There was a ‘ding’ sound and a little light with a picture of a seatbelt stopped shining. The pilot’s voice came over the speaker system. ‘Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Malachy again. That little patch of turbulence is over now, and you may use the washrooms again or move about as you wish. However, we would advise that while you are in your seat, please keep your seatbelt fastened. As for the technical challenges I mentioned earlier, I shall keep you informed of any changes in the situation.’
Wong pressed the button to summon a flight attendant, who appeared within a minute, accompanied by Dilip Sinha. The uniformed young woman took his order for a drink—actually three drinks, water, Chinese tea and pomegranate juice—and left to fetch them. Sinha sat down on the edge of the bed and admired the room.
‘This is all very Star Trek,’ he said. ‘It’s like a hotel room in the sky. Like Bones McCoy’s sick bay.’
‘This plane very good,’ said Wong. ‘I think I will use it again.’
‘If you can get someone else to pay for the tickets.’
‘Of course. Must be ho gwai.’
‘Ho ho gwai indeed, I’m sure.’ Sinha composed his features into a look of serious concern. ‘Now. On to more serious matters. Have you given any thought to the current predicament? There appears to be a lack of ideas downstairs, which is where we may be of use—you in particular.’
Wong looked at him blankly.
‘Oh. Perhaps you have not been listening closely to the announcements?’
‘I don’t listen to announcements. There should be no announcements when VIPs are trying to sleep.’
‘Be that as it may, you should know that this aircraft has a problem—a rather serious one. There was a series of bangs, possibly small explosions, and the undercarriage no longer works. We cannot land.’
‘What you mean we cannot land? We cannot stay in the sky. Of course we must land.’
‘This is true. What goes up… And therein lies the conundrum. The wheels are not working, so we cannot land conventionally. But we cannot stay up here in the sky for very long. Not only will the lack of fuel prevent us from being here indefinitely, but there’s a more urgent problem. The plane appears to be on fire.’
‘The plane is on fire.’
‘Yes. It’s not really good news, however one should choose to look at it.’
‘Aiyeeah. Why not the pilot just stop here in China and we do rest of journey in train? Or better still, stay here in China. Very nice place, very safe.’
‘I’m sure the pilot would be delighted to stop in China if he could—but he cannot. There are a number of airports here, but few of them have the facility to land an aircraft of this size and none could cope with a giant aircraft that is missing its wheels. It’s a very real problem, I’m afraid, and not an easy one to solve.’
‘So what will happen?’
‘The tail will eventually be burned off the plane, the fuselage will lose pressure and break up, and all the bits will plummet to the ground and we will all die.’
‘Oh.’
‘I told you that it was hard to make it seem like good news.’
‘Any other option?’
‘Not really. Well, there is one idea floating around, which I wanted to run by you. It is theoretically possible for a plane of this size to make a safe water landing. Difficult, but not impossible. The pilot and I have been discussing bodies of water in the immediate vicinity. There are very few. Now I know that few people have a better grasp of the geography and topology of this part of China than you do, so I wonder if you might feel inclined to come downstairs and join the discussion?’
‘Okay. After my tea.’
‘Of course. We must get our priorities right.’
Many years ago, a King travelled by horse through his kingdom and came to a poor village where he saw something that pleased him. A target was painted on a tree with a single arrow right at its heart.
He rode a few steps further and saw another target, painted on a wall—again, with a single arrow at its centre. All around the village he found such targets—each one pierced just once, with an arrow in the exact middle.
The King said to himself: ‘In this town lives the greatest of marksmen. I will ask him to come and train my soldiers.’
The marksman was a boy of just thirteen years old. He moved to the palace and became the greatest leader of the King’s bowmen in the history of Old China.
Many years later, the King was on his deathbed. He called the marksman with a question: ‘You trained my men to shoot perfectly. But who trained you?’
The marksman said: ‘No one trained me. My arrows were always at the centre of the targets because I painted each target after my arrow landed.’
Blade of Grass, the only thing a man needs to rise to the occasion is to be given an occasion to which he can rise.
From ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’
by CF Wong.
Nine minutes later, Wong was in the cockpit and in a state of high horror. ‘Cannot! Cannot,’ he told Captain Malachy. ‘You cannot land plane on top of Tianting West Lake.’
‘You’re probably right, Mr Wong. I think it is going to be almost impossible to reach the lake, let along manage a perfect landing on it. But we’re going to have to try. It’s the only choice we have. If there were other options, I would consider them. But there are none.’
‘What’s so wrong with Tianting Lake?’ Sinha asked. ‘It looks big enough on the map.’
Wong explained: ‘In Tianting West Lake there are big sea creatures. Dangerous. Large. People will not walk their dogs or children near the edge of the lake. Monsters pull them in.’
Sinha nodded. ‘Ah, so that’s the place. I’ve heard of this. There’s a few of them in China, aren’t there? Lake Kanasi’s the one I’ve been to. Not that I saw a monster there. There’s a Tianchi Water up towards Korea that is supposed to have a monster in it, too—human head but buffalo-like body.’ The angular Indian mystic looked over to the pilots. ‘These are a bit like the Asian equivalents of your Loch Ness Monster. There are supposed to be things in these lakes. Fish as large as cars. Monsters that snatch passing horses from the shore and pull them in. I imagine that any Chinese passengers on this plane may feel as uncomfortable as Mr Wong with the idea of ditching the plane in that particular lake.’
The senior pilot sighed. ‘Look, I’d love to offer you guys a choice of lakes, so that you can choose the most scenic one—perhaps you’d enjoy one with a selection of holiday cabins around one side and a campfire? But this plane is about to fall out of the sky, dammit, and we need somewhere soft to land. Tianting West Lake is our only option. Unless you have other ideas? I thought you told me Mr Wong was an expert on Chinese geography? Does he know of any secret lakes or oceans that just happen to have been left off the map?’
Wong appeared to be pondering something. ‘Let me see the map.’
Sinha pointed him to the satellite picture display on Balapit’s screen.
‘I think we should go that way,’ the feng shui master said, pointing to a white blur. ‘That would be more safer. We can land there.’
The co-pilot shook his head. ‘Er, no, sorry, Mr Wong. That would be a disaster. There’s a wall of mountains there. We would slam straight into a pile of rock. It would be a more certain death than landing in a lake of monsters and being gobbled up by a fish as large as a 1959 Chevvy.’
There was a crackle and Sekoto’s voice came through the intercom. He was shouting. ‘Cap’n, it’s looking bad. There are loud moans coming from the back.’
‘Moans? You telling me there’s someone in the tailplane, soldier?’
‘No, sir. The structure of the plane itself is groaning, not any human being nearby. I think the tail structure is going to fall off. We’re going to lose pressure here like mad. It’s going to be like being in a giant vacuum cleaner.’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph.’
‘Yes, sir. And Muhammad and Allah, too. We
need all the help we can get. I’d advise that we don’t make any more sudden moves, upwards or downwards. The thing’ll fall off for sure.’
‘Soldier, we’re three miles up in the sky. It’s going to be difficult not to make any downward movements. Unless we can park on a cloud.’
‘I know, sir. I’m just telling it as I see it. Over.’
‘Keep me posted. And Sekoto—thank you. Over.’
Wong took a map away with him and sat at a table in the lounge behind the cockpit staring at it. This was a serious problem. But all problems, Wong believed, had a range of possible responses, which went from worst to best. A man’s job was not to find the perfect solution, because sometimes such an answer did not exist. No, his job was to conjure up the largest number of options possible and identify the best of them. And the first step in any problem-solving operation was to define the terms of the challenge carefully. Only by going back to basics could one guarantee the possession of a clear picture.
They were over central southwestern China, an area which was hilly to the south and consisted of long flat plains to the north. There were a few lakes, but none particularly big. The only large ones were hundreds of kilometres to the northwest, towards Xinjiang. But from what the pilots were saying, it was not possible to get that far. They were flying over the edge of Takla Makan desert—the ‘land of sand-buried houses’. The area did have water, running in streams from the mountains to the south, but there was no sizeable lake in it. People didn’t realise just how vast China was. There were parts of the country—like the one they were flying over now—that were literally two or three thousand kilometres from the sea. It was better to think of China as a planet, not a country. Thinking of it as an orb floating on its own in the solar system gave a better idea of its scale, its grandeur and importance, Wong mused. Pluto, for example, whether it is classified as a planet or a heavenly body, was a mere two thousand three hundred kilometres in diameter. Compare that figure with distances in China: a man travelling from Fuzhou to Urumqi would travel more than four thousand seven hundred and fifty kilometres—more than twice the diameter of Pluto.
In its range of characteristics too, China was a world unto itself. It had its own ‘north pole’—the snowy freezing land of Harbin in the northeast, close to Siberia. It had its own Europe—the cool climes of Beijing and Tianjin. It had its own deserts—Takla Makan and Gobi. It had its own Amazon rain forests, on Hainan island; its own Florida, in Kunming, the land of eternal spring; its own Mediterranean coast, in Macau. It was gloriously beautiful and hideously ugly, but mostly the former. Space travellers: welcome to Planet China.
Wong glanced back through the open cockpit door, where he saw the co-pilot doing the same search using a photographic satellite map. The feng shui master turned his eyes back to the table and looked to the south of his map—the Kunlun Shan, one of the biggest mountain ranges in the world, running between the Takla Makan desert and the Tibetan plateau. From this range ran several rivers, including the Karakash, the ‘River of Black Jade’, and the Yurungkash, the ‘River of White Jade’. The rivers joined and fed the Khotan Oasis before crossing the Takla Makan to join the River Tarim.
But no aircraft could land in a river—too shallow, too rocky, too winding. They needed a lake, some sort of large, flat surface. There were many of these in China, literally hundreds. But none immediately below them. And worse still, the man at the back of the plane had said no sudden downward movements. How could you land without going downwards? They would have to park on a cloud, as the pilot had joked.
Wong put the map to one side and looked out of the window. In the distance, he could see the snowy caps of the southern mountains. How tragic it would be for him to die here, just a few hundred kilometres from the Kunlun Shan, the mountain range where he had spent part of his boyhood, and some of his happiest days. Curious that just a few days ago, he had been thinking of the times spent with Uncle Rinchang.
He moved closer to the window and tried to identify the peaks. Which was the one where Uncle had his cabin? One peak, notably higher than the others, must be the Kunlun Goddess, over in the district known as Keriya. There was a slightly lower peak nearer to where they were—Ulugh Muztagh, highest point of the Arka Tagh. So Uncle Rinchang’s home was on the other side of that peak, a few kilometres to the east.
At that moment, Wong had an idea.
He raced into the cockpit. ‘I know what to do,’ he said. ‘The aircraft cannot go down to the ground. So the ground must rise up to the aircraft.’
Enrico Balapit scowled. ‘Thanks, Mr Wong. We’re really busy at the moment. Could you shut the cockpit door on the way out.’
‘No, this important. There is a place in the mountains. It very high. A few kilometres high, maybe.’
‘We cannot land on a mountain. Now get out.’ Balapit’s voice grew to an angry roar at the end of his sentence.
‘Wait,’ said Malachy. ‘What place?’
‘It won’t be on the map. I don’t know the name. It’s a ridge, but shaped like a big flat plain.’
‘A plateau?’
‘We just called it Uncle Rinchang’s Walk. Sometimes the locals call it the Fire Dragon’s Back.’
Balapit interrupted. ‘We need to land on water, not rock, Mr Wong.’
‘Uncle Rinchang’s Walk is deep snow. Very deep. Very smooth. The snow will hold the plane. Maybe also put out the fire.’
Malachy was thoughtful. ‘In theory, I suppose the snow could absorb some of the shock, if it is deep enough, and if there isn’t ice under a shallow surface of snow.’
Wong nodded. ‘And snow is wet. Usually Uncle Rinchang’s Walk is inside a cloud.’
‘In a cloud? That’s good. It would be wet atmosphere. Damp out the flames.’
Balapit was unconvinced. ‘It’s a crazy idea. It’s never been done before. We have to ditch on water. Come on, Captain, you know the figures. Ninety per cent of crash landings on the ground result in multiple deaths. Ninety per cent of crash landings on water result in most people surviving. Which do you want to be responsible for, Captain?’
Malachy turned to Wong. ‘Nice idea, Mr Wong, but my colleague is right. Water landings are a hundred times safer. We’re still better off gently lowering ourselves towards a body of water.’
‘Then go north,’ said the feng shui master. ‘In Sichuan you can find a swimming pool maybe.’
He left the cockpit.
J Oscar Jackson Jnr, charity foundation investigator, private envoy, spy and jailer, had taken his two prisoners into the main conference room, where they sat handcuffed to Herman Miller Aeron chairs. Manks and Drexler were being questioned in case they could add to the store of knowledge about the sabotage to the plane. Several other people had demanded to be allowed into the room, including McQuinnie, Sinha, Armstrong-Phillips and several staff members from Skyparc Airside Enterprises. Perhaps because of his size and generally authoritative demeanour, Jackson found himself in the situation of chief interrogator.
‘Mr Manks, what do you know about the situation on this plane?’
The public relations man was beside himself with anger. ‘Nothing. Nothing. How could I have anything to do with this? It’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t plant bombs on a plane and then get on the plane, would I? It would be suicide—literally. This is nothing to do with me.’
‘Mr Drexler?’
‘Same. Look, just think about it. You can accuse us of all sorts of things, but you cannot accuse us of being raving idiots. Which is what we would have to be if we put bombs in the aircraft and then climbed on board, knowing that the blasted things would go off halfway through our flight. Be reasonable.’
‘Why should we believe a word you say? You have lied and cheated and you were extremely cavalier with the lives of Mr Wong and Ms McQuinnie. They might have died had not Mr Armstrong-Phillips had the presence of mind to follow you and release them.’
‘Call us what you like,’ Manks said, ‘but we know nothing about the bombs, okay? We ha
ve no connection to the Earth Agents in any way—they’re our sworn enemies, if anything. Can’t you see that? I’ve spent years trying to wipe them out. This may be their revenge against me. Let me go—Her Majesty would not be happy at the way I am being treated.’
Jackson’s fists turned white as he squeezed them but he resisted the temptation to use them on the spluttering man.
‘We’re all going to die, aren’t we?’ It was a young woman’s voice. Everyone turned to see who had spoken. Kaitlyn MacKenzie was standing at the back of the room, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Why don’t you untie these guys? They may have done something bad, but it’s all meaningless now, isn’t it? What does it matter if people have done good things or bad things? What does anything matter? We’re all going to die together.’
Jackson said, ‘Ms MacKenzie, we are talking to these men in the hope of getting information that may help us save this aircraft and our lives.’
‘Manks is right—you’re behaving like an idiot. I’ve been in the aviation industry for years, too, you know. We’re going to die and we’d better face up to it. The sooner the better.’
‘She’s right. Let’s untie these men. If this is the end, we might as well all end our lives like civilised human beings,’ said Army.
Janet Moore, who was standing in the doorway, nodded. ‘The best thing to do is to confess our sins and pray for forgiveness. “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”’
Mr Wong Goes West Page 21