Ray sat awkwardly in his parachute harness, sweating uncomfortably at the controls of the old Dakota. He had failed to pick up any identifiable landmark and peered anxiously ahead in an effort to locate his target. How are they getting on back there? He must have asked himself the same question a dozen times over. The temptation to leave the cockpit and check was almost overwhelming, but he resisted and looked at the plane’s clock again before reaching for the intercom button. ‘Five minutes!’ he rapped out. ‘Five minutes to target!’
Ray scanned the ground ahead, eyes narrowed, thoughts running wild as he saw only unremitting greenery below. Five minutes left and still no recognisable landmark. Jesus! I should be almost on top of the place. He picked up the intercom again.
‘Four minutes! Four minutes to target!’
Time was running out when suddenly he leant forward, screwing up his eyes as the monotonous green of the jungle canopy petered out into a stark scrubland. The alluvial plain!
‘Three minutes! Three minutes to target!’ Christ! He had almost missed his check time there.
*
Almost forty-five minutes behind the scheduled time, Bert’s flame of hope was fading fast. Totally depressed and feeling lost and alone, he decided he had had enough. The job was off. There was no way the plane could be this late. It seemed obvious that they had failed; he only hoped that the plan had simply been aborted and his mates were now travelling as bona fide passengers. Frustrated, he wanted to scream at the empty, mocking sky. Hopes now hollow, he bent to strike his lighter into the trough of hessian, a funeral pyre to mourn the death of the plan.
*
‘Two minutes!’ Ray’s voice spurred Doc and Colin on to more frantic efforts. ‘Two minutes to target!’
Doc snatched up Colin’s parachute and helped him into it, snapping the clips tight before turning to get help with his own harness. Then each checked the other’s equipment, making sure everything was secure.
‘One minute! One minute to target!’
They turned urgently to the locking lever of the aircraft’s door.
*
The lighter clicked several times, somehow its wheel failing to dispatch sparks into the hissing gas. ‘More fucking trouble,’ Bert cursed aloud as he pulled the flint holder free and inspected it. A few turns of the screw forced the worn flint against the ribbed wheel and he tried it again. This time the lighter spewed a stream of sparks, the liquid gas igniting with a soft explosion that was audible in the silence of the plain. He worked the gas control, sending a foot-long jet of flame whooshing into the air, cutting it on and off once or twice like a child playing with a toy. With a last, longing look to the north, Bert knelt and caught a handful of dry hessian. It ignited easily, making a faint crackling as it flared. He held the burning torch in his hand and let the flames grow higher, just as another noise intruded to override the soft plopping sounds the flames were making. He cocked his head. It wasn’t a mosquito, much too low a buzz for that. The sound grew louder, and suddenly every sense in his body became alert. The plane! It had to be the plane! An exultant whoop left his lips and he threw the burning cloth into the fire, moving immediately to aim the lighter in another place. The droning was quite loud now as he ran to the other side. In seconds a yellow glare ran the length of both trenches and thick smoke billowed into the air. He could see the plane now, lower than he had been expecting and far off to his right.
‘Over here!’ he screamed. ‘Over here! Over here you stupid bastard!’
But the plane flew on, oblivious to his screaming, as Bert sank slowly to his knees, the euphoria of the moment before turning to ashes in his mouth.
*
The oval door of the plane flew wide, Doc barely managing to avoid being dragged out by the slipstream as the sound of the screaming engines suddenly disconcerted him. Then Colin was tossing the empty duffle bags and suitcases past him; if the police wanted them they would have to look for them. The machine gun followed the luggage into space.
Bracing himself, Doc dragged one of the loaded sacks to the edge of the door then helped Colin to place the other one in position, ready to be pushed out. Both of them leant forward, fists firmly gripping the setting key of the spring-loaded automatic openers. Ray had chosen a five-second delay and Doc had only to release the key to activate the timer. Tight with tension, they crouched over the gold, heads craned upwards, eyes focused on the unlit sign above the passenger seats.
*
Ray’s eyes swept over the ground ahead, scanning right and left across the bleak countryside. He knew the dropping zone was approximately six miles in front of the low mountain range and he concentrated his gaze on that area, searching desperately for the target.
Christ! If I don’t spot the fire soon I’ll overfly the fucking DZ! His head swivelled anxiously, searching for the elusive signal.
A red light flared into angry life on his instrument panel. Jesus! Then his eyes caught sight of black overprinting on the warning glow – ‘Rear Passenger Door.’ He sighed in relief, realising that Colin and Doc were prepared. Now all he had to do was spot the signal fire.
He flew on for another half minute, hands tight but impotent on the control column. Then, almost at the bottom-right-hand corner of his windscreen, he spotted a waver of grey smoke and the flicker of yellow flames.
Too near! Even as Ray’s heart pumped adrenaline the flames drifted past parallel with the plane. His timing had been good, but he was nearly a mile off target. Bitter bile rose in his throat as he realised he could never make the turn in time. He thumped his fist on the control column in rage and frustration. Suddenly, the plane was diving. Jesus Christ! He had disengaged the autopilot. He snatched the column towards his stomach, dragging the plane’s nose up until it pointed at the horizon again. He was flying it. He had to fly it!
*
‘What the …!’ Colin burst out as he grabbed at the back of a seat. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ His words were almost drowned out by the screaming noise from the engines. Doc lay groaning on top of a sack of gold, his parachute pack saving his back from injury against the sharp-edged boxes. He struggled painfully to his feet, Colin’s willing hand helping him to stand as the plane recovered from its dive and began to regain height. They stared at the unlit ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ sign, willing it into illumination. The passengers were alarmed too, raising their voices, some of them getting to their feet to stare up and down the cabin, a few of them on the razor edge of panic.
‘Shut up!’ Colin screamed. ‘Shut up and sit down!’ He looked at the passengers. Most of them were on their feet, some even stepping out into the aisle. ‘Sit fucking down!’ Colin roared, pointing his gun towards the roof of the plane and pulling the trigger. ‘Sit down or I’ll fucking well drop you!’ The explosion from the blank cartridge brought a stunned silence as every face turned towards Colin, mouths wide in shock and fear.
‘Next bullet goes into you!’ He pointed his gun at one of the passengers who had stepped into the aisle. ‘Now get back to your fucking seats! Get back into your seats or we’ll all go fucking down!’
As the plane steadied and settled down to normal flight the disturbed passengers sank back into their seats, faces scared, voices quietened as the stark scent of fear permeated the cabin.
Colin stared at Doc with worried eyes and threw him a questioning look. Doc could only shrug. The thundering engines made conversation almost impossible, but they both knew that something had gone drastically wrong.
Tapping his chest, Colin pointed down the aisle at the cockpit door then back at his chest again. Doc nodded back in understanding and drew his automatic, making sure that the passengers saw it. With a tight nod Colin turned and made for the cockpit, silencing the rising murmur with a wave of his still smoking gun.
*
On the ground, Bert stared at the Dakota as it droned steadily past, far over to his right. Sick at heart, his throat hoarse from shouting, he watched helplessly as the plane flew on towards the coast.
*
Ray looked to his right as he regained control of the plane. Already the fire had slipped under the wing and out of sight behind him. His eyes scanned the instruments, his experience with the Dakota at Southend making them familiar to him. In fact the basic flying instruments – airspeed indicator, artificial horizon, altimeter and compass – were very similar to the instruments on the light aircraft he had trained on. Concentrating hard, he tried to recall all he had learned from the compact flying course. The control column was pushing back against his hands, as if some weight was forcing the plane’s nose upwards. The gold! Almost 600 pounds of it must be sitting at the rear door now. He spun the trim control forward until the joystick felt light to his touch and flew on, straight and level. They were less than two minutes from the range of hills that shielded the coast.
‘Fucked!’ Ray cursed aloud. ‘Three million quid lost! And so close too.’ He picked up the microphone to pass jumping instructions to Bert and Doc when the door burst open behind him. The microphone dropped from his hand as he grabbed the machine gun from the co-pilot’s seat.
‘It’s me!’ He heard Colin’s voice as he spun round, finger already caressing the trigger of the deadly weapon. ‘What the fuck’s going on? What’s happening?’
‘Jesus!’ Ray tossed the gun on the seat again. ‘You scared the shit out of me. What’s going on out there? I thought I heard a shot!’
‘You did! I had to let one go to settle things down. They were going crazy out there. But what the fuck’s going on in here?’
‘I’ve blown it! That’s what’s going on,’ Ray admitted. ‘I missed the DZ by about a mile. You better get back and jump before we fly over the hills. You’ve got about one minute.’
‘But … but can’t you turn it?’ Colin demanded. ‘Fuck me! You spent nearly three grand at that fucking flying club. Surely they taught you how to turn, for Christ’s sake?’
‘Light aircraft, Colin. Light aircraft. Not these fucking things!’ Ray shook his head. ‘Not these!’
‘You said you could put us there!’ Colin yelled.
‘You’ve got about thirty seconds before we’re over the hills,’ Ray roared back at him. ‘I’ll have to reset the autopilot and jump with you.’
‘Fuck the autopilot! Turn the fucking thing round. You’re flying it all right just now, aren’t you? Surely it can’t be all that hard to turn? Come on … At least give it a try. Fuck me, I’m risking my own life now on this.’
Ray sweated, his brain performing somersaults as he sought a decision. ‘Who Dares Wins’. His old motto flared into his brain and the decision was made for him.
‘Okay! I’ll give it a go!’
‘Good on you.’ Colin slapped his hand on Ray’s shoulder. ‘D’you need any help?’
‘Do I need any help?’ Ray’s eyes rolled upwards. ‘I need a fucking miracle, mate!’ His grip tightened on the control column, his eyes riveted on the ‘turn and bank’ indicator. ‘Better let Doc know what’s going on.’ He nodded at the microphone.
Colin stretched the coiled wire across the cabin as he keyed the transmit button. ‘We’re going round again! We’re having another go!’ he shouted into the mike.
*
Bert watched the DC-3 as it flew southwards. It was almost over the hills and still no one had jumped. Worriedly, he watched the plane grow smaller, narrowing his eyes when it seemed to turn to the right. At first he thought it was his imagination, a distortion caused by the distance. But no! Now he could clearly see it side on. The plane was definitely turning! The crazy bastard’s having another go! A wide grin split his face and he looked at his fire. The flames were rapidly dying. Quickly, ignoring the pain in his hands, he began tearing up clumps of scrub-bush, heaping them on to the fading flames, unaware of the words he was yelling out.
‘Burn! Burn!’ He was working frantically, tearing his hands to shreds on the dry thorny bushes as he gathered in more fuel. ‘Burn! Burn!’ His cries rose into the air.
*
‘Anything I can do?’ Colin asked, slipping into the co-pilot’s seat.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ Ray pleaded. ‘Just sit still and keep quiet, that’s all. Once we start flying inland again you can look out for the fire. That’s the point I’m aiming for. It should appear somewhere down to your right on your side of the plane. Keep your eyes peeled for it.’ Nervously he scanned his instruments and leant further into the turn.
Nose on the horizon. Back pressure on the column. Ray followed the drill he had practised so often on the twin-engined Aztec at Southend. Speed … 130 knots. Ball … in the middle. He eyed the turn and bank indicator and the artificial horizon, trying desperately to keep the miniature wings at a steady ten degrees. But still, as if they had a mind of their own, the wings tilted more and more steeply.
Beeep … ! Beeep … ! Beeep … !
A chill of fear shivered down Ray’s sweating back at the piercing scream of the stall warning. The first staggering shudder hit the plane and he surprised himself as his hand shot out to slam the dual throttles wide and put the plane into a shallow dive in standard emergency procedure. The screaming faded as speed increased, the acceleration making the aircraft lighter and easier to control. As soon as the controls felt more responsive he dragged the plane’s nose back to the horizon and went back into the turn.
‘Jesus!’ Colin exclaimed. ‘I thought we were well away there.’
‘It’s okay. I’ve got control now. Just you keep looking for the fire. I’ve got to have that to aim for.’
The plane had turned through 180 degrees and was now flying back the way it had come.
‘Can’t you see it yet?’ Ray demanded, reluctant to take his eyes off the instruments.
‘I’m looking. I’m looking.’
‘Now you know how hard it was for me,’ Ray told him. ‘And I was flying this thing.’
‘Okay … okay,’ Colin snapped back at him. ‘I can see what you mean.’ He was silent for a moment or two. ‘Jesus!’ he said again. ‘It all looks the same.’
‘Split the ground up into small areas,’ Ray advised. ‘Don’t try to cover everywhere at the same time. Section it up.’
Colin stiffened in his seat as an area of ground showed paler than the rest. The paleness spread and he realised it was smoke, then he picked out the two lines of fire and the arrowhead shape of the ruined building.
‘Gottit!’ he yelled. ‘Gottit!’
‘You’re sure?’ Ray turned his head, trying to locate the site.
‘There!’ Colin pointed at right angles. ‘We’re passing it now!’
Ray breathed a prayer of thanks. He’d never have spotted it on his own, that much was certain. Now he focused his gaze on the feather of white smoke. ‘I’ll fly on for a bit,’ he said. ‘Give myself a better chance at lining up for the drop.’ He nodded at the microphone. ‘You better give Doc the word. He’ll be wondering what’s going on.’
A minute later he was coaxing the Dakota into a gentle, more confident turn, exhorting Colin to keep his eyes fixed on the signal. At last he was lined up on it and throttling the engines back to their original 130 knots.
‘You better get back to Doc now.’ He told Colin. ‘You’ve got about one minute to set up the drop. Same signal as before.’
Colin was already moving, a relieved slap on Ray’s shoulder his only acknowledgement.
*
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Doc turned on Colin when he arrived back at the gaping passenger door. ‘Up and down like a fucking yo-yo! Twice I’ve nearly been out the fucking door! And these bastards!’ He waved his gun at the passengers, letting them hear his voice. ‘They’ve been creating murder. I thought I was going to have to use this on them.’
‘It’s all right,’ Colin’s voice was tense. ‘We’re on the run-in again. It’s definitely on this time.’ He pointed to the seat belt sign. ‘Same signal as before.’
Doc shook his head in amazement. ‘And they call this easy money!’
Ray kept the plane’s nose lined up on the smudge of smoke. When he estimated he was ten seconds away he flicked the ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ sign twice. The smoke disappeared under the plane’s nosecone and he counted up to three before flicking the switch repeatedly.
On the second signal Colin and Doc levered the heavy sacks over the sill of the door, releasing their grip on the automatic openers as the parachutes fell away. Hesitating only a fraction, Doc launched himself into space, snapping his head round in a textbook exit to see Colin hesitating in the aircraft’s door. ‘Fucking jump!’ he screamed, flinching inwardly when Colin, arms flailing, tumbled awkwardly out of the plane. Then Doc was in the stable position and reaching for his ripcord.
*
Bert followed the DC3’s course with mounting tension, his hands balling into tight fists as the plane appeared to accelerate towards him, then jumping with excitement when two black objects fell away from the plane. The two bundles seemed to drop forever, plunging almost halfway down before silently swelling out into plump clouds of camouflaged nylon. Below them, suspended on invisible rigging, his future swung to and fro in the clean bright air. Then another two shapes dropped from the plane and a feeling of exultation charged through Bert like a bolt of electricity. His chest swelled, and he raised his arms in victory as an animal scream of triumph ripped free from his throat.
‘Ye …e …e …e …ah!’
He broke his mad run in dismay, stumbling to a horrified halt as he watched a black mass accelerating earthwards, flailing arms and legs telling him it was a human body.
Ashanti Gold Page 20
