‘The ripcord,’ he screamed, his cry rising high in the air. ‘For Christ’s sake, Colin! Pull the fucking ripcord!’ he yelled. Almost as if his voice had been heard, a small square of cloth shot out from the hurtling mass dragging an explosion of silk behind and Bert gasped in relief. But the parachute had only half developed when it crashed into the ground, less than 100 yards from where he stood. Horrified, Bert rushed forward, tears already streaming down his face as the white canopy settled over the still figure, like an undertaker’s shroud. ‘Jesus, Colin. I fucking told you.’ He stumbled to his knees beside the inert shape and lifted the silk away from the body, only to start back in surprise at the sight of Doc’s dead face.
‘Doc!’ Bert stared in total shock.
*
Ray engaged the autopilot, wrenched the two hand-microphones from their sockets and smashed their casings hard against a bulkhead. He mangled the wire-slim mouthpiece of the headphones and used the butt of his gun to destroy the plane’s two radio sets. There was little he could do about the hijack warning switch, but with no radio communications the pilot would be unable to give any details until he landed. With just two and a half minutes before the plane flew out over the South Atlantic, he worked furiously at coupling a coil of wire to a cabinet handle, paying it out as he opened the door and reentered the passenger section. Some of the passengers had risen to their feet after Colin and Doc had jumped, looking undecidedly at the cabin door. They stood back when Ray burst out brandishing the Uzi machine gun.
‘Sit down!’ he yelled. ‘Sit down or you’ll all fucking get it!’ He threw an electric detonator and a quarter pound of mock gelignite on to an empty seat. ‘Show that to the pilot,’ he snarled. ‘Tell him the other half is wired to a timer on that door and if anyone tries to open it the cockpit will be destroyed and all of you with it. The plane is on autopilot and in thirty minutes the timer will switch itself off and he can open the door. Half an hour and it will be safe.’
Two or three of the men gasped, faces paling as they took in the warning.
‘Thirty minutes! No sooner!’ Ray hurled the words at them as he raced up the aisle, knocked a sluggish passenger out of the way, threw the suitcase and the machine gun out of the door, jerked off his mask and leapt into space.
The rushing wind rumpled his cheeks and he settled quickly into the free-fall position, arms and legs spread wide to stabilise himself, automatically ticking off the seconds as he fell. The plane was already out over the Atlantic, but he allowed himself a full ten seconds of free-fall before pulling his ripcord. In that time he estimated himself to be 400 or 500 yards offshore and reckoned he’d need about 600 feet of controlled descent to make it to dry land. On the count of ten the ripcord of his Strato-Cloud sports parachute sent 260 square feet of sculptured nylon billowing out above him, trapping a massive cushion of air as the harness snapped tight against his body.
Shaped like a wing, the Strato-Cloud could be flown by opening or closing vents in its canopy, the escaping air ramming the chute in the required direction and allowing forward speed of up to fifteen miles per hour. Under the right conditions, and with skilled handling, a parachutist could maintain control over his direction, speed and rate of descent.
Ray flew the parachute in a long shallow glide, using the shaped vents to push him forward and allowing a drop-rate of about ten feet per second. This gave him approximately sixty seconds of controlled descent; long enough for him to check the ground below and pick out a landing site. The huge canopy curved gracefully to the right as he selected a small clearing just short of the road. His glide angle had been shallow, but as the ground neared he pulled downwards on the steering toggles, opening the vents and going into a steep, almost vertical descent. The ground suddenly leapt up at him, but he averted a collision by raising his arms to close the vents and flatten out his flight, flaring into a faultlessly controlled stall inches above the ground, which allowed him to land on his feet in a textbook touchdown. A punch on the harness release and, like a snake shedding its skin, the canopy fell away, tumbling backwards on bubbles of trapped air to tangle in the undergrowth surrounding the clearing.
He did not waste time hiding the parachute; there was no point. Besides, it was highly unlikely that the valuable canopy and rigging would be handed in to the authorities even if they were found. The jumpsuit, helmet and goggles were torn off and thrown aside as he hurried towards the road.
He had walked half a mile before he had to plunge into thick undergrowth to avoid the first chattering locals as they trotted past, pointing and gesticulating skywards, obviously discussing the recent aerial phenomena. Ten minutes later he walked into the university car park at Cape Coast, recovered the keys from their hiding place and climbed thankfully into the parked Escort to wait for the others to appear.
*
Bert knelt over Doc’s broken body, oblivious to the gold, unaware of Colin pounding towards him white-faced with shock. Together they tenderly removed the helmet and mask from Doc’s unmarked face and untangled the harness of webbing that seemed to bind him in a death grip.
‘Jesus Christ! I thought it was you, Colin.’ Bert wept openly, flinging his arms wide in appeal. ‘How … what happened?’
‘His ‘chute,’ Colin said. ‘It didn’t open right. Look.’ He pointed to a safety clip that was twisted out of shape. ‘That’s what’s done the damage. He … he fell in the plane’, Colin recalled. ‘Went down fucking hard too. He must have fallen on that clip and damaged it.’ Bert stared at the clip, eyes shedding tears. ‘Why couldn’t he have been more careful?’
Colin sighed and raised his eyes to Bert. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he said. ‘He’s been careless once too often, the stupid bastard!’ His tears came then, dropping unashamedly on to the strangely serene face of his dead friend.
‘Come on.’ It was Colin who rose first. ‘We’ve still got to get away from here, Doc or no Doc.’
‘Yeah,’ Bert rose to his feet. ‘But we’re not leaving him here, not in this Godforsaken place. He’s coming with us.’ He put words into action, bending to catch Doc’s body under the armpits and draping him across his shoulders in a fireman’s lift. ‘C’mon, we’ll get Doc into the car then we can drive round and pick up the gold and the parachutes. It’ll be a lot quicker than trying to hump everything back to the car on foot.’
‘Aye,’ Colin agreed. ‘Good thinking. We’ve got to get clear of here rapid.’
Struggling with the unfamiliar awkwardness of handling a dead body, they managed to wedge Doc upright in the rear of the car, then, breathing heavily, with sweat pouring from both of them, Colin skittered and skidded across the loose shale towards the parachutes and the first sack of gold.
Working as a team, they unclipped the sack and began pulling out the gold-filled boxes, the rope handles making the job a little easier. Grunting with effort, Colin swung each box to a panting Bert, who placed them on the floor of the car and on the rear seat alongside Doc’s body.
Time was passing fast as they hurried on to the next load then raced round to collect in the other parachutes. But they kept up the pace, racing against the clock as they crammed everything into the car, unwilling to leave any evidence behind. Their teamwork paid dividends and, quicker than expected, they were done, the gold and equipment stowed safely away inside the car. Finally, both men stripped off their jumpsuits and stuffed them into the boot along with their other equipment, with the final parachute thrown over the distinctive green ammunition boxes, hiding them from a casual glance. Satisfied that they had gathered in any evidence or clues, they got into the car, nerves jangling, bodies reeking with the stale smell of sweat, and set off along the hill road to Cape Coast.
They sat silently for the first lurching miles, like two screws in the death cell, ignoring the grisly subject uppermost in their minds. Silently they stared ahead, both wishing themselves 1000 miles away from the horror of their situation.
‘What are we going to do about Doc?’ Colin finally b
roke the unnerving silence as the Peugeot plunged into the dark shadows of the forest and began to labour uphill.
‘Well, we’re not leaving him here,’ Bert declared. ‘He’s going home for a decent burial.’ He stared stubbornly at Colin, his face pugnacious. ‘We owe him that at least.’
‘Aye.’ Colin’s face twisted in pain, feeling he was to blame for what happened. ‘Aye, he’ll have to go home. But we can’t just turn up with his body and ask for a ticket. There’ll be questions – a lot of them. Especially after this.’ He pointed at the gold.
‘Yeah,’ Bert’s face screwed up in thought. ‘We could always dump the gold where they would find it. That would take the heat out of the investigation. Make them less determined.’
‘You know Doc wouldn’t want that.’ Colin shook his head. ‘You know what he was like … always giving them the finger. He’d hate to have done all this for nothing, even if he is …’ He gave a sigh. ‘You know what I mean.’
Bert nodded slowly in agreement. ‘Yeah. He’d be as sick as a parrot if we handed the gold back … especially now.’
‘So we’ll have to fake his death, make it look like an accident. That way they’ll allow the body home.’
‘Jesus!’ Bert objected. ‘Fucking about with his body!’
‘It’s the only way,’ Colin insisted. ‘Either that or they’ll tie him in with the hijack. If that happens it’ll put the law on to you, then …’
‘Yeah. Yeah.’ Bert rubbed his forehead with both hands. ‘Jesus! What a mess.’
‘You’ll have to get him back to Accra. Anything that happens will have to happen there.’
‘What d’you think?’
‘What sort of accident, you mean?’
‘Yeah.’ Bert shifted uncomfortably in his seat, finding the subject ghoulish.
A large flying insect splattered itself into a bloody pulpy mess on the windscreen.
‘Hit and run.’ Colin whispered the words.
Bert wiped sweat from his face with clammy hands. ‘I suppose so.’
‘It’s no good supposing. You’ve got to be sure.’
‘There’s no fucking alternative, is there?’ Bert barked, his nerves jangling. ‘It’s out of our hands now.’
‘Right.’ Colin pressed his foot down as they crested the hill. ‘We’ll be at the car park in about five minutes.’
They were just two minutes from the junction with the main highway when they caught sight of a police barricade being pushed into position on the road below; the sight of flashing blue lights stunning them with the power of a high-voltage shock.
‘No!’ A disbelieving scream burst from Colin’s mouth as he stood on the brakes and threw the gears into reverse to regain the cover of an embankment.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Bert burst out accusingly. ‘An hour at least, you said!’
‘But it had to be an hour,’ Colin retaliated. ‘Unless Ray fucked up in the plane.’
‘If he fucked up on the plane, he’s fucked us on the ground. Look!’ Bert pointed down at the road. ‘Fucking cops are everywhere!’
‘But they haven’t got us yet,’ Colin replied, still trying to get his thoughts together. ‘You can still get away.’ He pointed into high grass. ‘Through there! Cross the road a couple of hundred yards down and the uni car park’s on your right.’
‘And what about Doc? What are we going to do about him?’
Colin’s face twisted in torment. ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘I never expected anything like this to happen. Never thought they could react so fast.’ His head spun as he tried to think positively. ‘We’ll have to hide Doc’s body and take our chances. If I get clear I could come back later and bury him.’
‘What?’ Bert was shocked. ‘Leave our mate out here in the bush!’ He got to his feet and glared at Colin.
‘God knows, Bert, I don’t like it. But what the fuck else can we do?’
‘I’d sooner do time!’ Bert wrenched open the rear door. ‘He’s coming with me.’
‘Do you think you can make it?’ Colin got out of the car and helped to lift Doc’s limp body from the rear seat.
‘I’m going to give it a good fucking try,’ Bert told him. ‘And if I make it, I’ll make it carrying Doc.’ He let the body lean loosely against the side of the car before bending to pick it up in a fireman’s lift again. Seconds later he was swallowed up by the dense undergrowth.
Colin cautiously raised his head above the embankment and eyed the scene below; two police jeeps, and a minibus with flashing blue lights were drawn up by the roadside as a squad of uniformed police manhandled a barrier into position. The first cars were already pulling up. He saw the minibus disgorge a dozen policemen and watched as they formed two ranks at the side of the road looking onto the barrier.
The first driver was being questioned, one officer checking papers while two others inspected the car’s interior and opened the boot, looking briefly inside before waving the car on. An inspector let out a bellow and marched towards them waving his arms angrily. Colin couldn’t hear, but the inspector was obviously ordering his men to open the boot again and remove the spare wheel. In the meantime other cars passed through the roadblock unmolested.
He narrowed his eyes, noticing for the first time the blue cap-bands of the police manning the barricade. Cadets! They were all cadets. And the police training college was nearby. Colin watched with mounting hope as his suspicions were confirmed. They were cadets from Cape Coast Police College out on a practical training exercise! While the ‘check’ was being made, a sergeant waved following traffic through, waiting until the ‘students’ had satisfactorily finished with one vehicle before allowing them to stop and search another.
Colin turned out on to the main road about seventy yards short of the barricade, keeping a careful eye on activities. The sergeant was waving cars through and he took his chance. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer, knowing all hell would break loose in the next half an hour or so.
The traffic slowed as one of the cleared cars pulled out and the sergeant marched importantly on to the crown of the road.
Move! Move! Colin closed up on the car in front, urging it forward, anxiously eyeing the search team as they scanned the approaching vehicles for another victim. His stomach lurched when he saw the sergeant’s eyes focus on him. He recognised the interest in his look and knew he had been chosen. Desperately, he touched the brakes, making room to swerve round the car in front. Whatever happened, he had no intention of surrendering meekly to a search. Determinedly, he gripped the steering wheel in sweating hands and chose his path, preparing to crash through the barrier. Then he saw an arm stretch lazily from the window of the car in front and casually toss an empty Coca-Cola can onto the surface of the road.
Colin heard the anger in the sergeant’s voice and braked violently as the car in front screeched to a halt allowing a posse of zealous cadets to pounce on the offender, grateful to have discovered a real criminal.
Breathless, eyes almost closed in relief, Colin saw himself waved through, positive that the sergeant could hear the pounding of his heart as he passed by. Four hundred yards on he came to a halt and, opening the car’s door, vomited on to the road, his body heaving, the car’s interior stinking with the stale scent of sweat and fear.
It was two full minutes before he could bring himself to continue to Takoradi.
27
Ray straightened in his seat as Bert appeared at the car park’s entrance looking dishevelled and more than a little distraught. Sensing something amiss, he started up the car and drove towards him, leaning over to open the passenger door as he drew level.
‘Jesus!’ Bert exclaimed. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Ray demanded. ‘You knew the arrangements.’
‘Something must have gone wrong. They must have been able to report in … send out an alarm.’
‘No way!’ Ray was positive. ‘No one would have gone into that cockpit with that “bo
mb” on the door. No one would have chanced it, at least not until the half-hour was up. And even if they did, I fucked up all their communications.’
‘Well, something must have gone wrong,’ Bert gasped. ‘Doc’s dead and there are cops all over the fucking place. The whole thing’s turned into a right fuck-up.’
‘Doc’s dead!’ Ray interrupted, paling beneath his tan. ‘Jesus Christ! What went wrong?’
‘Chute never opened. He’s dead all right,’ Bert panted, breathless from carrying Doc’s body nearly a quarter of a mile through thick bush. ‘And there’s a police roadblock just up the road.’ He pointed to the left as they turned on to the main road, heading in the opposite direction.
‘A roadblock!’ Ray turned horrified eyes on him.
‘Yeah. So much for our one-hour start! And Colin’s stuck up there with a car-load of fucking gold! It’s a right fucking mess, so it is. Over there!’ He pointed at a clump of bushes. ‘I’ve got Doc stashed in there.’
‘You brought him with you!’
‘Of course I brought him with me. You don’t think I’d leave my mate lying dead in the fucking bush, do you?’
‘Well … no,’ Ray admitted. ‘But without him we’re clean. If we run into another roadblock with a dead body in the car we’ve got no chance,’ he pointed out as he drew into the side of the road beside the bushes.
‘Tough!’ Bert stated bluntly. ‘Anyway, if we leave him here his body will be found and they’d get on to us anyway. Come on. Give me a hand. We’ve got to get him back to Accra so we can set up an “accident”.’
For a moment it looked as if Ray was going to refuse, then he switched off the engine and hurried round to help Bert. Two minutes later they were heading east as fast as the Ford could move.
*
Ray vetoed the hit and run idea. ‘No use,’ he said. ‘We’d attract attention rather than divert it. Start people asking awkward questions.’
Ashanti Gold Page 21
