“Russkii.”
“Name?”
“Call me Igor.”
Faith screamed in Russian and pointed to the two women. “The floor’s collapsing. I’m not sure how long it’ll support the weight. Can you help me get them out?”
He nodded. Faith moved the passengers from row twelve to the rear of the plane. She and the operative slid into the row behind the women. Faith yelled to the one in the former window seat, first in English, then in German and Russian, “We’re getting you out. When we get a firm grip, I’ll tap you on the shoulder. That’s your signal to unbuckle the seatbelt.”
Igor slipped his powerful arms underneath those of the woman. Faith tapped her shoulder. The woman sat there frozen, staring straight ahead. Her face and left arm were bleeding. Faith hung over the seat, almost dizzy from the view to the ground. She reached to unbuckle the woman. The woman slapped her away. Faith tried again. The woman slugged her.
“This is nonsense,” Igor said.
He struck the woman on the back of her head, stunning her. He grabbed her under the arms while Faith unclasped the seatbelt. In a single movement, he hoisted her over the seats and plopped her down on the row behind them. The second woman stopped screaming and latched on to Igor’s arms. He and Faith hauled her over the seat. They walked the women down the aisle to the last row.
“You strap them in. I’ll be back.”
Faith went into the lavatory and grabbed a handful of paper towels. She returned to the injured woman. Blood streaked from her eyebrow to her chin. Faith wiped the blood from her face, but didn’t see a wound. She felt a wave of nausea when she realized what had happened. The blood must have spurted on the woman as an injured passenger was sucked from the plane.
The other woman’s arm was bleeding. Faith pressed the towels onto the wound. “Keep pressure on it until it stops.” She repeated herself in the two other languages. She turned to Igor and shouted into his ear, “You just got a field commission. You’re part of the crew now. I know the KGB’s trained you in first aid. Treat the worst first. Check the overheads. One should have a first-aid kit. Go.”
The plane was in stable flight at fourteen thousand feet, and the two remaining engines were hanging in there—for the moment. Frosty couldn’t raise the cabin crew on the intercom. The captain ordered him to go back and survey the damage. Ian had throttled back a little, so the sound had dropped a few decibels along with the airspeed. He took off his oxygen mask and was greeted by a lot of fresh air. He stepped from the flight deck, expecting a mess, but wasn’t prepared for what awaited him. The galley was missing—along with the last starboard row of first class and the first row of coach. The armrest of 10C was twisted so that he feared they’d lost at least one passenger on the port side as well. Mountings for a bank of overhead lockers were visible underneath the stringers and tattered insulation. He could see the fuselage frame, but didn’t like the distorted floor panels and support beams. Catastrophic structural failure wasn’t far away.
As he inched past the chasm, he felt the floor buckle a little under his weight. Not good. A stewardess was ripping a blanket into strips, he guessed for bandages. She seemed very familiar. Too familiar. He hoped to God he hadn’t slept with her.
“Frosty!” Faith turned around and hugged him.
“Alooo-ha.” The wind whipped around them. He stood close to Faith’s ear as he spoke over the din. He pointed to the galley. “What’d you do to my plane?”
“It was a bomb. I saw the flash.” She didn’t smile. “We lost at least two passengers and three are unconscious. Several have pretty bad lacerations.”
“The crew?”
“Eating in the galley when it happened. All except him.” She pointed to the purser. He sat in a jump seat, moving his lips and crossing himself. “You’re looking at your crew: me and KGB Igor over there.” She used her head to point out the operative.
“I don’t want to know.” He held up his hand. “I’m just glad you’re here. We’re limping toward Moscow. The paranoid SOBs won’t let us land anywhere else. We’re about eighty miles out. We’ll start the descent when I get back up front.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Can you get everyone ready for landing? I don’t like the looks of it over there. I could feel the floor move as I walked over it. Reseat anyone within three rows of the hull breach, including those to port. Spread them out. This isn’t the time to mess with our center of gravity.”
“Are we going to make it?”
“You betcha. You’re flying with the dynamic duo.” Frosty winked at her. “I don’t know about the landing. Get them prepared for a rough one. When we come to a full stop, evacuate them. Do you know what to do?”
“In theory. I always prep my covers.”
“There’s a megaphone stowed in an overhead up front. When it’s time, take the front jump seat by the Holy Father and pray along with him.” He hugged her. “You’ll do great.”
Back on the flight deck, Frosty reported the situation to Ian, but omitted the identity of the remaining crew. “I’d say you’ve got one shot to land it. I wouldn’t like to see the stress on the airframe from a go-around. If the floor collapses, God knows what might fly out and into those engines.”
The seasoned professionals concentrated on their landing preparations. Sheremetyevo reported visibility at six miles, a cloud ceiling of two thousand meters and a wind out of the north gusting up to twenty-five knots. Ian adjusted the heading to compensate for the crosswind. “Gear down.”
“You’ve got it. Gear down,” First Officer Jackson said. “I’ve got green on the main, but the nose isn’t budging.”
“Extend manually,” Ian said.
“I’m on it.” Frosty flipped a switch to depressurize the gear’s hydraulics.
“Landing gear lever off,” Jackson said.
“Ian, can you drop speed? I need two-seventy or lower.” Frosty grabbed the red crank mounted on the rear bulkhead beside the fire ax. He climbed onto the floor near his station. The metal ring that served as a handle on the access panel was missing, but he got it open. He inserted the shaft and cranked it clockwise three times, hoping the doors opened. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wiped it with his forearm. He turned the crank three times counterclockwise. For good luck, he visualized the latch moving back and allowing the gear to go into a freefall. Frosty prayed his last three clockwise turns had locked the gear down.
He glanced over to the instrument panel in front of the first officer, but didn’t see the green light he wanted. Squinting, he looked through the view hole, but couldn’t see the red reference stripes. Oil and dirt caked the viewer. He slammed the panel shut. Those jerkoffs in maintenance.
“Ian, I can’t get a green light and shit’s smeared all over the view hole. I hope it’s not oil from hydraulics. Given the state of the back end, recommend we proceed with a couple of Hail Marys.”
“Jackson, advise the tower we don’t have a safe nosegear-down indication, but we’re coming in anyway. Make sure they have the equipment ready. Everything they’ve got.”
Ian aligned the craft with runway 25L. The first officer set the flaps to fifteen degrees and the aircraft slowed. Frosty noticed it yawing heavily to the right and rolling side-to-side. “Is it easier to control with the flaps up?”
“Put them back to five,” Ian said. “Engineer, give me a V speed for a flap-five landing.”
Frosty flipped through the flight manual and read, “Vref forty plus thirty for flaps one through fifteen.”
“English, please, sir,” Ian said.
“Uh, Vref forty is one-two-two knots . . . no, one-fifty-two knots.”
They broke through the clouds and Frosty could see the flashing lights of fire trucks racing to meet them. As Ian reduced the speed, the plane rocked and rolled. Ian struggled with the yoke.
Frosty was confident he could read Ian’s mind. He pulled out the letdown chart. “I just checked. The runway’s over twelve thousand feet—enough room to take it in at warp spe
ed.”
“Then warp speed it is.” Ian pushed the power levers forward and the rocking decreased. Just let the gear be down and locked.
From the altitude and angle of attack, Faith knew the landing was only moments away. She had prepared the passengers to assume crash position at her signal. As the plane slowed, it began to toss like a boat in high seas. Then she felt the increase of speed. Please don’t do a go-around. The ground got closer and closer. She picked up the microphone and squeezed the button. “Brace, brace, brace.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
SHEREMETYEVO AIRPORT, MOSCOW
Man, I had a dreadful flight. I’m back in the USSR.
The plane kissed the tarmac in one of the gentlest landings Faith had ever experienced. Fast but smooth. Ian was good. Damn good. She looked through the opening. A fire engine on the parallel access road was speeding to catch up with them. As the craft rolled to a stop, some passengers applauded and cheered wildly. Others just sat there, staring straight ahead.
Faith sprang up, swung the lever on the emergency exit counterclockwise and pushed the door open. The yellow emergency slide inflated, a giant tongue hanging from the exhausted plane. KGB Igor stood, awaiting her instructions.
“Go to the bottom and help them as they come down.” Faith smelled jet exhaust, but didn’t notice any smoke. The engines seemed finally to be quieting down. She picked up the megaphone. “Proceed to your nearest exit. Don’t take anything with you. Go!” Passengers mobbed the front of the craft. “Jump. Jump. Don’t take anything with you.” She wrestled a package from the babushka with all the plunder and shoved her down the slide. “Jump. Jump. Don’t take anything with you.”
After the last passenger was evacuated, Igor caught Faith at the bottom of the slide and helped her onto the tarmac. He held Faith’s hand in a firm grasp and walked her away from the crowd. Ian, Frosty and the first officer were left to take care of their own escape.
“Thanks for the help,” Faith said. Hair wisped across her face. She didn’t bother to push it away. “Am I correct to assume it wasn’t your bomb? It sure as hell wasn’t mine.”
“You were a hero.” The operative continued to shake her hand. “You have my word that, if I have to kill you, it will be merciful.”
“Swell. Guess it’s back to our game. I can’t do this right. I’ve been through enough for today. Give me a second to regroup, will you?” She retracted her hand and stepped away, turning her back toward him. Ian was tallying passengers.
Igor followed her. “Did the package make it? My orders were to ensure that it did.”
“Those were your orders, huh?” Faith whirled around. “I tend to believe you. I don’t think you’d plant a bomb on board, then go along for the joyride. Who wants to stop delivery?”
“KGB politics are deadly. Do not concern yourself. Did the package make it?”
“You saw all that crap flying around up there.” She shrugged her shoulders. “All I can guarantee is that it’s definitely in Moscow oblast—either in that plane, on a debris field or it arrived last night through Helsinki.” She smiled. “You were my guardian angel in there, but pardon me if I don’t completely trust you.”
“The devil had angels, too, didn’t he?”
The glint in his eyes was chilling. Faith looked away and saw five gray GAZ jeeps speeding down the now-closed runway ahead of two fire engines and an ambulance. She knew the jeeps could only belong to the KPP—Soviet-style airport security and a directorate of the Committee for State Security.
The first wave of the KGB had arrived.
Faith watched the operative walk toward a jeep from the airport militia. How the hell was she going to get the C off a plane surrounded by the KGB? She looked up to the cockpit. It was a good two stories above her and there were no stairs. Then she sensed someone approaching her from behind. “I’d like to commend you for your gallant work, miss.” Faith recognized Ian’s voice and swung around.
“Faith?” Ian said. “Bloody Christ, what are you doing here?”
“Before you say anything, it wasn’t my bomb. I swear.” She put her hand over her heart. “This is an international emergency. Lives are at stake, including mine.”
His face turned bright red. “Young lady, you have gone too far.”
“Ian, I’m not doing anything you haven’t taught me.”
Frosty came running up to them. “Skipper! Hold on! If it hadn’t been for Faith, you wouldn’t have had a cabin crew. We’re damn lucky she was on board. She performed like a vet while our chief steward was strapped in, giving himself last rites. Faith’s a hero. You owe her, buddy.”
Ian exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“That’s all right. Just help me get that cooler off the plane and to Svetlana’s before morning.”
Frosty shook his head. “No can do, honey. That puppy’s a crime scene. No way will they let us back on there.”
“You’ve got to find a way. Ian, did I forget to tell you the rarest of the Armenian icon shipment at Svetlana’s are from the Nagorno region? They’re yours upon delivery to her.”
“Nagorno? How in heaven did you ever locate them? I’ve tried for years.” He placed his hand on her back. “Faith, I’m sorry. There’s no way.”
“There has to be. Convince them it was metal fatigue. Everyone saw what happened to that Aloha plane last year.”
“One look at it and a child would know it was a bomb.”
Frosty pointed at Faith as he spoke. “Maybe she’s on to something. They did think at first that United flight out of Honolulu was a bomb. Turned out the cargo-door latch blew.”
“No. There’s no way I can get you back in there.”
“You have to. That cooler on your flight deck.” Faith paused. “It’s packed with plastic explosives.”
“Did you take leave of your senses?” His face flushed.
“I had no choice. They’ll kill me if I don’t deliver it. I couldn’t bring it myself. They’re expecting me.”
“You’re telling me when the KGB starts to search for who planted the bomb, they’re going to find explosives on my flight deck? I’ll lose my license.”
“License, hell, I don’t want to be some commie’s bitch in a Siberian gulag. We’ve got to get that sucker off the plane.”
“I need my bag, too. I think it made it. It was stowed in the last overheard locker, port side,” Faith said.
“Anything else, my dear?” Ian said.
“I was kind of hoping one of you would be willing to let me use your hotel room to change and crash for the evening—no pun intended.”
“You know you can bunk with me anytime.” Frosty winked at her. “Even in Siberia.”
“Now we’d better find a way to get back on that plane, Candace.”
“And, by the way, Candace stayed in Frankfurt. I’m Sandy, Sandy Reeves.” She pointed to the name tag on her blue uniform jacket.
He squeezed her shoulder hard. “I sincerely hope the KGB doesn’t harm you, my dear, because after this is all over, I will kill you.”
Dazed passengers wandered around the tarmac in circles. Others sat on the runway in a stupor. Medics treated the injured, but no one seemed in a hurry to evacuate them. The KGB now stood guard over everything, Kalashnikovs in hand. Ian, Frosty and Faith approached a group of officials talking to one another, their long gray-green coats flapping in the wind. Igor spoke with a man in an ill-fitting suit near a group of airport personnel. Ian selected an airport militia officer whose uniform had the most fruit salad and started to speak: “Sir—”
Faith tapped him on the arm and whispered, “Wrong guy. You want the highest-ranking KGB officer and I’d say that’s him talking to Igor, your flight attendant.”
As soon as the Pan Am crew approached, Igor and the other man halted their conversation.
“Do you speak English?” Ian said.
“Little,” the plainclothes KGB officer said.
“How long are you go
ing to leave my passengers here? Why aren’t the injured being taken to the hospital?”
“Not possible. They must pass immigration.”
“Station a guard on them if you have to, but get them to a hospital. A good one.”
“Not so simple.”
“And when can I get back on my plane? I want to go aboard and inspect it.”
“Cannot. It is crime scene.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s clearly metal fatigue. It happens all the time. Don’t you read the papers? Remember those planes in Hawaii?”
A shiny Zil limousine barreled down the tarmac. It was the type of government car Faith had seen crossing Red Square and driving through the gates of the Kremlin. It screeched to a halt. The driver climbed out, but before he could open the door for his passenger, a uniformed KGB general jumped out and stamped over to Igor. They moved out of earshot and talked briefly; then the general ignored the Pan Am crew and spoke to the airport KGB officer in Russian. Faith listened in.
“I want you to get the luggage off the plane as if nothing’s happened. Allow the crew to return on board and retrieve their personal belongings. These people have gone through enough. And take those injured to an infirmary.”
“But sir, this is a crime scene. It can’t be disturbed. The evidence—”
“There has been no crime. Take one look at it and any idiot can see that the plane came apart. Capitalist maintenance.”
“But, sir—”
“That’s an order, captain. Get that plane off the tarmac and out of sight in a hangar immediately. Also, see to it that one of your people escorts the captain and his crew to the front of the immigration line. No need for interviews today. They will be with us for a while.”
The general turned toward Ian and asked, “Vy kapitan?”
Ian nodded. The general flashed him a thumbs-up. He turned and walked back to his car. As Igor climbed into the staff car, he nodded to Faith.
As they drove off the tarmac, General Stukoi picked up his car phone and called Titov at the residency in Berlin. “We’re back on track, thanks to your man Resnick. Contact Voronin and get Bonn to stand down. Tell him I personally arrested the terrorists and we have his nuclear suitcase under our control. He’ll get the Medal for Irreproachable Service as long as he keeps this to himself. Tell him whatever you want. Just make sure he believes there’s no longer a threat to the leadership. I don’t want any more interference.”
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