‘Where the fuck are we?’ demanded Bernie.
‘I don’t know,’ Cathy replied, furious with Van for leaving her stranded back here with a bunch of soon-to-be-hysterical passengers. He must know they would be getting anxious, the least he could do was make some sort of announcement – anything. But maybe he wasn’t allowed to.
The lady journalist was still wailing and screaming, whilst everyone else sat silent and white-faced as the plane lurched around the sky.
‘Chree-ist,’ exclaimed Bernie in disgust, ‘this whole friggin’ plane’s gonna bust apart if this keeps up.’ His comment induced further hysteria from the lady journalist. ‘Will you shut up, you douche bag!’ Bernie shouted. ‘Keep your fuckin’ screams to yourself.’
She was shocked into silence.
‘This plane is built to withhold any kind of turbulence,’ Cathy assured them. ‘No chance of it breaking up, Mr. Suntan.’
‘Bullshit,’ he muttered.
* * *
Dallas and Al were being thrown around the bed giggling and laughing.
‘Do you believe it?’ Al asked. ‘Do you believe we’ve waited all this time and just when we are about to finally do it, we run into a storm!’
‘It’s a sign from above,’ Dallas said jokingly.
‘I’ll give him a sign. Come on – haul yourself over to the couch and strap yourself in.’
Staggering and bumping around they managed to get into bathrobes and strap themselves into the couch.
‘It’s not dangerous, is it?’ Dallas asked.
Al laughed. ‘I’ve been through turbulence that makes this look sick.’ He held her hand. ‘Nothing to worry about – got the best pilot money can buy – anyway we’ll probably be landing soon, and you know the first thing we’re going to do?
‘No, what?’
‘I’ll give you one guess.’
* * *
As the bullet entered his right shoulder Van Howard lost consciousness. He slumped over the controls, and for seconds everyone on the flight deck was immobilized. Then, as the big plane lurched and bucked, Harry Booker sprang into action. He hauled Van out of the cockpit as best he could, and took over flying the plane himself.
By this time Nino was on his feet and screaming a string of expletives. Wendy was sobbing hysterically, and the navigator had ripped off his jacket and placed it under Van’s head. It was now extremely crowded on the flight deck, and the storm and general turbulence were rolling the plane in all directions.
‘I’m going back,’ Harry Booker yelled, ‘I’m turning round.’
‘No, you are not!’ Nino shouted in excited frustration.
‘There’s no other way, you’ve lost the rest of the flight plan. If we don’t know where we’re going, eventually we’ll run out of fuel.’
‘I have not lost anything!’ Nino screamed. ‘He is hiding it – it’s him.’ And he turned his gun on the navigator.
* * *
‘I think one of us should go to the front of the plane and see what’s happening,’ Paul said, more worried than he cared to admit.
‘I’ll go,’ volunteered Louis.
‘No, I’ll go,’ said Cathy. ‘I’m less likely to alarm them.’
‘We need you here,’ Paul replied. ‘I can go.’
‘Please…’ Cristina spoke for the first time. ‘Please let me go. After all it is partly my fault we are all here.’
‘Partly!’ snorted Louis.
‘Nino knows me. He will tell me what is happening. Please let me go.’
‘Let her go,’ growled Bernie. ‘If she knows the guy, maybe she can talk some sense to the prick.’
Paul had to agree that Bernie was right.
‘Be careful then,’ he warned, ‘don’t upset him. Just try and find out how long it will be before we land, and where.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Cristina replied, unstrapping her seat belt and setting off down the rolling plane.
* * *
‘We have no alternative,’ Harry Booker said stubbornly. ‘I’ll try and make radio contact.’
‘No!’ screamed Nino, his gun wavering back and forth between the navigator and Harry.
‘What do you suggest then?’ said Harry, his temper beginning to snap. ‘We’re flying out here in the middle of nowhere, we don’t know where we’re supposed to be going. We’re flying blind, the weather conditions stink, and apart from all those pluses – that man is probably dying.’ He indicated Van lying on the floor, Wendy crouched over him attempting to stem the flow of blood from his wound. ‘What’s the penalty for murder in your country?’ Harry sneered. ‘Come on, let me turn back. We might just be lucky enough to make it. When we land you can keep me, the plane, whatever you want – as hostage.’
‘I don’t want you,’ Nino said with contempt. ‘I want a million dollars for Al King.’
‘They’ll give it to you,’ Harry said persuasively. ‘They’ll give it to you for saving him.’
‘Do you think I’m a fool?’ spat Nino. ‘Do you think you are dealing with a boy?’
As they argued Harry was putting the plane into a very slow unobtrusive turn. He didn’t know where he was, but surely it would be better to head back from where they had come.
‘I think you should listen to me,’ Harry said. ‘I think right now you’re in a big mess, and I want to help you get out of it.’
Nino brought his free hand up to his head, and pressed his throbbing temple. He was confused. He didn’t know what to do. He had the plane. He had Al King. Single-handed, he had achieved that with only the help of a gun and three crude home-made bombs that were not even primed.
Now they wanted him to go back. They said they didn’t have the second page of the instructions. But they must be bluffing. They had to be bluffing.
He had given them two pages of instructions – or had he?
Yes. He was sure of it – or was he?
The constant buffeting of the plane didn’t help him think clearly. The rain smashing into the windscreen. The roar of the thunder. The angry flashes of lightning.
* * *
‘What is going on?’ Al said suddenly, after a particularly sharp burst of turbulence. ‘I hired a guy like Van Howard so I wouldn’t have to go through this shit. If there’s a storm he knows enough to avoid it. This is like a goddamn roller coaster – the fucker must be drunk.’
Dallas placed her hand on his knee. ‘Don’t get excited.’
He forgot the vibrating plane for a second. ‘With you beside me…’
She leaned in to kiss him. Their lips met and were jolted apart.
‘Fuck this!’ said Al. He undid his seat belt and lurched over to the bed. He pressed a switch marked ‘flight deck’ and picked up the intercom. ‘Howard!’ he yelled. ‘Howard!’ He jiggled the switch – ‘Great. Can’t even answer the phone. Howard! What the fuck’s happening?’
* * *
Paul glanced around at everyone. They were mostly silent, huddled in their own private thoughts. Bernie was the only one who seemed to have developed verbal diarrhoea, muttering vague obscenities and curses of prophetic doom.
‘Shut up, Bernie,’ Paul snapped. ‘Keep your thoughts to yourself.’ He wished that Al would emerge from his private retreat. Christ! He couldn’t be sleeping or even screwing through this. And surely he must realize they had been in the air hours too long.
But of course he never bothered checking schedules. He had no idea how long the trip to São Paulo was. And he had Dallas to distract him. The beautiful Dallas, who like all the others had fallen into the appropriate position – bed.
Paul scowled. He knew what would happen. When they landed at whatever Godforsaken place they were heading for, Al would emerge. ‘Where are we?’ he would demand. And wherever they were, he, Paul, would get full blame.
He knew it. Everything was always his fault – so why should this occasion be different from any others?
* * *
On the flight deck everything happened at once. As Al’s
voice boomed from the internal intercom demanding to know what was happening, Cristina pushed through behind Nino, startling him even further. Instinctively he pressed the trigger of his gun, and a bullet ricocheted round the cabin, grazing the side of Harry Booker’s head. Blood started to drip from a superficial wound.
‘Nino!’ Cristina screamed, flinging her arms about him in an attempt to wrestle the gun from him. ‘Stop it! Give up… Give up – you can’t win. You must give up.’
Nino tried to throw her off, tried to club her with the butt of the gun.
The navigator, seeing this as a good opportunity to disarm the madman, left his position and joined in.
Blood was dripping across Harry’s eyes. He felt like he had been zonked on the side of the head with a hammer. He raised his arm to clear the blood with his sleeve. He never saw the lightning explode in a huge flash of white hot burning light straight in front of the plane.
He never saw it hit the right wing of the plane, which immediately burst into flames.
He only knew that the plane was out of control, plummeting crazily.
* * *
‘Brace yourselves,’ Cathy yelled as the plane rocked violently. ‘Bend your heads forward – clasp your ankles.’
‘We’re going to crash – we’re going to crash,’ shrieked the lady journalist hysterically.
Jesus God! For the first time Paul felt fear. A cold fear that gripped him around the stomach. A fear that said – ‘This is it – this is the final curtain.’ He thought of his children, their faces flashing before him. He thought of Linda – how disappointed she would be. Then ironically he thought of Al screwing happily away in his private soundproofed bedroom. How fitting that he should go on the job.
‘Holy shit!’ exclaimed Bernie. ‘The fuckin’ plane’s on fire!’
Vainly Cathy pleaded, ‘Please stay calm. Everything will be all right. We have a very experienced pilot.’
Silent Luke suddenly burst into loud prayer, his resonant voice somehow comforting.
‘Cristina! Cristina!’ Louis screamed, struggling with his seat belt. ‘I must get to Cristina!’
‘Please stay seated,’ begged Cathy. But she couldn’t prevent him from staggering off down the lurching, sinking plane.
Cathy tried to peer out of the window, but there was only darkness and rain, and bright yellowy orange flames shooting over the wing. If Van could get them out of this… Oh God – if Van could save them, she wouldn’t leave him. She would stay with him. She would be a faithful wife. She would give up her long-haired musician. Oh God – please let Van save them.
Evan was throwing up. Vomiting in uncontrollable bursts all over himself. He had wet his pants also. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care at all. He wanted his mother. She would take care of him. She would know what to do. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wanted mummy.
* * *
Al was thrown violently across the padded bedroom.
He could feel the plane dropping, being buffeted around by the wind. He knew that something was terribly, dreadfully wrong.
He hauled himself across the floor and managed to belt himself in next to Dallas.
Her eyes were huge with fear. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I wish I knew.’ He wanted to go through to the passenger compartment, but the plane was plunging so crazily he didn’t dare move. He was lucky to have made it back to his seat.
Somebody’s head would roll for this. When they made firm ground, somebody was going to pay for putting them through a trip like this.
It did not occur to him for one moment that they might not make firm ground. The possibility of a crash was unthinkable.
He took Dallas’s hand, and she clung on to him tightly.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, soothingly, ‘we’ll soon be landing.’
* * *
The plane hurtled blindly down.
Harry Booker wrestled helplessly with the controls but there was nothing he could do. He was trying to stabilize the plane, get it under some sort of control.
He knew he would have to put it down, blindly, wherever they were. But if only he could get hold of the bastard… He pulled back on the wheel with all the strength he could muster, and forced the thrust levers into full power. ‘Come on, you mother… Come on…’ Painfully, slowly, the nose of the plane started to climb. But it was much too slow, and the fire on the wing had unbalanced them, and there was a short in the circuit showing…
The plane started to bank, and Harry knew it was hopeless, knew there was nothing he could do.
They were enveloped in a sea of blackness in the middle of nowhere. Behind him Nino, Cristina, and the navigator were in a fighting, clawing mass on the floor. Van was unconscious. Wendy hysterical. And the young flight engineer transfixed in a state of shock.
Vainly Harry tried to throttle back, attempted to bring down the landing gear. They were dropping so fast. Sinking like a stone.
Blankly he wondered where they were. It didn’t matter, in a few moments they would all be dead.
* * *
‘Brace yourselves against the seat in front,’ Cathy yelled vainly, ‘head on your knees – clasp your ankles. Don’t panic!’
Nobody was listening – they were all too busy throwing up, or screaming hysterically, or praying, or cursing.
Cathy kept repeating her instructions, while her stomach jumped into her mouth with fear.
They were going to crash. They were out of control. They were on fire.
She tried to remember crash procedure. Everyone off the plane as fast as possible. Emergency chutes down. How soon would rescue services reach them? It depended where they were, and she didn’t know that.
Oh God! Why had she ever left Van? This was a punishment. This was God’s way of telling her she was wrong. If only he would give her another chance… If only…
With a deafening crash the plane ploughed into something. The impact created even more chaos. Hand luggage came hurtling down from all the racks, seats were wrenched free from their moorings, windows smashed in. All the lights went out, plunging them into a murky blackness.
But the plane didn’t stop. Caught up in the trees it hurtled onwards – shuddering and shaking – pitching and rolling.
And the noise. Deafening, unreal. A tearing metal noise, an exploding jagged noise, a roaring vibrating noise.
The plane was ripping through the gigantic trees, disintegrating in parts as it progressed.
First the right wing snapped off on impact – then the left wing was wrenched free.
The body of the plane careered onwards, smashing a path through the trees, and finally splitting neatly in half.
The back of the plane shuddered to a stop. The front half slid on further into the jungle, then it too finally stopped.
Miraculously both sections of the plane were still in one piece.
For a moment there was silence except for the sound of the driving rain and startled bird cries. Then a series of small explosions came from the front of the plane, and the engines burst into flames.
Next came the human sounds. Cries for help, groans, terrified screaming.
It was amazing that anyone was still alive.
The plane had come to rest somewhere in the Amazon jungle, hundreds of miles from anywhere.
After smashing through the giant trees it had slithered to a stop amidst the dense forest ground.
The storm was abating somewhat. But the rain still poured relentlessly down.
From the sky the plane could not be sighted, the huge trees, some as tall as two hundred feet, took care of that.
Al King, his plane and occupants, had vanished into the bowels of the jungle without a trace.
Chapter Sixty-Five
There was always a moment when Linda first woke when she wasn’t sure where she was. It had happened to her since the tour, and she found it quite an enjoyable sensation.
Where am I? What city? What bed?
It was quite exciting waiting for the a
nswers to come flooding in.
Home – schmuck. Or – with Robert Redford, of course. Or – that beautiful beach bum who is quite the best lay in town.
Los Angeles. Cody. His house.
She was quite satisfied. She rolled across the bed and nuzzled his back. He wore pyjamas – very sweet. She slept nude – was there any other way?
She put her arms around his soft waistline. He was very cuddly. A strict diet could get rid of his excess flab in two weeks.
She moved her hands inside his pyjama trousers, gently holding his flaccid penis.
‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.
He groaned in his sleep.
She played with him. Rubbing, kneading, teasing.
He grew hard in her hands.
She slid down under the sheet and took him in her mouth. He felt so good. She used her tongue in a variety of ingenious ways.
He groaned again, this time with sleepy pleasure.
She took him deep into her mouth. Released him slowly. Took him again.
He came in lovely throbbing spurts, his liquid filling her mouth with joy.
She slid up from under the sheets.
He opened his eyes in delighted surprise.
‘My morning protein,’ she grinned. ‘How are you this morning?’
‘You’re a very sexy person.’ He reached for her small taut breasts. ‘Very sexy indeed.’
‘Oh. You think so?’
‘I definitely think so. And in about half an hour I’ll prove it to you.’
‘Half an hour?’
‘I’m not nineteen, you know.’
She snapped her fingers together, ‘Aw – shit. And I thought you were.’
They both giggled.
‘What shall we do today?’ Cody asked.
‘Hmmm… Saturday… Let me see… How about nothing? Does that grab you?’
‘It really does.’
She climbed out of bed. ‘I’ll make the coffee. It’s actually your turn – but I’ll let you off today.’
She padded in the kitchen.
Saturday – when had Paul said he would be back? Four days. He had called her on Thursday, so Sunday, tomorrow…
She didn’t even want to talk to him, it was as simple as that. Maybe if she stayed over at Cody’s she wouldn’t have to. Not a bad idea.