Sky Ship

by Robert P McAuley

  Dan climbed out of the hatch on the interior side of the tank. He simply flopped down, wet and beat. Out of the shadows a figure ran to him.

  “Honey are you all right?” asked Jennifer as she hugged him.

  “Fine baby, fine,” he said with a shiver.

  “Come on, let’s get back to our room, I’ve laid out some of the other coveralls and we’ll re-bandage you.” He felt for the pistol and was relieved to find it still tucked in his belt. She stood and he rested his arm over her shoulder as he limped down the walkway.

  Dressed and with new bandages, Dan stood and tested his leg. “Oww! That smarts.” He looked at Jennifer and grinned, “As I said, hon, we have their full attention now.” Let’s take a walk, I want to see if we can find some other weapon besides this one bullet gun.”

  They left the room and walked the walkways, stopped at each workstation and toolbox. Finally, Dan opened one and came out with a flare gun. “Pay dirt!” he said, as he opened the barrel. He took some flares from the toolbox, inserted one in the gun and pocketed the rest.

  Karim vented helium from the various gasbags and finally got the airship back down to the altitude that the gas would disperse best at. He concentrated on his course as the intercom buzzed and he picked it up. “Control room,” he said.

  “Karim, you dumped ballast?” Karim looked at the colonel before he answered, “It is Said. He is locked in the engine room.”

  Aziz just waved as he dismissed him.

  Karim keyed the mike, “Yes, Said. What is it?”

  “Why?”

  “It was necessary, Said. Don't be concerned. Are the engines well?”

  “When is someone going to let me out of here – the stinking piss is making me sick!”

  “Soon, Said, soon,” the pilot answered, “Are the engines operating well?”

  Said angrily flicked off the intercom.

  Karim looked at the dead mike and put it down. He noticed the colonel still stood watch, at the front of the gondola.

  Inside room number one, everyone looked gloomy. Rain ran down the angled windows in rivulets, and there was no telling where the horizon began and the sky ended in the darkness. Jim stared out. Bill Neilson came up behind him. “You okay, Jim?”

  “Yes,” answered the big man with a grin on his ruddy face. “I'm okay. Thanks. How are you two holding up?”

  Bill rested a comforting hand on Jim's shoulder, “We’ll be fine.” He then returned to his wife's side.

  Jim decided it was time to say what they were all probably thinking. He turned to address the passengers in a low voice. “Everyone, please gather round me, I don’t want to say this too loud.” He waited until they gathered around him then continued. “I- I know that our security man, Dan is trying the best he can to help us. But we- we must consider the alternatives, just in case-just in case, Dan ... doesn't make it.”

  Levon nodded and turned to the rest of them. “Us guys will have to rush the guards. It's our only chance. And, we can make a difference, remember those people on that flight on 9-11? They made a difference, and we can too.”

  Jim spoke again as he noticed some of the people just became aware that all was not as they thought it was. “I'm afraid Levon's right. We really don't have much-“

  There was a low beep from the washroom.

  “Lord! Was that the . . . ?”

  Claire said as she ran into the washroom, “The walkie-talkie!” She got it and brought it to Jim.

  Jim keyed the mike and said still in a low voice, “Dan, are you okay?”

  The flight is up on the computer screen as Dan sat and looked at it. Jennifer was re-bandaging his ankle back in the Auxiliary Control Room.

  “Yeah Jim, I’m okay. Just did a couple of laps in the pool; feel like a-Ouch! - like a million bucks.” He got serious and continued, “Jim, I took out one more, but that's as much as I could do. We're still gonna be over Miami in just . . . ” he looked at Jennifer with raised eyebrows. She checked the computer, “Fifty--three minutes.”

  Dan relayed this to Jim. “Fifty-three minutes Jim, unless we think of something real fast.”

  “Laddie, I did think of something, but I'm not sure it'll do us much good.”

  “Jim,” Dan answered, “give it to me. I’ll try anything at this point.”

  “If you can go to the Auxiliary Control Room . . .”

  “That's where we are right now, Jim.”

  “You are? Good! At the very rear of the room, there’s a ladder that goes straight up to the hydraulic actuator, which swings the big rudder right or left. Go up the ladder, lad, and tell me when you are there, I’ll wait.”

  “Will do, boss,” Dan said as he put the Walkie-talkie in his pocket. He got off the cot and winced as he said to Jennifer as she helped him up, “Honey, when this is over, please never ask me to paint the house again. I never want to see another ladder again as long as I . . . well, I just never want to see another ladder again.”

  Dan looked up from the foot of the ladder. A dim maintenance Led light showed a box of sorts at the top. “I’d say it’s about thirty feet up.” He shook his head and started to climb up as Jennifer stood at the bottom.

  “Oww!” He mumbled to himself, “Jim, can’t you guys put a few elevators in, here and there?” Finally, he arrived at a large yellow steel box with a door on it, attached to the rudder’s wall. Printed on the door are the words, ‘RUDDER TEST UNIT.’ He held on with one hand as he removed the Walkie-talkie from his pocket. He keyed Jim and said, “Jim, I’m at the box, should I open it?” After a moment of silence, he said, “Jim?” He starred at the Walkie-talkie as he waited for Jim’s answer.

  Jennifer called up, “Dan, what’s wrong?”

  “Dunno hon, there’s a sudden lapse of communications.

  The door of Jim’s room was flung open and Ali entered. Jim stood stiffly, the walkie-talkie at his feet. He nudged it under a chair and thought, Danny Boy, don’t call me now. Please don’t beep me now, laddie.

  Ali stood with his weapon pointed at the group when out in the hallway Harun called him.

  “Ali, here. In this room. Come.”

  Ali gave a sneer to the group in Jim’s room and slammed the door shut.

  Jim quickly retrieved the walkie-talkie, went into the washroom and keyed Dan. “Dan! Come in boy.”

  Dan was at the bottom of the ladder and rubbed his knee when the communication piece beeped in his pocket. “Jim! What happened?”

  “Sorry lad. The bloody bastards seem to be up to something, going from room to room. Now, lad, are you at the box?”

  Dan shook his head as he answered him. “Not at the moment, Jim. You have to just give me a sec and I’ll be back up there.” He waved a finger at the walkie-talkie and continued, “Now, you just stay right there Jim.” He went back up and soon was at the box. Once again he held on with one hand and keyed Jim back with the other. “Hey, James, I’m here at the box. What’s next?”

  “Listen carefully, Dan. It’s the rudder test unit. Its purpose is to give the engineers a device to calibrate the amount of movement the rudder should have at various speeds. You don’t want that big rudder to slam left or right so fast that all the passengers will be bounced around. This allows that movement to be, nice and slow. Got that?”

  Dan nodded, “Yep, got it. Do I open the door now?”

  “Yes. I want you to become familiar with it, although I don’t know how we can use it against those bastards.”

  Dan opened the inspection door and with the help of the Led light saw a red lever. Stenciled on the wall behind the lever were three settings; LEFT, CENTER, and RIGHT. He keyed Jim again, “Hey boss, it looks simple, and the lever is set on the center.”

  “Right Dan. If a technician wanted to test the swing, he’d push the lever to the right or left and the rudder would swing that way.”

  Dan bit his lip, “Fast?”

  “Fast?” answered a puzzled Jim. “Fast what, lad?”

  Dan came back, “I mean, w
hen the lever is pointed to the left or right, does the rudder move fast in that direction?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Jim, “very fast.”

  “Outside of Jim’s room, Harun held a sheet of paper. He pointed to a name on it as he addressed Ali. “He’s in room number four. That one,” as he turned and pointed to the room. “The person is Caputo. The colonel would like to use a well known name.”

  Besides Richard Caputo, there were seven people in room number four. Kevin and Kathleen Glancy who were on their honeymoon. Patty Gelardi, a writer who looked at this trip as a basis for a novel, Frank Belli, a New Yorker who made it big in the plumbing business and his brother-in-law, Gerry Sullivan, a retired New York City Courts Officer. Lastly were two feisty sisters, Mary and Rita Reilly, who traveled the world together since winning the Lottery five years earlier. They could hear the commotion outside of their door and all stood and faced it as it opened and Harun put his head in.

  Mary Reilly stepped forward and said, “What do you want in here? Are you trying to put another soccer game together?”

  Her sister, Rita moved in front of her and tapped the terrorist on his chest as she said, “If you want trouble, try it on me shithead!”

  The terrorists were shocked that a woman would ever talk to them in this tone of voice and both were stunned into inaction.

  Jerry Sullivan quickly stepped in between the sisters and Harun and as he turned his back to the terrorist said, “Ladies, these people will kill for the fun of it.”

  Harun started to say something when Colonel Aziz entered the room. He wore a big grin on his face as he said, “Temper, temper. Ladies, I couldn’t help but hear what you said, and believe me, my men just wanted a friendly game of soccer, but those two brash young men attacked them.” He opened his hands as he shrugged his shoulders, believe me, they were shot in self defense.” Now,” he clasped his hands together as he continued, “To show you that we mean you no harm, unless we are attacked, we have taken the time to prepare a sumptuous meal which we would like to share with you. Unfortunately, there is not enough for every-one, so, after reading the passenger’s list, I selected whom I believe is a connoisseur of fine foods.” He looked at Caputo and with the same smile said, “Now whom do I think I have chosen, Mr. Caputo?”

  Tony Caputo, the Deli King, stepped forward and with a shy smile said, “If this is the type of cooking that you do in your country mister, uh, mister . . . umm, colonel, I wouldn't mind trying it. Perhaps I can give you some advice? After all, as you know, I am called the Deli-King.”

  The rest of the passengers look at him with disbelief on their faces.

  Aziz saw their looks and just grinned. He put his arm around Caputo’s shoulder and said, “Come Mr. Caputo, let us sit you in the passenger lounge so that you may embrace the meal as it should be embraced, with white linen and silverware. Come with us.”

  They left the room and Ali grabbed the doorknob, winked at Mary Reilly who recoiled in disgust as he slammed the door shut.

  The colonel and Ali walked down the hallway and entered the passenger’s lounge. A place had been set for one, at the corner table. Next to it was a silver-serving cart with a silver, covered serving bowl. There was china and cutlery set out on the white tablecloth plus a fine crystal vase with flowers in it. Colonel Aziz pulled out a chair and beckoned Caputo to sit.

  “Please, Mr. Caputo, sit.”

  Caputo sat and let the colonel push the chair in. He took the linen napkin and tucked it in his shirt collar and asked, “What are we having?”

  The colonel nodded at Ali and the terrorist lifted the top from the silver, serving bowl.

  Caputo’s eyebrows arched and he exclaimed, “Oh, chicken and rice! I love chicken and rice!” He looked at the two men and said, “You see, we are not so different after all! I mean how different can our countries be if we both like chicken and rice?” He lifted the fork as he continued, “I for one am glad the government saw your point of view. Maybe we can arrange to have a ‘Caputo’s Deli’ in your country.”

  “Perhaps,” answered a smirking Aziz as he stood behind him. He then motioned for Ali to serve the man.

  Ali served Caputo a heaping serving and turned and presented a bottle of wine for Caputo.

  “Uh, do you have root beer? My doctor tells me I have to abstain from any kind of alcohol. Not good for my stomach.” He turned and grinned at Aziz, and finished with, “You know, got to follow the doctors orders.”

  Aziz laughed and raised his eyebrows as he looked at Ali, “Of course. We must follow the doctor’s orders. After all, he wants to keep us alive as long as possible so we can give him money to get rich on.” He waved towards the beverage cart, “Ali! Root beer! Please get Mr. Caputo root beer.”

  Caputo scooped up some rice and a chunk of chicken and stuffed it in his mouth. He sat back, closed his eyes and said as he chewed, “Mmm. The picante sauce is outstanding.”

  Still behind him, Colonel Aziz said, “Mr. Caputo, of all the people aboard I picked you for this meal because I knew you would appreciate it the most. I hope you are enjoying it?” He paused as the man stuffed another piece of chicken in his mouth and nodded yes. He then continued. “Perhaps, in return for this nice meal, you’d do a small favor for me?”

  Ali poured a glass of soda and Caputo took a large drink of it. He wiped his mouth with the napkin around his neck and asked, “What’s that?”

  Aziz now stepped out from behind Caputo, and with his hand holding his elbow, rubbed his chin as he paced in front of the table. “There’s a gentleman named Dan on the ship and he’s been causing a lot of trouble. He refuses to believe that we are all returning safely home. Would you talk to him for me?”

  “Sure,” said the heavy man as he stuck his fork into another piece of meat, ”Where is he?”

  Aziz clicked on an intercom near where the table had been set up. “Dan, are you listening? I have a passenger here, a Mister Tony Caputo. He wishes to speak with you. Go ahead, Mr. Caputo.”

  Caputo looked at the intercom not sure what to say or do. He wiped his mouth again, took another sip of soda and mumbled, “Uh, hi, Dan…” He turned to colonel and whispered, “Is he there?”

  Aziz said as he shook his head, “I have a feeling he is. Go ahead, Mr. Caputo.”

  “Well . . . ‘uh, Dan, just wanna let you know, we’re all goin’ home safe and sound. Mister . . . “ Caputo looked at Aziz and said, “Uh, what’s your name again colonel?”

  “Colonel Aziz,” he said as he rubbed his temples.

  Caputo continued, “Mister Aziz is even giving me a real nice meal here; it's a chicken-and-rice dish in a picante sauce. Absolutely delicious - and I should know: I'm Tony Caputo, the owner of Caputo's Delis - you know, the chain of almost a thousand delicatessens.”

  Back in the Auxiliary Control Room, Dan and Jennifer listened with grim expressions. “He’s up to no good, hon,” said Dan as they both looked at the speaker.

  Colonel Aziz spoke next; his voice had a triumphant sound to it. “Did you hear that, Dan? Mister Caputo wants you to come up to the front of the ship. Come to the front, or Mister Caputo will never enjoy a delicious meal like this again.”

  The small room suddenly filled with Caputo’s voice that went noticeably higher. “Huh? Why would you say something like that, mister, I mean colonel?”

  The colonel ignored Caputo’s question and looked directly at the intercom. “You understand, Dan don't you? Surrender, or Mister Caputo will be just another dead chicken.”

  Dan stood and pounded the locker door with his bandaged fist. “Damn him! Damn them all!” he said through clenched teeth.

  Jennifer stood and grabbed him. “Dan! There's nothing we can do - he planned to kill us all anyway. It's more mind games, Dan, don’t give him the edge.”

  He sat back down on the cot and put his face in his hands. “I know . . . I know.”

  Once again Caputo’s voice came through the intercom. “What are you- what are you doing with that? Please!” />
  Aziz’s voice followed coldly and threatening. “Only Dan can save you now.”

  A louder, terrified Caputo was heard next. “Dan! Dan, please save me!”

  “Mister Caputo is almost finished with his meal, Dan.”

  “Don’t shoot me! Please! God, please don’t!” the heavy man pleaded.

  “Please, Mister Caputo,” said Aziz. “You must ask Dan to . . . “

  The Deli owner screamed, “Dan! Dan, help me! Please help me!”

  “Too late, Mister Caputo. Dan is once again thinking only of himself. The meal is over.” The single word, “No!” came over the sound system, followed by an explosive; BLAM! Then, dead silence as communications were cut off from the passenger’s lounge.

  Dan sat a moment then stood and grabbed the bow and arrow, the flare gun, checked the gun’s last bullet once again and said in a determined voice. “Caputo may just be the first. For all we know he plans on killing them all to get to me. We have to go out and try something.”

  They left the room and went up to the center walkway. Dan turned to Jennifer and said, “Keep back, babe, I’m going to talk to Jim and the passengers.”

  She grabbed his arm and he spun to face her. “No! I’m not staying back! It’s you and me, Dan.” She pulled her hair back and tied it in a small knot as a sign of determination. “You’re going to need all the help you can get, McKee and right now that’s me, so, let’s get on with it. Okay?”

  Dan grinned in spite of the circumstances. “Okay, lady, like you said, let’s get on with it.” They started to move forward again when the sound of the trolley’s electric motor broke the silence of the interior. Dan quickly grabbed Jennifer and they hid behind a girder alongside the walkway. Dan pulled out the pistol and waited. Jennifer squeezed his arm as the trolley stopped at the end of the track, ten feet from them. Dan peeked out of the girder’s shadow, stared a moment then turned to his wife and whispered, “Stay here, hon, just wait here for me.” He started out and she stepped out behind him. He turned to say something, and she glared at him. He shrugged his shoulders and they both approached the trolley.