Eagle Strike

by Anthony Horowitz

  Sabina was numb, walking as if hypnotized. Alex knew what she was feeling. His own legs almost refused to carry him, to take these steps, reserved for the most powerful man on the planet. As the door loomed up ahead, with another eagle mounted on its side, he saw Yassen appear from inside, dragging a body dressed in blue trousers and a blue waistcoat: one of the air stewards. Another innocent man sacrificed for Cray’s mad dream.

  Alex entered the plane.

  Air Force One was like no other plane in the world. There were no seats cramped together, no economy class, nothing that looked even remotely like the inside of an ordinary jumbo jet. It had been modified for the president and his staff over three floors: offices and bedrooms, a conference room and kitchen … four thousand square feet of cabin space in all. Somewhere inside, there was even an operating table, although it had never been used. Alex found himself in an open-plan living area. Everything had been designed for comfort, with a thick-pile carpet, low sofas and armchairs, and tables with old-fashioned electric lamps. The predominant colours were beige and brown, softly lit by dozens of lights recessed into the ceiling. A long corridor led down one side of the plane, with a series of smart offices and seating areas branching off. There were more sofas and occasional tables at intervals all the way down. The windows were covered with fawn-coloured blinds.

  Yassen had cleared away the bodies but he had left a bloodstain on the carpet. It was horribly noticeable. The rest of the plane had been cleaned and vacuumed until it was spotless. There was a wheeled trolley against one of the walls and Alex noticed the gleaming crystal glasses, each one engraved with the words AIR FORCE ONE and a picture of the plane. A number of bottles stood on the lower shelf of the trolley: rare malt whiskies and vintage wines. It was service with a smile, all right. To fly on this plane was a privilege enjoyed by only a handful of people and they would be surrounded by total luxury.

  Even Cray, who had his own private jet, looked impressed. He glanced at Yassen. “Is that it?” he asked. “Have we killed everyone who needs killing?”

  Yassen nodded.

  “Then let’s get started. I’ll take Alex. I want to show him… You wait here.”

  Cray nodded at Alex. Alex knew he had no choice. He took one last glance at Sabina and tried to tell her with his eyes: I’ll think of something. I’ll get us out of here. But somehow he doubted it. The enormity of Eagle Strike had finally hit him. Air Force One! The presidential plane. It had never been invaded in this way – and no wonder. Nobody else would have been mad enough to consider it.

  Cray jabbed Alex with the gun, forcing him up a stairway. Half of him hoped they would meet someone. Just one soldier or one member of the cabin crew who had managed to escape and who might be lying in wait. But he knew that Yassen would have been thorough in his work. He had told Cray that the entire crew had been dealt with. Alex didn’t like to think how many men and women there might have been on board.

  They entered a room filled with electronic equipment from floor to ceiling. Hugely sophisticated computers stood next to elaborate telephone and radar systems with banks of buttons, switches and blinking lights. Even the ceiling was covered with machinery. Alex realized he was standing in the communications centre of Air Force One. Someone must have been working there when Cray took over the plane. The door wasn’t locked.

  “Nobody at home,” Cray said. “I’m afraid they weren’t expecting visitors. We have the place to ourselves.” He took the flash drive out of his pocket. “This is the moment of truth, Alex,” he said. “This is all thanks to you. But do, please, stay very still. I don’t want to kill you until you’ve seen this, but if you so much as blink, I’m afraid I may have to shoot you.”

  Cray knew what he was doing. He laid the gun on the table next to him so that it would never be more than a few centimetres from his hand. Then he opened the flash drive and plugged it into a socket in the front of the computer. Finally he sat down and tapped out a series of commands on the keyboard.

  “I can’t explain exactly how this works,” he said as he continued. “We don’t have time, and anyway I’ve always found computers and all that stuff really dreary. But these computers here are just like the ones in the White House, and they’re connected to Mount Cheyenne, which is where our American friends have their top-secret underground nuclear weapons control centre. Now, the first things you need to set off the nuclear missiles are the launch codes. They change every day and they’re sent to the president, wherever he is, by the National Security Agency. I hope I am not boring you, Alex?”

  Alex didn’t reply. He was looking at the gun, measuring distances…

  “The president carries them with him all the time. Did you know that President Carter actually lost the codes once? He sent them to the dry-cleaner’s. But that’s another story. The codes are transmitted by Milstar – the Military Strategic and Tactical Relay system. It’s a satellite communications system. One set goes to the Pentagon and one set comes here. The codes are inside the computer and…”

  There was a buzzing sound and a number of lights on the control panel suddenly went green. Cray let out a cry of pleasure. His face glowed green in the reflection.

  “…and here they are now. Wasn’t that quick! Strange though it may seem, I am now in control of just about all the nuclear missiles in the United States. Isn’t that fun?”

  He tapped more quickly on the keyboard and for a moment he was transformed. As his fingers danced over the keys, Alex was reminded of the Damian Cray he had seen playing the piano at Earls Court and Wembley Stadium. There was a dreamy smile on his face and his eyes were far away.

  “There is, of course, a fail-safe device built into it all,” he continued. “The Americans wouldn’t want just anyone firing off their missiles, would they! No. Only the president can do it, because of this…”

  Cray took a small silver key out of his pocket. Alex guessed that it must be a duplicate, also provided by Charlie Roper. Cray inserted it into a complicated-looking silver lock built into the workstation and opened it. There were two red buttons underneath. One to launch the missiles. The other marked with two words which were of more interest to Alex. SELF-DESTRUCT.

  Cray was only interested in the first of them.

  “This is the button,” he said. “The big button. The one you’ve read all about. The button that means the end of the world. But it’s fingerprint sensitive. If it isn’t the president’s finger, then you might as well go home.” He reached out and pressed the launch button. Nothing happened. “You see? It doesn’t work!”

  “Then all this has been a waste of time!” Alex said.

  “Oh no, my dear Alex. Because, you see, you may remember that I recently had the privilege – the very great privilege – of shaking hands with the president. I insisted on it. It was that important to me. But I had a special latex coating on my own hand, and when we shook, I took a cast of his fingers. Isn’t that clever?”

  Cray removed what looked like a thin plastic glove from his pocket and slipped it onto his hand. Alex saw that the fingers of the glove were moulded. He understood. The president’s fingerprints had been duplicated onto the latex surface.

  Cray now had the power to launch his nuclear attack.

  “Wait a minute,” Alex said.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re wrong. You’re terribly wrong. You think you’re making things better, but you’re not!” He struggled to find the right words. “You’ll kill thousands of people. Hundreds of thousands of people, and most of them will be innocent. They won’t have anything to do with drugs…”

  “There have to be sacrifices. But if a thousand people die to save a million, what’s so wrong with that?”

  “Everything is wrong with it! What about the fallout? Have you thought what it’ll do to the rest of the planet? I thought you cared about the environment. But you’re going to destroy it.”

  “It’s a price worth paying, and one day the whole world will agree. You’ve got to be cruel to be ki
nd.”

  “You only think that because you’re insane.”

  Cray reached for the launch button.

  Alex dived forward. He no longer cared about his own safety. He couldn’t even protect Sabina. The two of them might be killed, but he had to stop this happening. He had to protect the millions who would die all over the world if Cray was allowed to continue. Twenty-five nuclear missiles falling simultaneously out of the sky! It was beyond imagination.

  But Cray had been expecting the move. Suddenly the gun was in his hand and his arm was swinging through the air. Alex felt a savage blow on the side of his head as Cray struck him. He was thrown back, dazed. The room swam in front of his eyes, and he stumbled and fell.

  “Too late,” Cray muttered.

  He reached out and drew a circle in the air with a single finger.

  He paused.

  Then he stabbed down.

  “FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS”

  The missiles had been activated.

  All over America, in deserts and in mountains, on roads and railways, even out at sea, the launch sequences began automatically. Bases in North Dakota, Montana and Wyoming suddenly went onto red alert. Sirens howled. Computers went into frantic overdrive. It was the start of a panic that would spread in minutes all around the world.

  And one by one the twenty-five rockets blasted into the air in a moment of terrible beauty.

  Eight Minutemen, eight Peacekeepers, five Poseidons and four Trident D5s climbed into the upper atmosphere at exactly the same time, travelling at speeds of up to fifteen thousand miles per hour. Some were fired from silos buried deep under the ground. Some exploded out of specially adapted train carriages. Others came from submarines. And nobody knew who had given the order. It was a billion-dollar fireworks display that would change the world for ever.

  And in ninety minutes it would all be over.

  In the communications room the computer screens were flashing red. The entire operating board was ablaze with flashing lights. Cray stood up. There was a serene smile on his face.

  “Well, that’s it,” he said. “There’s nothing anyone can do now.”

  “They’ll stop them!” Alex said. “As soon as they realize what’s happened, they’ll press a button and all your missiles will self-destruct.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not quite as easy as that. You see, all the launch protocols have been obeyed. It was the Air Force One computer that set the missiles off; so only Air Force One can terminate them. I noticed you eyeing the little red button on the keyboard right here. SELF-DESTRUCT. But I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere near it, Alex. We’re leaving.”

  Cray gestured with the gun and Alex was forced out of the communications room and back down to the main cabin. His head was still hurting where Cray had hit him. He needed to recover his strength. But how much time did he have left?

  Yassen and Sabina were waiting for them. As soon as Alex appeared, Sabina tried to go over to him but Yassen held her back. Cray sank into a sofa next to her.

  “Time to go!” he said. He smiled at Alex. “You realize, of course, that once this plane is in the air, it’s virtually indestructible. You could say it’s the perfect getaway vehicle. That’s the beauty of it. It has over two hundred and thirty miles of wiring inside the frame which is designed to withstand even the pulse of a thermonuclear blast. Not that it would make any difference anyway. If they did manage to shoot us down, the missiles would still find their target. The world would still be saved!”

  Alex tried to clear his head. He had to think straight.

  There were just the five of them on the plane. Sabina, Yassen, Damian Cray and himself – with Henryk in the cockpit. Alex looked out of the main door. The ring of fake American soldiers was still in place. Even if anyone at the airport glanced their way, they would see nothing wrong. Not that that was likely to happen. The authorities must still be concentrating on the cloud of deadly nerve gas that didn’t in fact exist.

  Alex knew that if he was going to do anything – if there was anything he could do – it would have to happen before the plane left the ground. Cray was right. Once the plane was in the air, he would have no chance at all.

  “Close the door, Mr Gregorovich,” Cray commanded. “I think we should be on our way.”

  “Wait a minute!” Alex started to get to his feet but Cray signalled to him to sit down. The gun was in his hand. It was a Smith and Wesson .40, small and powerful with its three and a half inch barrel and square handgrip. Alex knew that it was extremely dangerous to fire a gun on a normal plane. Breaking a window or penetrating the outer skin would depressurize the cabin and make flight impossible. But this, of course, was Air Force One. This was not a normal plane.

  “Stay exactly where you are,” Cray said.

  “Where are you taking us?” Sabina demanded. Cray was still sitting on the sofa next to her. He obviously thought it would be better to keep her and Alex apart. He reached out and ran a finger across her cheek. Sabina shuddered. She found him revolting and didn’t care if he knew it. “We’re going to Russia,” he said.

  “Russia?” Alex looked puzzled.

  “A new life for me. And a return home for Mr Gregorovich.” Cray licked his lips. “As a matter of fact, Mr Gregorovich will be something of a hero.”

  “I rather doubt that.” Alex couldn’t keep the scorn out of his voice.

  “Oh yes. Heroin is smuggled into the country – I am told – in lead-lined coffins, and the border guards simply look the other way. Of course, they’re paid. Corruption is everywhere. Drugs are ten times less expensive in Russia than they are in Europe and there are at least three and a half million addicts in Moscow and St Petersburg. Mr Gregorovich will be ending a problem that has almost brought his country to its knees, and I know that the president will be grateful. So you see, it looks as if the two of us are going to live happily ever after – which, I’m afraid, is more than can be said for you.”

  Yassen had closed the door. Alex watched as he pulled the lever down, locking it. “Doors to automatic,” said Yassen.

  There was a speaker system active in the plane. Everything that was said in the main cabin could be heard in the cockpit. And, sitting at the flight deck, Henryk flicked a switch so that his voice too could be heard throughout the plane.

  “This is your captain speaking,” he said. “Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for take-off.” He was joking: a grisly parody of a real departure. “Thank you for flying with Cray Airlines. I hope you have a pleasant flight.”

  The engines started up. Out of the window Alex saw the soldiers scatter and run back to the trucks. Their work was done. They would leave the airport and make their way home to Amsterdam. He glanced at Sabina. She was sitting very still and he remembered that she was waiting for him to do something. I know things… You have to leave everything to me. That was what he had told her. How very hollow the words sounded now.

  Air Force One was equipped with four huge engines. Alex heard them as they began to turn. They were about to leave! Desperately he looked around him: at the closed door with its white lever slanting down, at the stairway leading up towards the cockpit, at the low tables and neatly arranged line of magazines, at the trolley with its bottles and glasses. Cray was sitting with his legs slightly apart, the gun resting on his thigh. Yassen was still standing by the door. He had a second gun. It was in one of his pockets but Alex knew that the Russian could draw, aim and fire before he had time to blink. There were no other weapons in sight, nothing he could get his hands on. Hopeless.

  The plane jerked and began to pull back from its stand. Alex looked out of the window again and saw something extraordinary. There was a vehicle parked next to the VIP building, not far from the plane. It was like a miniature tractor, with three carriages attached, loaded with plastic boxes. As Alex watched, it was suddenly blown away as if it had been made of paper. The carriages spun round and broke free. The tractor itself crashed onto its side and skidded across the tarmac.
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  It was the engines! Normally a plane of this size would have been towed to an open area out of harm’s way before it began to taxi. Cray, of course, wasn’t going to wait. Air Force One had been put into reverse thrust and the engines – with a thrust rating of over two hundred thousand pounds – were so powerful that they would blow away anything or anyone who came near. Now it was the turn of the VIP building itself. Windows shattered, the glass exploding inwards. A security man had come out and Alex saw him thrown back like a plastic soldier fired from an elastic band. A voice came through on the speakers inside the cabin. Henryk must have connected up the radio so that they could hear.

  “This is air traffic control to Air Force One.” This time it was a man’s voice. “You have no clearance to taxi. Please stop immediately.”

  The stairs that they had climbed to board the plane toppled to one side, crashing onto the tarmac. The plane was moving more quickly now, backing out onto the main apron.

  “This is air traffic control to Air Force One. We repeat: you have no clearance to taxi. Can you please state your intentions…”

  They were out in the open, away from the VIP lounge. The main runway was behind them. The rest of the airport must have been almost a mile away. Inside the cockpit Henryk put the plane into forward thrust, and Alex felt the jolt and heard the whine of the engines as once again they began to move. Cray was humming to himself, his eyes vacant, lost in his own world. But the Smith and Wesson was still in his hand and Alex knew that the slightest movement would bring an instant response. Yassen hadn’t stirred. He also seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts, as if he was trying to forget that this was happening.

  The plane began to pick up speed, heading for the runway. There was a computer in the cockpit and Henryk had already fed in all the necessary information: the weight of the plane, the outside air temperature, the wind speed, the pressure. He would take off into the breeze, now coming from the east. The main runway is nearly four thousand metres long and the computer had already calculated that the aircraft would only need two and a half thousand of them. It was almost empty. This was going to be an easy take-off.