Cellular Activity- The Djinn
Page 5
The voice of Janet, comes to life in Thompson's headset communication system. «Sir, we have the confidential file about Alexander Ivanov. I've just sent it to workstation 18.»
«I love you Janet», echoes Thompson, as he leans on the display. «Okay John, let's see what else does the Kremlin have for us.»
The two read a series of data and a few lines of information. It's Ironside talking while Thompson seems concentrated to reread the only page of Ivanov's file. «I'm not convinced about it, Richard. Apparently Ivanov was the most brilliant Russian scientist in the field of research on biological weapons. This one isn't an expert on Ebola, he could very well be the one who created it. Since 1983 we don't know anything about him. Zero, absolute darkness. And then he reappears, right now, and the Russian government sends him straight to us? There's something smelling bad here...»
Thompson turns, just a hint of concern on his face. «I was also in the trenches, like you, John. I recognize the smell of incoming trouble. My friend, keep your eyes open when you get there.»
«Richard», Ironside asks. «What did the President tell you?»
Thompson's look is that of those who have to take hard decisions. «He said that we can't allow anyone to bring a dangerous pathogen on American soil. If the people on board won't respond to our communications, I'm afraid that we're left with just one option. The Russians have foreseen all this, and it's for this reason that they sent their expert to Algeria and not here in America. Get ready now, your jet will take off soon.» Then, to the operator in the intercom, «Janet, put me into contact with the pilots of the F14 after Zaytsev.»
«Yes sir», replies the woman. After a moment she adds: «Captain Hawking on line.»
«Captain Hawking, I'm Secretary Thompson, do you copy?»
«The signal is slightly disturbed, sir, but I hear you.»
«What's the situation?»
«We're after the jet, sir, waiting instructions.»
«Can you see the pilots?»
«Negative sir, the windows of the cockpit are obscured and I can't see anyone through those of the passengers compartment.»
They spend a few seconds, while Thompson thinks of possible alternatives. Then he firmly communicates to the pilots. «Captain Hawking, you're authorized to proceed with the target.»
The pilot's voice is cold and faded from the background noise. «Sir, please repeat. Do you confirm the orders to shoot down the jet?»
«Yes, Hawking, kill that son of a bitch, and make sure that no traces of that plane will be left.»
«Roger», the pilot's answer.
A small group of technicians and soldiers has meanwhile approached the display in front of Thompson. They look at the trio of bright dots, while one of the two green lights runs in a divergent route, and the other seems to slow down, arranging itself behind the red dot. The men hold their breath for long moments, after which the red light goes off.
Thompson's voice is the only sound that breaks the following silence. «Captain Hawking, report!»
«It's gone down, sir, target shot down.»
«Thank you, Captain, take a couple of flybys to verify that the job is clean, then go back to your base. Janet, please get me in contact with the commander of the Boeing.»
Tension hovers in the room, while a few long seconds go by.
«He's online, sir.»
«Commander, do you copy? This is Richard Thompson, Department of Defense of the United States.»
«This is Commander Charles Green, sir, the communication isn't that great, but we copy.»
«Please, listen to me carefully, Commander. There is a very critical situation to manage on your plane.»
«I'm listening, sir.»
«One, or more, of your passengers may be a terrorist carrying a bacteriological weapon.»
Noises of electrostatic discharge in reply.
«Commander, can you hear me?»
Long moments of silence.
«Yes sir. Any suggestion about how to manage the situation?»
«Commander, first of all, I require the utmost discretion. Just follow my instructions and everything will work out in the best possible way. We are sending you a picture of the face of one of the alleged suspects. Warn your crew and start immediately the anti-hijacking procedures. Seal the cockpit and head the plane to the coordinates that we are sending. You'll have to make an emergency landing on a military runway in the Algerian desert. You will wait there for our intervention team. Please, do you confirm you understand the instructions?»
«Confirmed, sir.»
«One last thing, Commander. Two of our F14 will join and escort you to your destination. Don't be alarmed, it's just a standard measure. Good luck!»
«Thank you sir.»
Following a gesture of Thompson, the operator turns off the contact with the Boeing.
«Janet, please do ensure that the aircraft can't communicate with the outside world, apart from us. Then put me in contact with the F-14s after the Boeing.»
After a while, a nasal voice breaks into Thompson headphone. «Captain Clark listening.»
«Captain, this is Richard Thompson. Have you already reached the target?»
«It's twenty-five miles in front of us, we approach from 7 o'clock.»
«Well, Captain, I want you to escort the Boeing to the base CNT222, repeat charlie nine tango two two two. Keep me aware about any alteration of the route, updates every 5 minutes.»
«Roger that, sir.»
Boeing 777
The tanned face of the Commander Green has turned almost unnaturally pale. He updates the co-pilot about the communication just received. The other man listens with a surprised and concerned expression. «Do we have any pictures of the subject?»
«We are receiving them right now. Call Camila, Luis and July. Just them for now.»
The flight takes place quietly i n the passenger deck. Someone is reading a book, two girls about thirteen years old are talking in a low voice with their faces bent over their smartphones, while showing each other the messages they received and keeping an eye on the flight-attendant. Some people takes a nap with night-blue colored mask over their eyes.
Almost no one pays attention to the voice of the co-pilot. His tone is calm and quiet, calling the staff in the cabin, as requested by Green.
The three women gather silently, converging from different directions and rapidly exchanging puzzled looks. They head toward the cockpit.
Algerian desert
Berber village
A light gust of wind slightly stirs the fabric of Ahmed's targui, recalling him back to the present. He is proud of his headgear, recently received as a token of his entry into the world of adult males. The boy observes the endless expanse of yellowish dunes, wondering whether the desert is really as wide as they say, and whether there are really those restless spirits called djinn. After all, those are the rumors used by the village elders to discourage young people from venturing recklessly in the desert, starting a journey from which it's highly unlikely to come back.
But he doesn't feel like just everyone else. He looks at the horizon, dreaming about immense cities, lush oases and places where life isn't a constant struggle against the extreme heat of the day and the freezing cold that comes with the night. He loves his village and his people, but he'd like to see what else the world has to offer.
Ahmed feels a presence beside him. His field of view is constrained by the cumbersome headgear, that is perhaps a bit too large for his head. Even the whine of the dog tells him that they are no longer alone. There's no need to turn around to see who's up there.
Ahmed clears his throat, ensuring to have an authoritarian tone. «I've made up my decision: I'll come with you on your next trip.»
The boy waits, hoping that his tone was enough convincing.
His brother Yidir lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. It's considerably taller than Ahmed and he has his face covered by a black headdress. His voice is serious, deep, and he is many years older than hi
s younger brother. He could be his father, and in many ways he has fulfilled this task. «The desert won't forgive anyone, Ahmed. Don't be in a hurry to deal with it. The heat, the cold, the thirst, the animals... Even the stones can kill you. Not to mention the silence.»
«I can take care of myself», Ahmed promptly replies, immediately regretting his voice that took on a shrill tone. It's a remnant of his childhood, still not entirely disappeared with the recent puberty.
Yidir smiles under the fabric that covers his face. «We'll talk about this when the time has come», he cuts sharply.
The man turns, walking back on the dusty road leading to the village. After a few steps he seems almost to change his mind and stops, turning back to his younger brother. «Come on, Ahmed, let's talk about it in the shade. There's no sense in challenging the sun without a good reason. There's something I want to show you.»
Hearing these words, the disappointment in the boy vanishes, leaving rapidly its place to curiosity. By toddling, he follows quickly his older brother, tormenting him with questions all along the way, trying to guess what's up.
Boeing 777
The three flight-attendants walk back to the passengers deck, seemingly untouched by the news. Despite being very young, all of them have dozens of flight hours experience, and they have already experienced potentially critical situations. Yet, although the current one is much more worrying, their faces are a mask of calmness.
The three girls split up, moving slowly along the rows of seats, taking care of passengers, as usual. Camila seems to have recently stepped over the threshold of thirty years. Her long dark hair, tied in a braid, sway to the rhythm of her steps. The girl isn't tall, two thin lips show a smile on her slightly square face. She observes the passengers while moving at a leisurely pace along one of the aisles between the rows of seats.
She pauses next to the two chatting girls, catching a glimpse of one smart-phone, before one of them hastens to hide it inside her jacket. Camila moves on, pretending not to have seen anything. She moves towards a man sitting a few meters in front of her, on the right side. The man keeps his eyes closed, but his head is erect. Camila's heart skips a beat, as she realizes that the face that she is looking at matches perfectly the photos seen on a screen in the cockpit. The flight-attendant takes instinctively a half step back, a whirlwind of thoughts flows in her head. At that precise moment the man opens his eyes, strangely fixed on hers, as if he was already staring at her through his closed eyelids. The woman regains control of her emotions with a big effort of will, and smiles slightly, exchanging a few words with an elderly woman sitting to her left. Amr replies to the kindness of the woman, pulling out a white smile framed by equally perfect lips, though the cut of his mouth is slightly too wide. Camila is surprised to feel some discomfort at the warmth transmitted by the man's face.
Suddenly someone grabs her, just below the right elbow, startling her to get her attention. Camila instinctively withdraws the arm, turning to look at the man sitting to her right. She had already noticed this passenger earlier: a black man, much more than overweight, with a too prominent forehead, and he's dressed in a yellow t-short of awful taste.
Amr also looks at the scene, recognizing the man glimpsed in the bathrooms of the airport of Cape Town.
Camila caters to the passenger in front of her. «May I help you, sir? Do you need anything?»
The other watches her with an almost dazed look and a hint of saliva ready to drip from the left corner of his fleshy lips. He seems to regain control after a couple of seconds, blinks a few times and swallows.
«Are you fine, sir?»
The other mumbles something. He has the look of someone who has just woken up from a too short nap, almost struggling to stay awake. «My arm», he mutters, while he grabs heavily Camila's arm with one hand, to put it on one of his huge biceps. «I can't feel the skin on my arm, and I feel strange cramps in all my body.»
Camila nods, thinking that the man's limb has simply fallen asleep, maybe because of his obesity and the seating position held for too long. The woman notices that the skin of the man's arm is extremely hot, as if the passenger is highly feverish.
«It's just a disorder of blood circulation that may often occur, sir. It's due to prolonged sitting. May I get you anything?»
The man has apparently regained control of himself. His look is sharp now. He takes a deep breath, then he turns to the woman, with a quieter tone. «Please, take me something fresh to drink, thank you.»
«Any preference?»
«Do as you wish, please. I love surprises.»
Pleased to disengage, Camila hurries to the area reserved for employees, but after a few moments the man's voice comes back to bite. «What is that?»
«Camila turns to watch, Luis approaches too. The latter is taller than Camila, and she has an amber skin perfectly smooth. Her eyes have an almost oriental shape, and she has prosperous breasts that stands out on the slender figure. Her hair is completely combed to the right side, whilst on the left it's cut very short and leave her neck uncovered, giving her a seductive look. Luis also recognized Amr, and she is quick to disengage Camila, so that she can go and talk to the captain about having tracked down the suspect.
Luis turns to the man with the yellow t-shirt, which is pointing at one of the windows. As his gaze explore Luis from head to foot, his mouth widens into a big smile. «Heeey, you are really cute, baby», he murmurs, giving voice to his thoughts. The stern gaze of Luis restrains the man who, mumbling vague excuses, turns back to the window, pointing to something beyond it.
«There's an airplane flying right next to ours.»
The flight-attendant leans over to look better, pretending not to see the man's lustful gaze which tries to sneak into her blouse. She sees one of the F14s heeling the Boeing.
«There's another one on this side too», exclaims another passenger who sits on the opposite side of the deck. «What do they want?»
Luis doesn't move, the three flight-attendants have already received precise instructions by the captain, who made the rest of the staff aware of the likely presence of two aircraft. «We just entered Algerian airspace. These aircraft are escorting us for a while, since they're having a military exercise in the area. It's not the first time that this happens, don't worry, everything is fine.»
«That's a sweet bunch of bullshit!», a man sitting nearby interrupts her. It's an old man who, while showing a remarkable baldness on the top of the head, has long thin hair crowning the lower part of his head and two showy mustaches straight out of a portrait of a few centuries ago. The man gets up, talking so blatant. «I've flown this route many other times and it's the first time I see two airplanes escorting us. Those are American F14s Tomcat! I served my country in the Marines, I know how our planes look like. This story about a military exercise is a lie, why don't you really tell us what's going on, sweetheart?»
Hearing those words, the man with the yellow shirt turns to the elderly former Marine. «Hey grampa, give it a cut! What's up with you? Haven't they taught you to respect a lady in the Marines?»
«Holy Christ», exclaims the old man, leaning toward a woman sitting on his left. «Did you hear that walrus?» He suddenly makes to move, turning back to the passenger that provoked him: «keep cramming with sandwiches, you black muzzle. Would you yourself give me lessons? Look, I'm gonna get there, miserable tar ball. Not even three walruses of your caliber can stop the old Zeb.»
The elderly man's face is angry red, and he looks like one who has completely lost control. He capers brightly against the legs of the old woman who sits beside him with a shocked and exasperated expression. The old man tries to step over the seat beside him to get to the middle corridor, and he has almost done, when his feet seem to twist and he loses his balance falling forward.
He's saved by the providential intervention of Amr, who manages to hold him before he falls to the ground. The man helps the old man to stand on his feet, while he continues to curse the black man with the yell
ow shirt.
«Go and sit down, old man! You can't even stand. By the way, it seems that you forgot your white cloak and white cap at home». The black man ends his speaking by showing a middle finger to the other.
«Let me put my hands on you, and you will see who is left standing», shouts back the old man.
«Easy, easy... Please calm down», says Amr, while retaining the old furious man. This one struggles for a while, then he seems to subside, still red in his face.
«Please, gentlemen», Amr continues, smiling at both litigants. «We all should be a good example to others, every day of our lives. Please, calm down now.»
The old marine frees from the embrace of Amr, regaining control of himself and adjusting his clothes. «Who asked you anything, good fucking Samaritan...», the aged former soldier mutters to Amr. His sentence suddenly interrupted by the old lady who was sitting next to him. She grabs him by the sleeve, drawing his attention.
«Come here and sit Zeb, this so kind man is right.» Then she turns to Amr and the black man, who still looks the elder with provocative eyes and raised chin.
«Please accept my apologies, my husband sometimes believes he still is twenty years old, and he thinks that it's still a normal thing to raise a rumble for a word out of place.»
«Shut up you, woman, and move these legs», the old man mutters as he tries to go back and sit in his place. «I don't need to have twenty years to knock out a fat guy like that. Anyway, those are American F14s.»
The passenger in the yellow shirt turns back to Luis, making her a wink. Her gaze flies over with icy indifference, alighting on Amr, who adjusts his jacket, smiling heedless of the looks. Then he sits with serene expression and exchanges a few words with the old woman. She is lavish with apologies and thanks. Meanwhile another flight-attendant, July, comes up and with a nod she invites Luis to follow her to the area reserved to the crew.
Algerian desert