Starr emerged from the doorway moving briskly. He had the walk of a New Yorker once again.
“Thanks Daniel,” he said, as he slid into the rear seat and slammed the door. “I was hoping you’d take pity on my driving, and there could be trouble up ahead from what the nurse just told me. I suppose we’d better move fast.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The same kind as a few nights ago, I’m afraid. Soldiers are still looking for the man from the bar fight. That’s you.”
O’Brien snapped the stick into first gear and let out the clutch. The wheels spun in a cloud of rocks and red dust. The Rover’s engine had huge torque, and from now on he’d skip the lower gear. He mashed the stick into second and they rocked back in the seats as the tires caught the edge of the pavement and the car hurtled forward. The vehicle was noisy but it handled a lot easier than a Humvee. He increased the speed to sixty-five. The shoulders of the pavement consisted of steep drop-offs of loose gravel and dirt. Low, sparse, jungle scrub ran alongside the roadbed.
O’Brien glanced back quickly at Starr. “Does this blood reprisal stuff never end? I mean, the Mafia could take lessons from these people.”
“This about the fight you guys told me about?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah,” O’Brien said. “Earlier that same night we picked you up at the hotel.”
Gina added, “Daniel almost killed some guy, a soldier at a bar.” She reached out and touched O’Brien on the back of the neck.
“Way to go,” Lucy said. “I’m impressed.”
“In answer to your question, Daniel…no, it never ends,” Starr explained. “The whole rabble of this fellow’s army friends have been looking for Daniel. They especially want to get back at a white guy. Loss of face and all that.”
“Nice,” Lucy muttered over the noise of the car.
“The beer was good. You should have been there, Lu.”
“I would have rather,” she said.
O’Brien sharpened his tone. “There’s a fork in the road ahead. Tell me something, Gary.”
“Left. Take a left,” Starr said, as though deciding.
O’Brien nodded as he slowed and prepared to exit onto a dirt road. “Let’s stay ahead of these turns.”
“I’m not used to moving this fast. And, Daniel, we’re going to be on dirt roads now until we reach the vicinity of the airport.”
No one spoke for a time and O’Brien settled into silence. The landscape began to change. The sparse greenery of the higher foothills gave way to thicker jungle in the terrain closer to the airport. Rain showers had moved through overnight and the roads in the lower elevation were damp with water in the potholes. The car was nimble, and he found it easy to sidestep puddles and ruts in the road.
After a long while Starr sounded from the backseat. “We’re close, Daniel. About a mile further on and we should be on the airport property. There isn’t much here, as you and Lucy probably remember.”
The road took a sharp bend through a grove of palm trees, and O’Brien recognized the deep, fresh treads of jeep tires in the sandy loam. At least two vehicles had entered the airport area earlier in the morning.
He downshifted as they approached the paved section of the terminal ramp. International funding had evidently run out as abruptly as the sharp edge of white concrete ahead of them. O’Brien bumped over the concrete lip and surveyed the jeep tracks ahead of them. A pairs of lines ran for fifty yards on the surface of the road, then gradually disappeared as the mud and sand fell away from the tires. The trail led straight to the dilapidated passenger building.
The front half of the 737 was plainly in view beyond the war-torn structures. The airplane was parked exactly where they’d left it three days before. Behind the airplane O’Brien could see the sleek, shiny tail of a red Learjet.
“I see Trump is paying us a visit,” Lucy said. “Maybe I’ll just ask him for a ride to New York.”
“Good luck on that,” O’Brien said. “That plane’s got to belong to the maintenance chief. An asshole named Cottingham. Even Gina butted heads with him over the phone. He was really, really pushing us to get away two days ago.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know.” O’Brien shook his head. “More mystery about this entire operation.”
“What operation?” Gina spoke from the backseat.
“These old airplanes and everything about the way these charters are managed. It’s not like anything Lucy and I have ever seen or worked with before, but we’ll have plenty of time to discuss it once we get airborne and away from here.”
“I’m all for that,” Lucy said.
Starr’s voice tensed. “We may have company up ahead.”
O’Brien nodded. “I see the jeep. I hope someone on our side has a weapon. Otherwise, we may never get out of this place.”
“If they’re Koroma’s men we’ll be okay.” Starr said.
“Just how exactly do you know these guys, Gary?” O’Brien asked. He glanced back into Starr’s mirrored sunglasses with a new thought: He positively, absolutely did not trust a man who covered his eyes.
Lucy’s voice had an urgent tone. “Let’s go back, Daniel. We can come back another day with a UN escort.”
“Why don’t we play this out a little further,” Starr said. “Everything seemed to work out when we arrived the other day. Besides, the other guy over there has a private jet…”
Gina voiced alarm. “Why can’t we just turn around and go back like Lucy says?”
“Too late for that,” O’Brien said. “We’ve got a jeep with a mounted machine gun behind us.”
Three soldiers sat upright in the trailing vehicle like wooden figures in a child’s Tonka truck. To O’Brien’s mind they looked stupid, but the image was definitely at odds with the lethal threat they represented. The jeep kept pace along the circular drive until the road ended in a pile of broken concrete. O’Brien turned to the right through what had once been a gated entry point to the ramp, except there was no longer a gate, and the guardhouse was reduced to rubble. As he rounded the corner of the terminal building the entire airfield came into his field of vision.
On the far side of the ramp, the remains of several wrecked Soviet helicopters were being absorbed piece by piece into the thick undergrowth. Overturned military vehicles dotted the border of the asphalt where they had been pushed off the hard surface. And lastly, the twisted carcass of an ancient DC-3 airplane was planted in a pile off one end of the runway. Dull aluminum wing panels along with a faded blue and white tail section protruded from blackened remains. O’Brien whistled softly. The pilot had almost made it. His approach had been exactly in line with the centerline of the runway. Only the final detail of the landing needed work.
Their Boeing 737 was parked directly ahead and one hundred yards away. Cottingham’s bright-red Learjet sat parallel to the larger airplane. Between the two aircraft a group of armed men stood in the hot sun watching their approach.
“Heads up! We have a welcoming committee,” O’Brien said, keeping his voice even. He was not nearly as calm as he was trying to project, but turning the car around and flooring it back to the medical compound was not an option. They’d never make it, and Starr and Gina would probably die in a hail of rifle bullets ripping through the back windshield. He slowed the Rover to a walking pace. It was, as his instructors used to say, a fluid situation.
“Who are these men?” Gina spoke in a voice as brittle as thin ice.
O’Brien counted the men as they edged closer. “I’ve seen one of the soldiers before,” he said, “from the night we picked up Lucy at the hotel.” Unless another punk playing at being a soldier was inside the airplane—which he doubted, the interior would be too hot on the ramp—the total only made three armed Liberians. Add the three in the jeep and that made six soldiers to deal with. He shifted his attention to the Learjet.
Slouching beside Cottingham’s airplane were two men with pilot wings on their shirts. O’Brien knew the type. Their flying
experience probably consisted of running drugs and arms. These two had upgraded to better flying positions, but their faces still had the look of men who could trade shots of paint thinner at a bar without blinking. They were making an attempt at appearing casual, but it was difficult since they both had their fingers through the trigger guards of MAC 10s.
He came to a halt in front of the group, ensuring enough clearance for the wingtip of the 737 to taxi clear if it came to that. He killed the ignition and for a fraction of a second no one moved.
“Everybody has a gun,” Starr remarked, as if he was not surprised.
“Except us,” O’Brien said. His voice came out as dry as sandpaper. “Lucy,” he said, “there may be some urgency in this and—”
“No shit, Daniel!” Her eyes were wide and her voice wavered.
“As soon as you can do it, get everyone inside—screw the luggage—and start the APU. When it’s online start the engines. Don’t take time to preflight anything, just start the fucking engines.”
“Daniel, what are we doing?” Gina blurted over his shoulder.
“Set the flaps for takeoff,” O’Brien said to Lucy, “and get everything ready to fly.” He covered Gina’s hand with his for an instant. “We’re going to get out of here, Gina. Everyone. Trust me.” He took a deep breath and opened the door.
The welcoming committee moved forward as a group. It might have been a ribbon cutting ceremony for a new mayor, except that this looked more like a hanging party. A tall man in a suit moved ahead of the others. The guy had to be Cottingham. O’Brien heard the doors of the Rover slam behind him.
The tall man spoke. “O’Brien?” He stepped closer without offering his hand.
O’Brien nodded. “You Cottingham?”
The man gave no indication he’d heard. He was tall and hatchet-faced with beads of sweat already visible on his forehead. “It’s my job to get you and your co-pilot on this airplane and out of here,” he said. “And thanks to your bloody procrastination the last couple of days we’ve got some problems to deal with.” Cottingham waved his hand indicating the armed Liberians and the jeep at the edge of the ramp. “They’re not friends of mine, nor I assume yours.”
O’Brien motioned Lucy forward and she started towards the airplane with the others in tow. “That’s my co-pilot,” he said. “The rest are medical personnel transferring out of here. We’ll be ready as soon as we can get onboard.”
“Next time you fucking well—” Cottingham took a step forward and shot the back of his hand towards him. O’Brien anticipated the movement: a weight shift, a twist in his torso. When the hand eventually came forward O’Brien had the sense he was watching it in slow motion. He batted it away with a quick forearm block almost without thinking. He adjusted his own stance and looked back calmly at the sweating Englishman.
The two pilots pushed off the Learjet. One raised the stock of his machine pistol.
“I think we’ve already had this discussion,” O’Brien said.
Cottingham pulled the corner of his mouth into a grimace. “We’ll finish it when I see you in London.”
A tall soldier with a hard countenance pushed Cottingham to the side. “I see that you are the man with the burns responsible to assaulting one of my men,” he said to O’Brien. “You will come with us. I have armed personnel waiting to assist me if you resist.”
O’Brien glimpsed Starr at the bottom of the boarding ladder. He was talking to a soldier wearing the peaked cap of an officer. Both men looked toward O’Brien. The women had already disappeared inside.
The starting whine of the auxiliary power unit onboard the airplane interrupted his thoughts. The noise was almost as loud as the main engines, and O’Brien could sense the ear-splitting effect the noise had on the men. It distracted and dulled the senses, almost as much as if he’d tossed a flash-bang grenade onto the ramp. He took a step toward the soldier and shouted into Cottingham’s ear. “If you want the airplane in London you’d better give us a hand!”
The Englishman scowled and said nothing for an instant. He glanced at his pilots and said to the soldier over the noise, “He’s coming with me.”
The man shook his head and shouted, “He’s in my custody.” He brought his weapon up with one hand and reached for O’Brien with the other.
O’Brien was left with one alternative. He ducked under the man’s outstretched arm and delivered a sharp elbow strike into his rib cage. The soldier grunted heavily and recoiled. He brought the stock of his AK-47 upward in a sweeping arc. O’Brien jinked back and the weapon swept past his face and continued high into the air. The soldier held it there, frozen like a park statue for the blink of an eye as his body jerked in a ripple of spasms. A series of rapid, barely audible pops crackled over the noise of the main engines. O’Brien rolled to the pavement and stared in disbelief as nine millimeter bullets from Cottingham’s pilots smacked into the man’s torso. The Liberian fell slowly, a tree toppling with a hard thump that smacked the surface of the concrete. He turned on his side, stretched a bloody hand over the hot asphalt, and lay still.
Both engines were running now, an overlapping, deafening roar that split the air. O’Brien glanced at the boarding door. Starr was climbing the ladder and the remaining soldiers were running toward a jeep. He was only ten feet from the nose wheel and at that distance Lucy couldn’t see him from the cockpit. He prayed she wouldn’t taxi the airplane over him.
He stood up slowly and was cracked by a hard fist to the jaw. The blow smacked him back to the tarmac with a flash of pain. He staggered to his feet and regarded Cottingham with blurred vision.
“Something to remember me by!” Cottingham yelled. “Now get your ass in that airplane before you get the same treatment as that bloody soldier.” He pointed at the dead man and put his face next to O’Brien’s. “I’ll see you in London in twelve hours.”
O’Brien shook off the blow and gaped at the Englishman. He briefly considered flattening his trachea, but Cottingham’s pilots were too anxious with their automatic weapons. The best he could do for now was board the airplane, and he pressed a hand against his face and hurried toward the steps.
The soldiers in the jeep began pulling the tarp from their pile of assault rifles. The time had come to leave and leave rapidly. O’Brien glanced again at the dead man and sprinted up the stairs.
A lever at the inside station of the entryway controlled the boarding stairs. O’Brien hit the lever at the same time he yelled for Lucy to taxi. With agonizing slowness the stairs retracted into the underside of the fuselage and he latched the boarding door.
Lucy was in the captain’s left seat, the only side that had the small steering wheel for turning the airplane on the ground. O’Brien climbed into the right seat and pulled on his headset. He hit the intercom rocker switch. “All set, Lucy?”
She jerked her head vigorously up and down. “I’ve run through the takeoff checklist. Let’s get the hell out of here!” She advanced the throttles and covered the steering wheel with her left hand.
The airplane rolled forward. Lucy taxied past the Rover and the dead man and increased speed as they headed for the runway. O’Brien scanned to the left and right and caught sight of Cottingham and his pilots scrambling toward their Learjet. The jeep with the armed soldiers was also in view, and in the next instant he beheld a sight he could scarcely believe. One of Cottingham’s pilots was firing his automatic weapon at the jeep. Streams of bullets from the MAC-10s peppered the vehicle before it disappeared behind them.
The wind blew directly off the ocean at the west end of the runway, and they continued along the single paved taxiway leading to the east end of the long takeoff strip. The jeep came speeding towards them from the right along an unpaved access road. Both soldiers were waving their rifles in what O’Brien assumed was an order to stop. The driver cut in front of the 737, drove out onto the runway, and skidded to a stop one hundred yards down the takeoff strip. The Liberians aimed their weapons in their direction.
O’
Brien toggled the intercom switch. “Don’t stop Lucy, we’ll run’em over if we have to!” His mouth was dry and he could feel the muscles in his face twitching.
Lucy turned onto the runway in a fast taxi speed, mashing the toe brakes in a jerky maneuver as she cornered the airplane. “Daniel, we can’t take off!”
“Let’s floor this baby!” O’Brien yelled.
Lucy lined up the jet in the center of the runway, and O’Brien pushed the throttles to the firewall. The roar from the engines was deafening, a tornado of hot gases that sounded like a twister ripping off the back door of a Kansas farmhouse. He scanned the EPR and EGT gauges as they raced to the redline limit and beyond.
A quick glance again at the soldiers told him something wasn’t right. Their aim was slightly off, and in the next instant he realized that they were shooting at the Learjet behind them. He pressed his lips together. “They’re not firing at us Lucy. They’re firing at Cottingham’s Learjet.”
Lucy peered ahead as the airplane gathered speed. “Daniel?”
“Let’s keep going!” Their speed increased rapidly. The jeep was still on the runway.
“We’re going to hit them!” she cried out.
“No we’re not,” he said in a strong voice.
At the last second a blast of dark exhaust shot from the jeep and the rear wheels fishtailed on the concrete in front of the accelerating airplane. O’Brien heard a terrified croak coming from Lucy and he swallowed hard. In a flash the jeep careened from the centerline of the runway and passed beneath the left wing of the airplane. O’Brien bit his tongue and sucked in a breath. He tasted blood.
Seconds later O’Brien blurted the takeoff speeds to Lucy with a coarse voice. After what seemed like two lifetimes the airplane reached the velocity for flight. Lucy eased the control column backward and the ship became airborne.
O’Brien looked down. Lucy climbed the aircraft over the tops of the jungle canopy. Shortly afterward the coastline came into view as it passed beneath them. They waited for the landing gear to retract. The indicator lights blinked from green to orange, and finally to green again before they extinguished, confirming the gear was locked normally into the wheel wells.
Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide? Page 12