravy. She brought the aircraft's microphone to her lips and keyed it, looking defiantly into the eye on the world.

  "This is Jackie Darlington of CNN, aboard a private civilian aircraft a hundred miles off the coast of Spain. With me is a civilian commercial pilot and a videographer, both under contract to the CNN television news network. We have just been accosted by two United States Navy attack fighter jets who challenged our right to be here. For the record, we are in international waters and therefore not under the jurisdiction of anybody's military, certainly not that of the United States. Thirty seconds ago the pilot of one of the aircraft demanded that we turn our aircraft around or be shot down. We have that conversation and a close-up..." she glanced quickly at Jerry who nodded once, "on videotape. Those two planes that were almost within touching distance a few moments ago have just disappeared. We assume that they are in the process of taking up positions from which they may attack us, either by strafing us with machine gun fire or with air-to-air missiles. This is an unarmed, civilian aircraft, operating legally under contract and we have broken no laws nor in any way instigated this illegal and immoral act against us by the most powerful nation on earth...our own United States, acting against its own defenseless citizens. We sincerely pray that this broadcast, which is being uplinked live directly to CNN's satellite, is being received at CNN Center and will be made available to our fellow citizens, in case we are lost at sea in the next few seconds. If that happens, you will see it live, even as we die under the guns of our own countrymen. We will stay on the air as long as we can." She paused and took a deep breath. Jerry
took the cue and zoomed in to fill the frame with her face, warmed by the heat of battle as much as with the glow of the sun that was now low on the horizon. They would soon lose the light. She continued in a quieter, more personal voice, still staring straight into the souls of millions of viewers back home who had gathered hastily around countless television sets as CNN broke into its regularly scheduled program for this dramatic and gripping real-life drama being played out on the far side of an ocean.

  "We are here to bring you firsthand the truth about an event of international proportions that rocked the globe just hours ago, when a terrorist apparently exploded a thermonuclear device in Johannesburg, South Africa, killing hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of innocent people. CNN has reason to believe that this terrorist is headquartered just minutes from where we are now. We at CNN have gone to extraordinary lengths to bring you exclusive, firsthand knowledge of that event. We are, at this very moment, about to fly over the headquarters of this self-proclaimed King of New Victoria, as he calls himself, who has claimed full responsibility for the nuclear holocaust, and who allegedly claims to be capable of the same fate for a number of other countries including France, Great Britain, China and the US, unless they meet his demands." She paused to look dramatically out the windscreen behind her. She reached over and held Enrique's microphone in front of him. "Captain, how long until we reach the terrorist's headquarters?"

  Enrique Montaldo Valasquez squirmed uncomfortably at suddenly being thrust into full view of who-knows-how-many strangers all over the world. It was a very unhealthy position for a smuggler to be in. He tried to turn his face away from the camera as he mumbled, "Just a couple of..." But the menacing sight of the F-15R off his port wing stopped him in mid-sentence. The respectful distance between the two aircraft surprised him at first. The black-visored fighter pilot was gesturing.

  Jerry was on it instantly. Zooming in for an extreme close-up, he caught the meaning. "He wants to talk to us," he said.

  "What?" Enrique seemed confused.

  "The microphone. Let go of the microphone switch. He can't get through until you let go of the microphone switch."

  Jackie looked down at the microphone in her hand and suddenly understood. She released the switch, realizing with a start how her thumb was hurting from the ferocious grip she'd had on it. She handed the mic to Enrique, who held it up against the side window for the pilot to see. There was an immediate response.

  "Victor Lima Charlie fiver-two-niner, this is Lieutenant Vickers of the United States aircraft carrier George Washington. Please be advised that you are flying into an extremely dangerous fire zone. We have reason to believe that the alleged terrorists immediately in front of your aircraft are armed with surface-to-air missiles that are capable of downing approaching aircraft. We strongly advise you to immediately turn your aircraft around and leave the area at once. As we are in international waters and have not ourselves been fired on, we are not in a position to defend you, a civilian, from attack, should one occur. Do you acknowledge this warning, Victor Lima Charlie fiver-two-niner? Please respond."

  "Nice and polite all of a sudden, aren't they?" Jerry commented.

  "And helpful," Jackie added. Then she remembered they were still transmitting live.

  "Tell him ‘thanks but no thanks’" she said, allegedly to Enrique, though Jerry understood she was actually playing to the camera. She turned back to face it while Enrique relayed her message. The pilot raised one finger to his smoked visor in salute and the two Navy fighters peeled away.

  "As you can see, the Navy jets...and, by the way, you could see from their markings that they're from the U. S. aircraft carrier George Washington...these same Navy pilots who were threatening to shoot us down just a few moments ago are now offering us friendly advice. Could it be that the reason they're so helpful now is that they've suddenly realized by my talking over our airplane's radio that we're a T.V. crew and that the whole world is watching their every move? Is that possible? Or, perhaps it's true...the pen, so to speak, really is mightier than the sword." She smiled...no, smirked...into the camera.

  "Take that, you arrogant swaggarts! You picked the wrong ones to bully, didn't you?" She exulted in the thought, still high on adrenaline. A full minute had gone by while they'd continued to bear down on the tower, awash in the orange bath of a sun almost down.

  "Señora?"

  She looked around at Enrique, who had half-turned in his seat to look at her.

  "What?" She wondered if she'd missed something. He seemed disturbed.

  "What shall we do?" he asked plaintively.

  She was startled by the question. "Why, what we came here to do, of course! What else?" She turned back to the camera. Enrique stared for a moment at the back of her head.

  "This woman is more man than most men will ever be," he thought, finally turning back to take them in the final two miles. He pulled back on the stick to gain altitude in order to see the target. Leveling off at a thousand feet, he strained to see into the setting sun, which was off his starboard quarter. Finally, he picked it up. It was disappointing, really. Only a dark, spindly little tower sitting out here in the middle of the ocean all by itself. Where was the danger in such an unimposing little platform? No ships. No guns. No pirate flag. "Oh, well," he shrugged. He was just here for the money. A couple of minutes, a couple of passes, and they'd be on their way home with his money practically in his pocket.

  "Thirty seconds, Señora," he called and eased back on the throttles to give them a little more time to see what they'd come for. "Left side, Señor Jerry."

  The cameraman slid to the left side of the cabin while skillfully maintaining a steady window on Jackie.

  "Ready?" she mouthed at him.

  He backed off for a wide-angle, held up an open hand with fingers outspread, and counted down from five by folding his fingers one at a time. They knew that the studio downlink would be filling in with an anchor background until they saw the countdown. Then they'd cut back to the live satellite feed. The audience would see only the "good stuff". When he made a closed fist, she began.

  "This is Jackie Darlington speaking to you live from aboard a chartered civilian aircraft one hundred miles at sea, off the coast of Spain. In a few moments you will see for the first time the headquarters of the terrorists who just a short time ago shocked the world by exploding a nuclear bomb in the South African city of Johannesburg, killing or wounding hundreds of thousands of innocent people. By their own admission, the terrorists are holed up inside an undersea mountain just below our aircraft. As you can see..." Jerry took his cue and swept the camera to the window, zooming the powerful lens in quickly to focus on the stark tower below them, "...all that's visible is a tower that juts up into the air from atop the underwater mountain. We assume that there is some kind of communications equipment on top of the tower, which would explain how the chief terrorist, who calls himself Bereel Jambou, managed to send out a television signal that allowed him to broadcast the infamous message we saw earlier in which he allegedly detonated the bomb in South Africa. It was from this very sight that he reached out and took the lives of so many innocent men, women and children, all in the name of revenge. Revenge for crimes he alleges were committed against his own family hundreds of years ago by the ancestors of those against whom he has now committed this most heinous crime of all...nuclear retribution.”

  “As we circle around to this side of the tower, you can see in the distance the U. S. fleet of American warships that are at this very moment beginning to encircle the terrorists' fortress." In tune with his employer, Jerry braced himself and his camera and fed a reasonably steady shot of the fleet some 2 1/2 miles from them. From their high perspective, it actually was easy to see the line of ships beginning to draw the curtain of isolation around the entrenched terrorists. "It was from the aircraft carrier George Washington, which is the largest of the ships you see on your screen, that the two fighter jets were launched that attempted to prevent us from filming this drama
tic news event, even to the point of threatening to shoot our plane down unless we agreed to leave. Obviously, that did not happen. The U. S. Navy correctly decided against interfering with the constitutional rights of the free press. We're now going to approach the tower for a closer look at exactly what kind of equipment these terrorists might be using that would allow them to hold the mightiest military force in the world at bay while they commit mass murder and dare to make absurd demands that they must know will never be met." She turned from the camera to find Enrique looking at her as if she'd cursed his mother.

  "Señora, it would be a very bad thing to go closer to these criminales. We don't know what they might do to us."

  "They won't do anything to us," she whispered, turning her face away from the camera. "Why would they?"

  "Señora, I don't like this."

  She leaned toward him as if she were looking out the windshield and whispered, "I don't care what you like. Do you like getting paid? If you don't take us down there, you will have forfeited your contract and you won't get a dime! Do you understand?!" She suddenly realized she was hissing like a snake.

  Enrique apparently thought she was, too. He drew back under the frontal assault. In one last try, he said in a subdued but plaintive voice, "Señora, I only have this one airplane. I cannot afford to lose him."

  With a live camera at her back, and a promise already made to the listening audience, she leaned down until her face was almost touching his. She had an urge to swat him across the face with her claws, but instead spat, "If anything happens to your precious plane, we'll buy you another one! Okay? Okay?!"

  Face to face, she stared him down. He shrank from her fury, wide-eyed. Finally, he nodded.

  "Sí." He nodded again. "Sí."

  "Good! Now, put this plane on the deck and fly it!" She almost lost her balance as Enrique-the-pilot put the nose down and began to side-slip in a long, curving glide that would take them in a tight turn around the tower.

  Jerry and his camera were glued to the port-side window. He laid off on the zoom shot until they were in close to avoid jitter. That was unfortunate. Had he been in telephoto mode on the approach, he might have noticed the rectangular pods of tubes that seemed to be watching their aircraft as the eyes of a painting seem to follow an observer. Then again, maybe he wouldn't have.