Equal Time Point

by Harrison Jones

  Colt asked, “Have you had anything to eat? I’m starving.”

  “I could probably choke something down.”

  “Well, I don’t know if Heather can cook with her hands tied, but if she can, I say let’s go for it. I’d like a beer, but I guess I better have coffee if we’re going flying again. What would you like to drink?”

  “A beer would be great.”

  “Well, we’ve got to make a decision: either turn Heather loose, or I can get some of those girls from the back to fix breakfast. Heather looks pretty mean. I don’t know if you can control her or not.”

  Ray didn’t perceive the challenge that had been thrown at him, but he reacted as expected.

  “I don’t want any more people to watch, and I think I can control Heather.”

  “Well, let’s be about it, man. I’m hungry.”

  Ray led Heather out the door and into the galley.

  “I’m going to free your hands enough to do breakfast, but if you do anything stupid you’ll be sorry, and so will your captain. He’s being smart about this, and you should too.”

  He removed a pair of cutting pliers from his tool pouch and cut the tie wraps. After Heather rubbed her wrists and got the circulation going again, he placed new tie wraps on her wrists, but he left her hands in front of her and didn’t pull the restraints as tight as before.

  She asked, “What can I get you to drink while the meals are heating?”

  “Where do you keep the beer?”

  She pulled out a plastic bin in the bottom of the galley, and it was full of beer on ice. Ray popped the top on one and drank half of it in one pull. When the oven timer dinged, telling them the meals were hot, Ray was on his third beer. They took the trays into the cockpit and found Colt sucking on his oxygen mask. “This is great stuff to clear your head when you’re tired. You want some?”

  “No, maybe later.”

  Ray ate the food like an animal. Colt asked, “You want another one? Tri Con has plenty back there, and we shouldn’t waste them. Heather, fix a couple more for us, would you?”

  Heather walked out and put more meals in the oven, relieved that for the first time in hours she didn’t have to smell Ray.

  While they waited, Colt picked up the mike again.

  “Hey tower, are we getting money today or what? We’re tired of waiting.”

  “Tri Con Triple One, I understand the armored truck is on the way, and we should have you fueled by the time he gets here.”

  Colt turned to Ray.

  “Check the fuel page and see how much we’ve got. You know how to do that, don’t you?”

  Ray pulled up the page on the screen. “Yeah, probably one more truck will do it.”

  Colt remarked, “These people are really slow. I never knew it would be easier to get a million dollars than a load of fuel.”

  Ray laughed, “Me either.” He thought This guy is totally cool.

  Colt said, “You probably know more about this stuff than my first officer. Maybe you can fly copilot on the way to Damascus.”

  Ray puffed up and said, “I’ll be glad to.”

  Colt punched some buttons on the flight management computer.

  “What’s wrong with this thing? It says Syria is not in the database.”

  Ray answered, “Yeah, it’s in the Middle East database. You have to load the Middle East disk in the box to make it work.”

  “I never knew that. No one ever showed me how to load a disk.”

  “Of course not. A mechanic has to do it.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Sure, it’s easy if you know what you’re doing.”

  “Where’s the disk?”

  Ray stood up and went to the back of the cockpit. He opened a little door on the back wall, took out a box, and opened it. He pulled out a disk and held it up.

  “This is it.”

  “Man, I never knew that was there. Can you really load it?”

  “I told you it’s easy.”

  “Well, load it up, man, so we’ll be ready to go when the money truck shows up. Where does it plug in?”

  “You can’t do it here. The loading port is on the CPU in the forward accessory compartment.”

  “Well, we sure as heck can’t go outside and climb up in there to load it.”

  “We don’t have to.”

  Colt liked the way they were both using the word, “we.”

  “What do you mean we don’t have to?”

  “I can get into the forward accessory compartment without going outside.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. I’ll show you.”

  Colt followed Ray out the cockpit door and watched him pull a square of carpet up near the galley. Ray opened a hatch in the floor and said, “There you go. Nothing to it.”

  Colt praised him.

  “Man, you know some stuff. How long has that been there?”

  “Since day one. It was built that way.”

  “Can we load the disk down there? How long will it take?”

  Suddenly, Ray became wary.

  “It only takes about five minutes, but I would have to do it. You don’t know how.”

  Colt looked thoughtful and then said, “Yeah, I see the problem. If you go down there, it leaves us prisoners unguarded.”

  “You’re right, that’s the problem.”

  “Maybe I can get one of these Portuguese mechanics to do it for us. What do you think?”

  “I think if we ask for a mechanic, we’ll probably get a Portuguese FBI agent.”

  “I bet you’re right. Man, you are way ahead of this game. I would have screwed that up for sure.”

  Ray puffed his chest up again. “I’m not going to blow it now.”

  Colt thought for a minute. “I don’t blame you for not trusting anybody at this point, but I’ve got an idea. Do you have more of those tie wrap things?”

  “Yeah, I keep a bunch of them all the time.”

  “Just to make sure nothing happens while you’re down there loading the disk, how about if we secure Heather to a seat or something, and that way you’ll know we’re going to be here when you come back up. I mean, I’m not even sure you can do that with tie wraps, but it’s an idea.”

  Ray unconsciously accepted another subliminal challenge.

  “I think I can do that.”

  “Let’s try it. Use the relief pilot’s seat in the cockpit so I can keep an eye on her while I listen for the radio.”

  Five minutes later, Heather’s hands and feet were tie wrapped to the seat, and she was looking at Colt like she wanted to choke him.

  Colt said, “If anything important comes in on the radio, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay, this won’t take long.”

  Ray went to the hole in the floor and stepped onto the ladder.

  Colt asked, “Did you get the disk?”

  “Oh yeah, I’ll need that.”

  He went back to the cockpit and picked up the disk.

  “Do I need to turn the computer off or anything?”

  “Nah, just don’t touch anything until I finish downstairs.”

  Any concerns that Colt had about a bomb were erased when he saw that Ray had left the voltage checker in the cockpit.

  Ray disappeared like a rabbit down the hole. Colt hurried back to the cockpit and closed and locked the door. He picked up the mic and said, “Go, get out now.”

  He glanced up to see the four left door open light illuminate and then reached into the back of the captain’s seat pocket and removed the security kit. The kit contained several large tie wraps used to restrain passengers if necessary, but what Colt was interested in was the pliers used to cut the tie wraps. He quickly cut Heather’s restraints and freed her. Next he opened the sliding window beside the captain’s seat, removed the coiled nylon escape rope from the little door above it, and threw it out the window. He taught Heather how to put one leg out the window, then her upper body, and finally the other leg. He watched her slide down the rope into th
e waiting arms of the airport security forces. He was glad it was Heather and not Big Bertha. Colt followed next, and when he hit the ground, the security men guided them under the belly of the airplane and then rushed them to the rear. They ran between the main landing gear and past the big yellow emergency escape slide at the four left door. The APU exhaust was roaring at the tail of the airplane, and there was a big bus waiting with the other crew and passengers already loaded aboard. As the bus drove away, Colt looked back and could see at least thirty men dressed in black fatigues and carrying rifles or machine guns. They were positioned strategically around and under the airplane, and several humvees, with fifty caliber machine guns on top, were parked out of sight with their engines idling.

  Colt found Glenn and Rick at the front of the bus. “Rick, you played the part of the tower controller pretty good.”

  “Thanks, boss. I was afraid he would figure out that you were talking on the interphone and not the radio.”

  “The only time he got a little suspicious was when I was talking to the real controller through the oxygen mask, but I bluffed my way through it. We should try out for an acting part.”

  “Yeah, but I want to be the hero next time,” Rick said.

  Heather said, “Can I play the hostage?”

  “You need practice, Heather.”

  Colt looked around the bus and said, “I see our federal friends decided not to join us.”

  Glenn answered, “They said to tell you that they appreciated the option, but they were looking forward to meeting Mr. Slackman up close and personal after we were all safe.”

  Ray finished loading the disk, then removed it from the CPU and closed it up. With another problem solved, he was having happy thoughts of money and freedom. He had already decided to grow his beard back right away. He continually put his hand to his face to twist the hair in his fingers, but all he felt were the scabs where he had cut his skin shaving.

  When he climbed out of the accessory compartment, the first alarm went off in his mind when he saw the cockpit door closed. The second and imminently larger alarm occurred when someone shouted, “Get down! Get down now! On the floor with your hands behind your back! Do it now!”

  He turned just far enough to see a man in a dark suit with his feet spread and a Glock held in both hands pointing right at him. With no thoughts of money or freedom, he got on the floor with his hands behind him.

  John Lehman kept the gun pointed at Ray’s back until Joe Rand handcuffed him and patted him down. After that, Joe went to the one-left door, disarmed it like Jenny had taught him, and opened it. He informed the men in black fatigues that the suspect was in custody, and they could bring the portable stairs to the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The bus transporting the crew and passengers from Flight Triple One motored down the parallel taxiway and stopped at a large hangar with the huge doors standing open. They were all escorted to a table set up by customs and immigration officials, where it was discovered that no one had passports or even identification, rendering the process futile. The entire group was directed to folding chairs set up in the open hangar and provided with refreshments. After all they had experienced in the last few days, this was not much of a mountain to climb. They laughed and joked, and Colt entertained them. The officials spoke into their portable radios several times, and then informed them that the airplane was being towed to the hangar, and they would be able to retrieve their personal belongings. Much to the relief of the uniformed and confused officials, this would include passports.

  They could see the Tri Con jet in the distance, and they watched as the emergency escape slide was detached and the escape rope was pulled back into the cockpit. A large tug pulled a tow bar down the taxiway to move the airplane once it was prepared. The morning temperature was comfortable, and a gentle breeze made their wait very pleasant. The runway was open for business again now that the Tri Con emergency was over, and airplanes were taking off and landing, providing a degree of entertainment.

  Everyone relaxed, but it seemed that fate would not allow them to linger without drama. A police van with bars on the windows pulled up in front of the hangar and was followed momentarily by two ambulances. The three vehicles sat there with the engines running and red and blue lights flashing. Was it possible that there was yet another airport emergency in progress? Colt said, “If anyone has been injured while breaking the law, please step forward.”

  Even the Martin family smiled at his joke as they waited for whatever drama was to unfold. Someone pointed to one of the humvees coming toward the hangar on the taxiway. The military vehicle, with its big machine gun on top, stopped near the police van, and the two FBI agents got out and exchanged credentials with the police officials. When everyone was properly introduced and vetted, the agents opened the humvee door and two men in black fatigues escorted Ray Slackman out. He was handcuffed, and his feet were shackled. He shuffled along with short, choppy steps until he reached the police van where he was deposited into the back. His escorts climbed in and sat beside him on the bench. Before the door closed, Heather raised her right hand in greeting, even though her hands were still sore, and her middle finger was stiff and would not fold properly. Ray seemed to be unappreciative and agitated, but the two escorts smiled and appeared to be warm and understanding individuals. The two FBI agents came over and spoke briefly with Colt, then took a seat in the front of the van before it drove off with lights flashing.

  Everyone expected the ambulances to follow the van, but they remained in place. Eventually, they were forgotten as the group went back to their refreshments and discussions of what should happen to Ray. They were distracted once again when a huge tour bus pulled up and its air brakes hissed loudly as it stopped. The bus was brightly painted and had the words Hotel do Caracol on the sides. The doors opened and a uniformed gentleman stepped down and looked around. He saw Colt’s uniform and approached him. He said in broken English, “Bom dia, are you Comandante Adams?”

  Colt liked the sound of that and replied, “Yes, I am.”

  “Obrigado comandante, I am your concierge and here to transport your party to the Hotel do Caracol.”

  “Excellent. We will be delayed for a few minutes until we clear customs and immigration.”

  “I am at your service, comandante. We will wait.”

  “How far is it to the hotel?”

  “A short trip to the town of Angra de Heroismo, comandante. It will be a pleasant ride to the south side of the island.”

  “We will require transportation to the docks at Praia da Vitoria this afternoon. Can you arrange that?”

  “It is taken care of, comandante. The bus is at your disposal.”

  Colt was of the opinion that Tri Con management existed, for the most part, in delusions of reality, but this Harold Collins guy might be the exception.

  The airplane was now moving toward the hangar, and everyone was ready to get this over with and move on. But for some reason, the tug stopped, and the jet sat out there motionless for no apparent reason. Colt thought they may have broken a tow bar, but the customs official came over to explain.

  “Sir, there will be a short delay. There is a military flight inbound that will require the use of the ramp for a short time. As soon as he departs, we will bring your airplane here.”

  “Is there an emergency with the military flight?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I was told it is a medical priority of some sort.”

  Colt explained the delay to the group and informed them that they would be taking the bus to the luxury hotel as soon as the formalities were concluded. No one seemed to mind. The emotional roller coaster had drained their desire or ability to complain.

  The thump of helicopter blades interrupted all conversation, and as it got closer, everyone looked out to watch it. Colt had not considered that the priority aircraft might be a chopper. The big, gray machine approached along Runway Three Three and then changed course to land on the ramp in front of the han
gar. Colt recognized the British Sea King and knew it was the equivalent of the US Navy’s Sea Stallion. The helicopter hovered briefly before touching down, and the words “HMS Integrity” were visible on its fuselage.

  The fuel was chopped to the jet engine, and it began to whine to a stop. The rear doors opened, and the stairs unfolded. Two Royal Navy medics hopped out to confer with the ambulance attendants. A wheelchair was removed from the ambulance and rolled to the chopper door. The medics went back inside and returned shortly, with one of them holding a little girl’s hand and the other holding a bag of intravenous fluid high enough to continue the drip into her arm. The little girl wore a blue pair of sweatpants and a kid’s souvenir sweatshirt with a picture of an aircraft carrier and the caption “HMS Integrity.” They led her to the wheelchair, gently sat her down, and then hung the bag on the pole attached to the back of the chair. She sat anxiously looking back inside the helicopter.

  Colt said, “The British Navy must be having a tough time recruiting.”

  Several people wondered out loud why a ten-year-old girl would be on an aircraft carrier. The Martin grandchildren watched in awe and wished they could see an aircraft carrier and ride in a helicopter. The two medics left the girl with the ambulance attendants and went back inside while another wheelchair was rolled up to the door. The little girl looked around and saw the group of people at the hangar door. She quickly ignored the adults but returned the wave and smile of eight-year-old Elisha Martin before returning her nervous attention to the helicopter door.

  It didn’t take long for the group of weary travelers to lose interest in the helicopter, other than the fact that it was delaying their departure to the hotel. They went back to the refreshments and idle conversation. They were being entertained by the hotel concierge who was teaching the proper Portuguese pronunciation of bom dia (good day) and obrigado (thank you). No one noticed when the two medics returned to the helicopter door and assisted the heavyset female patient down the steps to the waiting wheelchair. She too was being given intravenous fluids, and the bag was hung on the wheelchair pole as with the little girl.