by Graham Guy
Halfway back to the aeroplane, Franco spotted an old abandoned farmhouse with a well off to its side. He pulled up, turned around and drove over to it. “Dump the cylinders in there,” he told Enrico.
“They’re bloody expensive, these things,” he laughed, listening as they dropped to the depths below.
Two hours into their journey, their headlights picked up the twin-engine Cessna. Franco sped across to the aircraft. Josh already had the doors open. The two Italians emptied their vehicle and Franco drove it to the edge of the strip, then ran back to the plane. Gina was about to board when Franco noticed Spanners sitting in the front.
“Sorry, mate, I promised Gina that one.”
“Not a problem,” he said, moving to the rear.
The doors closed, Josh turned over the engines and called, “All in?”
“Go! Go! Go!” yelled Franco.
Josh powered the engines and the little plane was soon winging its way at full speed out of Italian airspace. When he became comfortable, flying only metres above the surface of the ocean, he turned to Gina.
“So… how did it go?”
“OK,” she shrugged as best she could without tipping off the pilot about what he was carrying for a payload.
Franco heard the exchange. “No questions, Josh, all right?”
Josh could tell it was pointless having anything further to say. But he knew at that moment he’d give half a tank of juice to know what was in those bags in the luggage bay. Flying fast and low he couldn’t allow his mind to dwell too much on his cargo. At such low altitude he had to be doubly aware. One false move and the sea would claim them.
* * *
Malta loomed up on the horizon. Josh put the Cessna down and Spanners left to again consult officials. Minutes later he returned. Josh could see the concerned look on his face. “Problems?”
“Big problems!”
“What?” blurted Franco.
“The graft has now doubled.”
“Piss off!” said Gina. “What the fuck do they want now?”
“Another twenty grand and four dollars a gallon.”
Enrico became enraged. “That’s bloody bullshit, Hudson! How do we know you’re not just pocketing the dough and ripping us off?”
“Have it your way, mister. This is where I get off anyway. If you think you can do it better, be my guest. Nice working with you, Josh. See ya round.”
Franco and Gina panicked. They shot their glance to Josh.
“Now what the fuck do we do?”
“I suggest you chase after that man, apologise to him and slip him a couple of grand for his trouble. None of this trip would have been possible without him. And right now, if you don’t want the plane to be searched or impounded, you better be real nice to him, because he’s our ticket out of here. He’s the only one who can get us back onto a legal flightpath to Iraklion. And I’ll tell you another thing. If he told you that’s what it’s going to cost, then you can take that to the bank. It’s up to you,” he told them calmly.
“Call him back Josh… call him back! ” yelled Franco.
Josh called to Spanners. He stopped and turned around. He could see Josh calling him back.
Josh quickly told Franco how much was needed. Franco reefed it from his wallet, then thrust it into Josh’s hand. “Give him that… let’s hope it’s enough.”
“You give it to him, and make sure you bloody apologise.”
Franco climbed from the aircraft and walked towards Spanners. He handed him the money and after a brief exchange returned to the plane.
“How did it go?” Gina asked, urgently.
“Said he’d do what he could, but couldn’t promise anything.”
Josh smiled inwardly. The bugger was going to make them sweat. He also knew that Spanners saw this as his last opportunity to make a fast buck from a group of people who least of all would want to be questioned about their activities.
Besides, Josh thought, he bloody well earned it.
Tensions mounted inside the aircraft as they waited for the fuel tanker to arrive. Spanners was playing this to the very end. It was another ten minutes before fuel was being pumped into the tanks of the Cessna.
Two-and-a-half hours later, the Cessna touched down in Iraklion. The stopover was brief, with just enough time for everyone to stretch their legs. With tanks full, Josh Emery soon had the Cessna in the air and onto a legal flight path at 33,000 feet. As he settled into the journey, he noticed things weren’t going quite right. He pulled back on the power levers and adjusted the RPM controls in an attempt to conserve fuel.
Franco heard the engines cut back. “Problems?” he asked.
“Yeah, fairly major, too. The forecast out of Iraklion was for light winds, but right now we’ve got a bloody doozy. We’re full-on into a major headwind and this will kick the shit out of our fuel supply… even the reserves. Sit tight. I’ll nurse the engines and get what I can out of them. But I don’t think we’ll have enough gas. We may have to go down in the desert.”
“Oh, Jesus, don’t say that. Can we land somewhere else?”
“There is nowhere else. Well, there is, but will your cargo stand a customs check?”
“No fucking way! Shit! What then? Can we ditch stuff and lighten the plane?”
“Open the door at this height and we’ll all be sucked out.”
“What about if we drop down to a couple of hundred feet?”
“If I do that, the turbines will chew the juice twice as quickly as they are now.”
“Well shit, Josh! we can’t just sit here and wait to fucking die!”
Gina, in listening to the conversation, was too terrified to speak. Her face was ashen and she was clenching her fists so tightly her fingernails were almost making her palms bleed. Enrico was bellowing from his seat and it took all of Franco’s level-headedness to keep his brother under some degree of control.
Josh turned to Franco. “I’m just telling you the situation we’re faced with. If I’d known the weather was going to change so dramatically, we wouldn’t have taken off. It’s no-one’s fault. But we gotta lose the headwind. I just can’t see how we’re going to at this point.”
As the flight progressed, Josh became even more concerned about fuel consumption. “We’re about half an hour out at the moment,” he said.
“How much fuel?” Franco asked.
“Twenty-eight minutes.”
“Jesus Christ! Two minutes short,” Franco cursed.
“That’s if everything is spot-on accurate. The wind is picking up. Another ten minutes and that will mean eighteen minutes to touch down but only with fourteen in the tank, including the reserves.”
“Are there emergency ration packs in this thing?” Gina asked.
Josh quickly explained where they were but not to expect a Hilton menu. Enrico was still panicking, bellowing, abusing.
“What are our chances if we ditch?” Franco asked little later, now with panic in his voice.
Josh shook his head. “Not good,” he replied. “These things are only light, you know. Bit like an egg. Put one end to end between the palms of your hands and you won’t break it. But it takes no effort for you to put your finger through its shell. These planes are like that. End to end as tough as nails. But from the side you could put a fist through the fuselage.”
Josh eased back even further on the power levers and made a small adjustment to the RPM controls, keeping his gaze glued to the fuel gauge. “Five minutes from Dubai and on descent,” he called to his passengers. “OK… listen to me everyone. According to the fuel gauge, we’re out of gas! So right now, we’re running on our reputation. Let’s hope Cessna has a good one. We can force land while I still have control of the plane or when the engines cut out. The latter is not the best option. Or we can chance it for the next four minutes and try to land. Your choice.”
All three looked at each other. Gina spoke up. “You decide, Josh. You’ve got us this far. It’s up to you. None of us know shit about flying.”
“I say we chance it. If there’s even one degree of error the right way in the gauge, we’ll make it. So pull your seat belts in a bit tighter, I’ll try and get us onto friendly country.”
Perspiration poured from Josh Emery’s forehead as he listened intently for the slightest hiccup in the engines. Two minutes to landing. He wiped his brow. He knew that to lose power now would mean certain death. One minute. Wheels down.
“Come on, baby!… Come on, baby!… Come on… Come on,” he urged.”
Thirty seconds. Twenty. Ten.
“Come on, baby!”
The sweetest sound Josh had ever heard in his life was the wheels kissing the tarmac. The cheering in the cabin was thunderous. Josh wiped his brow again as he brought the Cessna to a standstill. As he did, the engines cut out. He screamed with delight.
“Whoooah… how close was that?”
After declaring Josh to be an outright genius and thanking their lucky stars a thousand times over, all four enjoyed putting their feet back onto mother earth. As none was prepared to leave the plane unattended, each took turns to quickly take care of their personal needs and return to the aircraft.
After refuelling, with tanks now brimming, it wasn’t long before Josh again had the Cessna on a recognised flightpath at 33,000 feet. Nervous energy saw Gina chat away endlessly to Josh and, in the hours that followed, she appeared to talk about every movie she and her friends had ever seen. Franco wished she’d shut up as he was trying to sleep, but consoled himself in knowing that at least it was movies she was talking about and not the cargo. The remainder of the flight passed without incident. Just after passing Kupang in West Timor, Josh again spoke to his passengers.
“I told you before we left that we’ll need to pull out the smoke and mirrors if we’re to get over the Australian coastline undetected. That time has now arrived, so just ignore what I say on the radio, because I’m going to have to drop down under the radar.”
He spoke to Control in both Darwin and Kupang and explained that whilst everything was OK, he did have a pressurisation problem and needed to descend to a lower level. Josh told Control he’d damaged a seal on the rear door and the explanation was accepted.
“Home free,” he told everyone.
“Yeeesss! ” exclaimed Gina.
“You bastards gonna tell me now what it was I risked my neck for?”
Franco patted him on the shoulder, “Not a chance, good buddy. Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.”
Josh laughed. “How long before we’re down?” Enrico asked.
“Twenty minutes,” Josh told him.
Gina cast a glance over her shoulder at Enrico. “Franco.”
He leaned into her.
“Is everything cool?” she whispered.
“Sure, babe.”
“Him?” referring to Enrico.
“Not a problem.” Then leaning into her ear. “He thinks he’s got the shotgun, but I’ve got it. I slipped it into my bag. Don’t worry, if he tries anything, shoot the bastard next time. But he won’t.”
“Couple of minutes, folks, and we’re down,” Josh called.
“You reckon Luigi will be there?” Enrico asked.
Franco looked at his watch. “He’ll be there,” he said reassuringly.
“Coming up, folks… any sign of Luigi?”
Everyone looked out of their windows.
“Told you so,” said Franco. “He’s there. Down the other end on the right.”
“Got him,” said the pilot.
“Do a sweep, Josh,” said Franco. “I want to take a look around.”
Luigi waved as the plane passed low overhead.
“OK?” said Josh. “Looks perfectly all right to me… anyone see anything… any problems?”
Gina and Enrico agreed the coast was clear.
“Take her in, Josh… and let me say on behalf of all of us, thank you. When we leave in a minute you’ll probably never see us again. If you do, please don’t recognise us. The rest of your money will be left in the luggage bay. It’s in American dollars, but I’m sure if you’re careful, you won’t have a problem with that. The aeroplane is yours to do with what you will.”
Josh looked at him. “I trust you. If the money’s not there, I’ll take off again and land the bastard right on top of your fucking vehicle.”
“I reckon you would too.” Franco smiled. “We give you our word you won’t have to do that.”
“Here we go, folks,” Josh called. “The Flight of Dreams from Portofino is now landing, ladies and gentlemen. Please remain seated until the aircraft comes to a standstill and the fasten seatbelts lights are turned off.”
His passengers seemed to enjoy the light relief. As the Cessna’s wheels touched down, Gina again let forth with, “Yeeees! ” Josh brought the aircraft to a stand-still, spun it round and taxied back to Luigi as he stood waiting by his four-wheel-drive. It was ten minutes after their planned arrival time of ten a.m. The sun was just beginning to have an impact on the day. The skies were clear. There was no wind.
There was an eagle high on the wing.
* * *
McLoughlin’s phone rang.
“Is that Signor Mareschallo Ken McLoughlin?” came a polite, but inquiring Italian accent.
“Yes, it is,” he grunted abruptly.
“Aah, at last! My kingdom for your phone number. Might I say if my endeavours to find you had dragged on any longer it may well have come to that…”
“Who is this?” McLoughlin demanded, raising his voice.
“My name is Bruno Formicella. I think for the purposes of this phone call it’s best if I call you Phillipe.”
Chapter 17
As Georgette McKinley stood at the gates of Buckingham Palace, she could have sworn she felt the ghosts of past Kings and Queens pass through her veins. She turned to Bill Murphy.
“This is so awe-inspiring. To stand here in the footprints of history is so overwhelming. We read about it, we see pictures of it… it’s on the telly… we see it in the movies, but we don’t really do we? You’ve simply got to stand here and absorb it if you want to take it all in. The guards, the horses, the uniforms, the ceremony of it all. Oh, wow! This is London. Thank you for bringing me here,” she gushed.
Bill Murphy was a little taken aback at Georgette’s enthusiasm, and the fact that the ‘old dart’ could still affect people in such a way. The two had been absorbing the Palace for what Bill felt was an extended period. Big Ben struck the hour.
“You feel like lunch at the Ritz or do you want to stay a bit longer?”
Without shifting her eyeline she told him she would like to stay another few minutes. Bill Murphy didn’t mind. His enjoyment was seeing the pleasure the young woman got from being so close to the pulse of England. He lit a cigarette and backed away to a seat nearby. Georgette didn’t even notice he’d moved. She stood at the gates, close to the guard with his bearskin hat and let the grandness of the occasion flow over her. She was totally enthralled. Several minutes had passed when she glanced one way, then the other. Quickly she turned round thinking Bill had moved away. From where he was sitting, he raised an arm and waved to her. Georgette went to him and sat down beside him.
“You’re having fun aren’t you?” he smiled.
Georgette shook her head and held out her arms. “Do you think we’ll see the Queen on the balcony?” She giggled. “Oh, I’m sorry! Here I am rattling on. Lunch! Yes! It’s lunch time. Big Ben said so,” she giggled again.
As they walked together, taking the long way to 150 Piccadilly, Georgette’s mind reflected on how she actually got to be in London with Bill Murphy.
When George Hanks handed Georgette the letter in the newsroom as her working day was coming to an end, she flicked it over to see if there was a return address. There wasn’t. She ran a letter opener across the top and withdrew the contents.
Dear Miss McKinley,
Your presence is required aboard QF1 to London next Saturday morning. Upon arrival at Heathr
ow airport you will be chauffeur driven by limousine to The Ritz Hotel on Piccadilly. Single room accommodation has been booked in your name for six nights, before boarding QF320 the following Saturday to return to Sydney.
Tickets have also been obtained for you to see Agatha Christie’s Mouse Trap. If you feel you would like to indulge yourself for a few days in a far-off land, which could include activities such as romantic dinners, shopping at Harrods, riding in a horse and carriage through the streets of London plus other wonderful and exotic pastimes like a quick dining and shopping excursion to Paris, please contact Mr Bill Murphy immediately at the number shown at the bottom of this invitation.
Georgette sat looking at the letter, her jaw wide open.
George Hanks walked over to her. “My god, has someone died? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Georgette’s hands dropped to her desk as she shook her head in disbelief at what she’d read. Her face broke into a broad grin. “This,” she said, holding up the letter, “is an invitation to go to London for a week, staying at the bloody Ritz of all places.”
“Lucky girl!” he exclaimed. “Who from?”
“An anonymous donor,” she answered wryly.
“Yeah, pig’s arse!” George Hanks said. He was about to enlarge upon his comments when Georgette snapped him up.
“You’ll see. Now, excuse me please, I have a phone call to make.”
* * *
When Bill Murphy called for Georgette she greeted him at her door dressed in a long, flowing, green, soft-silk gown with full-length sleeves. The neckline, leaving half of each breast exposed, plunged to just above the waist, gathered in full around her hips and joined with a large brooch a little below her navel. The gown flowed evenly to drop half way down the heels of her diamanté stilettos. At the front, the split in the middle rose halfway up her thighs. Since arriving in London, Georgette’s feet hadn’t touched the ground. Now they rose just that little bit higher.
Bill Murphy was stunned. “Fucking hell, Georgette! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more sensational in my life. You could’ve warned me! How am I supposed to sit opposite you all night with you looking like that?”