Velocity

by Steve Worland

  ‘It’s Judd. Do you know when they’ll be here?’

  Severson sits up in the narrow bed, bleary-eyed. ‘When who’ll be where?’

  ‘The military or the marines or whoever they’re sending. Do you know, or can you find out when they’ll be here? ‘Cause they’re about to leave.’

  Severson rubs at his eyes. ‘Get where? Who’s leaving? I don’t understand —’

  ‘Here. Where Atlantis is. In Central Australia.’

  ‘Central Australia? What? No. Atlantis is in North Africa.’

  **

  34

  The Article rips across the dark-blue empyrean. Thompkins glances at the instrument panel, focuses on the mach meter. 6.5. A touch under 8000 kilometres an hour, or 7300 feet per second. They’re making good time, will be over Australia in minutes. All temperatures are nominal, fuel consumption is good - great, even. The Article flies smoother and more efficiently the faster it goes. Thompkins laments that the air force never unlocked the jet’s full potential while it was in service.

  He’s procrastinating, knows he must get on and do what needs to be done. He takes a breath, leans forward, flicks a switch, taps a five-number sequence into a worn keypad, hits another switch and waits. It won’t take long.

  Thompkins had dreaded this moment from the start. He’d tossed up whether to tell Mahoney his plans, bring him into the fold. He was so torn he even considered asking the Frenchman’s advice, then immediately rejected the idea. It would appear amateur and weak, and Thompkins didn’t believe Henri would appreciate either of those qualities in a business partner. So he said nothing to Mahoney. He just didn’t know which way his RSO would go because he’d neglected their friendship for so long.

  Mahoney’s voice buzzes in Thompkins’ helmet, his breathing laboured: ‘Horshack, I’m - I seem - I’m having problems. My oxygen - isn’t - it’s not —’

  Thompkins closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look back into the separate, sealed compartment where the RSO sits, where he has just turned off the life-support system.

  Mahoney gulps air, his breath short, his voice afraid: ‘ — I can’t - can you - help - me with - this - I —’

  Thompkins does nothing, just squeezes his eyes shut, tries to block out the sound of his oldest friend’s voice: ‘ — I - need - air —’

  Mahoney falls silent and it’s over, just like that. Instantly Thompkins knows the twenty million dollars he’s being paid will never make up for this moment.

  He takes a deep breath, the irony of it not lost on him, and tells himself to focus on the job ahead. He still has work to do.

  **

  35

  ‘What?’ Judd yanks the satellite phone from his ear and stares at it for a moment, as if that will somehow help him comprehend what he just heard. ‘No. It’s in Central Australia. The Northern Territory. It’s sitting on the back of a Galaxy that’s being fueled as we speak.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m staring at it! Why would you think it’s in North Africa?’

  ‘That was the intel. Came in a couple of hours ago. It’s in Tunisia. Two marine units are on their way there.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I’m in the Pacific on the USS George H. W. Bush with another unit. Only reason we’re not going is Tunisia’s too far away.’

  ‘I don’t understand this.’

  ‘Who did you tell?’

  ‘Thompkins. Two hours ago. He told me the cavalry was on the way.’

  ‘Well, they are, just not to you.’

  ‘You need to fix this. Now. Tell everyone. Atlantis is in the Australian Northern Territory. It’s on a runway midway between - have you got a pen?’

  ‘Um. No.’

  ‘Find one.’

  Judd waits. He looks at the phone’s screen. LOW BATT blinks back at him. One eighth of a bar of power left. ‘Hurry up, I got a low battery.’

  ‘I’m looking.’

  Judd hears clunking and shuffling.

  ‘Is Rhonda okay?’

  ‘Yes - I don’t know. Yet. Found a pen?’

  ‘Not yet. It’s a big ship, you’d think there’d be one somewhere —’

  ‘Just remember it.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Don’t try, do! It’s in the desert, midway between Lake Mackay and Nyirripi in the Northern Territory. A bit closer to Lake Mackay.’

  ‘Lake Mackay. Nyirripi. Right.’

  ‘Tell everyone. They have attack helicopters. I don’t know how many. They’re leaving soon. Once they’re in the air I don’t know where they’re going. I need people here now.’

  ‘What are you gonna do?’

  ‘I’m gonna try to stop them.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a good idea —’

  The satellite phone cuts out. Judd looks at its blank screen, thumps it with the heel of his hand. No use. It’s as dead as disco. He drops it to the ground.

  His mind races. How did Thompkins get it so wrong?

  He stands, his body stiff, his head still thumping. His eyes lock on Atlantis and the Galaxy. Is Rhonda in one of them? And if she is, is she okay? There’s only one way to find out.

  He runs towards them.

  **

  36

  Severson places his BlackBerry back on the table. No one in authority can know what Judd just told him otherwise they will put him on a plane and fly him out to Central Australia and he’s not letting that happen. No way, no how.

  Instead he will pretend the conversation never took place. He rolls over, buries his head in the pillow and wills the gods of sleep to whisk him off to the land of Nod.

  It doesn’t work. His mind races. Judd said he was going to ‘try to stop them’, which didn’t sound like a good idea at all. In fact it sounded like a great way to get killed.

  ‘Not my problem!’ Severson says it out loud to make sure he understands it. He buries his head deeper in the pillow, squeezes his eyes shut.

  Sleep will not come. His eyes blink open and he looks up at the ceiling. ‘Man!’

  Judd needs his help.

  Severson has always considered himself a loner. He doesn’t have ‘friends’ per se; acquaintances and work colleagues, yes, admirers and allies and lovers, absolutely. But friends? No. Sure he can be Mr Charisma when it suits circumstances but the underlying code he lives by is ‘Every man for himself.’

  But Judd’s his friend, isn’t he? Severson enjoys his company and doesn’t keep him at arm’s length like everyone else. He’s had a soft spot for the guy ever since Columbia, when Severson saw how deeply the accident affected him. Severson respected Judd for that, envied him almost, because it was something Severson didn’t feel himself.

  So yes, Judd Bell is his friend. Severson sits up in his bed. The revelation comes as an unhappy surprise.

  **

  ‘Knock knock.’ Severson says it as he lightly raps a knuckle on the door. A moment passes, then it opens.

  Captain Mike Disser pokes his head out, a drowsy scowl on his face. ‘What?’ Clearly he’s still annoyed about the whole ‘fear of heights’ thing.

  Severson holds up his BlackBerry. ‘Just received an interesting call.’

  **

  37

  Atlantis and the Galaxy are further away than Judd realised. He still has a fair way to go and isn’t exactly eating up the distance even though he’s running as fast as he can.

  He uses the time to plan. The way he sees it he has three options to stop the Galaxy from taking off.

  Option A is to shoot out the Galaxy’s tires. It seems like a good idea, but an airliner’s tires are so hard and turn so fast during takeoff there’s a good chance the bullet will be deflected. For it to work the pistol’s muzzle will need to be almost point blank with the rubber, and because big jets like the Galaxy have so many tires he’ll need to shoot out a few of them. It’ll be easier if the jet’s stationary, but that me
ans he needs to get to it before it starts moving.

  Option B is to shoot out one of the Galaxy’s engines. Again, it seems like a good idea, but it only seems that way. A turbofan is a highly complicated piece of machinery and introducing a speeding bullet to the operating mechanism could, literally, destroy it. That, in turn, could destroy the Galaxy’s wing, which is full of fuel, so then the whole jet would explode, which would, in turn, incinerate the shuttle and everything on board, including Rhonda.

  Option C is firing at the pilot in the Galaxy’s cockpit. Judd will be shooting from the ground, a long way away from windscreen, so he’ll need to be super accurate and he’s not sure the bullet would even crack the glass from that distance.

  He locks eyes on the Galaxy. He’s closer. Whichever option he chooses he’ll need to make a decision soon.

  **

  38

  The Harrier Jump Jet is the finest vertical take-off and landing fighter jet ever built. The Pegasus engine nestled within this particular example howls eagerly as the aircraft sits on the deck of the USS George H. W. Bush, its delta wings drooping languidly by its sides.

  Eleven minutes is all it took. From the moment Severson lightly rapped his knuckles on Disser’s door to sitting in this Harrier AV-8C, a two-seater variant normally used for training.

  Disser’s strapped into the pilot’s seat, his jaw set. Suited and helmeted he’s ready to take on the world. Severson’s strapped into the trainee’s seat behind him. He’s also suited and helmeted, but that’s where the similarity ends. His jaw is slack and he’s ready to go back to bed.

  That won’t be happening any time soon. The USS George H. W. Bush is parked off Australia’s northern coast and Disser’s unit is the closest option for a flyover to check Judd Bell’s intel about Atlantis’s position. Even though marine units have already been dispatched to Tunisia, Disser decided on a quick reconnaissance mission over the area Judd Bell identified. As he expected, Severson has been forced to come along for the ride. Disser told the astronaut that if he didn’t he’d tweet his secret to the world and Severson’s positive the honking bastard would do it.

  So they now await clearance for take-off. Severson’s face is pale and his stomach tender. He can’t stop thinking about the attack choppers Judd mentioned. He speaks into his helmet’s microphone: ‘Please, you’ve got to let me outta here.’

  Disser’s voice honks in his earpiece. ‘You know the shuttle, sir, I don’t. I will need your expertise if we find it.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’re a smart guy. Just improvise. You’ll do fine.’

  ‘One tweet, sir. That’s all it’ll take —’

  ‘I know! Jeez. Look, I just, I don’t have a good feeling about this.’

  ‘The only thing you have a good feelin’ about is being a pussy, sir. It’s time to man up and face your fear.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s not that time at all.’

  ‘I’m going to help you do it. You inspired me when I was a kid so now it’s time I pay you back.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to pay me back —’

  Both their headsets buzz as Flight Control grants them clearance. Disser barks an acknowledgment then opens the Harrier’s throttle. The Pegasus engine runs up.

  ‘Hold on, sir, it’s time to jump off this boat.’

  Severson grips the side of his seat and jams his eyes shut as the Harrier leaps off the deck then banks hard over the methylene blue ocean and howls away.

  **

  39

  Edgar has been gardening like a mofo but his wife has yet to decide if he can leave this godforsaken compound and take that trip to Jakarta. He’s meant to fly out this afternoon but it’s not looking good. The Ukrainian maid incident has really bitten him on the arse, and not in the way he likes.

  The idea that he’ll have to stick around for his sister-in-law’s birthday party, which his wife is throwing tomorrow, is too depressing for words. He could always try to slip away but he knows he won’t get far. The fools from the secret service are everywhere, monitoring his every move - there’s one sitting at the far end of the room right now, staring at him.

  Edgar slumps onto the sofa and flicks on the television. This is what his life has become: gardening and Fox News. Christ. Shepard Smith is filing an update on the shuttle hijacking from Florida. It would seem that nobody has the first clue where it is or who the hijackers are. What a mind-boggling screw-up it is. If Edgar was still in charge someone would be getting their arse good and kicked over this right now.

  The old man closes his eyes and leans back, remembers when pretty much all he did was kick arse and take names. Man, those were the days.

  **

  40

  Henri hasn’t watched a sunrise for the longest time. He once took solace in its natural grace. It recharged him, momentarily erased his troubles, prompted him to think about his place in the universe and how insignificant it was.

  That was before his wife died, when such flights of fancy didn’t seem frivolous, when he was happy but didn’t know it, when the troubles that seemed so important were, in retrospect, trivial. He no longer thinks of his place in the universe as insignificant; quite the opposite, in fact.

  The Frenchman glances at his GMT-Master then looks up at Atlantis, piggybacking the Galaxy, and triggers his walkie. ‘Wheels up in five minutes. Everyone, please take your positions. Nico and Dirk, report to me at the ladder.’

  He takes in the sunrise for a final moment. Though he’d expected some collateral damage on this mission, the loss of Claude and Cobbin, and Gerald and Tam during the launch, has left him with a deep melancholy. He takes a breath, won’t, can’t let it affect the final part of the operation, the most important part.

  The Frenchman turns, takes in Dirk and Nico as they approach, illuminated by the golden light.

  ‘You are now the crew’s leader.’

  Dirk nods to Henri but doesn’t smile. It doesn’t feel right. You don’t smile when you get a job this way. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He starts to say something else then stops himself, looks down, studies the fine red dust that coats his boots.

  The Frenchman sees it. ‘What?’

  Dirk looks up. ‘Is there any way to change your mind?’

  Nico chimes in. ‘Yes, sir, there must be another way —’

  ‘No.’ Henri regards them both for a moment. ‘This is my final mission. Nothing has changed.’ He fixes his gaze on Nico. ‘You are now second in command. I expect you to support Dirk just as you have supported me.’

  ‘Of course, Commander.’

  ‘You know where to find the video. Post it everywhere. And ensure the families of our fallen comrades are generously compensated.’

  Another nod. Henri takes a moment, his gaze moving between the German and the Italian. ‘I thank you for supporting me and risking your lives to make this mission possible. I appreciate it more than you will ever know. I’m proud of you both, as if you were my sons. I wish you nothing but luck.’

  He holds a hand out to Dirk. The German ignores it and steps forward, embraces the Frenchman. Henri hugs him back, surprised.

  ‘Godspeed, Commander.’ Dirk breaks off and now it’s Nico’s turn. He hugs the Frenchman, his face grim. ‘I’ll miss you, sir.’

  Henri releases him. ‘Okay, you know what happens now. Get to it.’

  With a nod Dirk and Nico move off. Dirk doesn’t look back. The Frenchman has turned his life around, taught him everything he knew. Now the German has both the skills and the confidence to command a seventy-million-dollar-a-year business that employs twenty expert mercenaries and operates in every corner of the globe. Dirk fears that if he looks back he’ll show emotion and he doesn’t want anyone to see that, especially Henri. Instead he turns to Nico. ‘See you at the rendezvous. We leave as soon as he arrives.’

  Nico clearly has no such qualms about showing emotion. His eyes are wet. ‘Yes, Commander.’ Dirk holds out his hand and they exchange a fist
-bump.

  Nico moves to the nose of the Galaxy, climbs the ladder and disappears into the front hatch. Dirk walks to the edge of the runway where his Tiger awaits, rotors turning.

  Henri watches them go then triggers his walkie and speaks. ‘Dirk is now leader of this crew. Nico is his 2IC. I expect them to be supported just as you have supported me. I wish you all the best. Good luck.’