by Hill, David
The older pilot was talking loudly. ‘Papeete … radio’, pointing to his watch. Darryl peered at his own watch: 10.59. Just an hour until the bomb was supposed to go off. They couldn’t—
Raoul’s voice lifted. He was still breathing deeply, but he sounded calmer. ‘Je regrette … Du calme … Please be calm. We do not wish …’ He paused, wiped blood from his mouth. A red scrape covered most of his forehead. Darryl pictured the two figures battering at each other in the cramped cockpit. It was amazing the plane hadn’t been wrecked.
Raoul was talking to Alicia again, ordering her, pleading with her at the same time. She wouldn’t look at him. After a couple of seconds, she snapped a couple of words. He stopped, breathed slowly again, then spoke to the frightened watchers.
‘Alicia will watch. I keep gun, too. Mes amis, we must stop the tests. We will fly for Mururoa – half an hour. Then we call on radio. No time for them to stop us, but time to stop bomb.’
Silence in the cabin, except for low sobbing from a couple of places. Raoul turned, and stepped back into the cockpit. Darryl watched him settle into the left-hand pilot’s seat, brush a shard of broken glass from the panel, and take a deep breath. Then he placed his hands on the U-shaped control column.
Alicia stood, trembling and silent. She held the gun away from her as if she could hardly bear to touch it, barrel pointing down the aisle. Her eyes darted from person to person. The pilots said nothing.
Then Darryl felt the aircraft turning, swinging towards the right. Raoul was altering course. They were heading towards Mururoa. And towards the nuclear bomb waiting there. The bomb due to explode in fifty-seven minutes.
TWENTY-THREE
The plane flew on. Its two engines droned; the fuselage creaked occasionally. Darryl had heard the same creaks on their other flights. He’d been told that they were caused by parts of the aircraft flexing in flight, the way they were meant to. He hoped that struggle in the cockpit didn’t mean some parts now flexed more than they were meant to.
He could see Raoul through the open cockpit door, gun across his lap, hands on the control column. The panel in front of him was a cram of dials and gauges, knobs and switches. Needles trembled on some of them; lights flickered on others. Through the windscreen, a big empty arc of blue sky. How long before they reached Mururoa? How long before the military realised they were approaching? What would the people in charge of the test do?
Alicia stood with her back to the bulkhead, still gripping the squat pistol with both hands. Her mouth had stopped trembling, but she looked exhausted. If the bulkhead weren’t there, she seemed likely to slump to the floor. Now Darryl understood why there’d been so many tears when she’d said goodbye to Lily and Napoleon.
Twice she’d spoken to her cousin, questions of some sort. The first time, he snapped a couple of words; the second time, he said nothing.
Serve her right if she and Raoul were thrown in jail when all this was over. She didn’t deserve anything else. She was crazy. What right did she have to put people’s lives in danger like this?
The younger pilot, the one who’d jumped at Raoul, sat grimly silent beside Darryl. Half the buttons had been torn from his shirt; a bruise was starting to show around one eye. Directly in front, the other pilot and Françoise the air hostess sat unmoving as well.
11.16. Less than forty-five minutes until the explosion. Darryl drew in a shuddering breath. His legs twitched; his body kept shaking. He knew he wasn’t far from losing control.
He turned his head, slowly so the movement wouldn’t startle Alicia, and gazed back. The few passengers he could see sat staring stonily ahead, except for two whose faces were buried in their hands, and who moaned quietly. His mum was hidden by the seats.
11.20. Ten minutes until Raoul radioed Tahiti to tell them what he was doing. Were air-traffic control following the flight on radar? They must be worried by the radio silence of the past half-hour. Maybe they’d notify the military at Mururoa that something had happened to one of their planes, and the test would be stopped? Another thought lurched into his head. ‘Where’s the bomb?’
He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. They seemed to fill half the cabin. Alicia twitched and stared. The pilot next to him replied. ‘It hangs from a giant balloon, hundreds of metres in the sky. Or perhaps this is one where the bomb is on a barge.’ He paused. ‘The bomb in the sky is for us most dangerous. The blast wave will reach us faster.’
He called something in French to Raoul. ‘I tell him he must radio soon. Each minute, we are ten … eleven kilometres nearer.’ Darryl’s stomach cramped as he pictured their aircraft speeding towards the atoll, every second bringing them closer to death.
The pilot called out again. Raoul began shouting from the cockpit, a torrent of words pouring from him. He slapped the palm of one hand on the control panel, and another piece of glass dropped to the floor. The guy was so worked up. No way was he going to listen to anyone.
Alicia’s cousin switched to English once more. ‘I radio at 11.30. So they have not time to think excuses. Not time to send warplanes to shoot us down.’
Alicia jerked her head to stare at him, and Darryl knew straightaway that she was hearing this for the first time. Raoul hasn’t told her the truth about this, either, he realised. He hasn’t told her how she might die. How we might all die. Darryl tried to swallow, but his throat felt parched. His hands hurt; he’d squeezed them into fists without even noticing.
The girl was hurling more words at her cousin; once again, he ignored her. Darryl raised his voice above them. ‘How … how much time do we need to be safely away from the bomb?’
Beside him, the pilot shrugged. ‘I cannot know.’ His words came level yet harsh. Darryl understood the man was afraid, and his own body shuddered again. ‘The French military, they tell all aircraft to keep 320 kilometres away. Since these mad fools take the plane, we are nearly 160 kilometres closer.’
Darryl’s mouth was dry. Halfway to the bomb, and getting closer every second.
The plane flew on.
‘I want to talk to my mother,’ Darryl heard himself say. Alicia shook her head. ‘Non. Please, Dah-reel, you sit!’ At the same moment, Raoul shouted from the cockpit. ‘All people stay where they are! Just stay!’
‘I’m only going to talk to her,’ Darryl told them. Alicia began to say ‘Non, you—’ once more. He ignored her, and raised his voice once more. ‘Mum? I’m OK. Are you all right?’
His mother spoke, calmly and quietly. ‘I’m OK, son. You be careful, please.’ A pause, then: ‘Your dad would be proud of you.’
Darryl saw Alicia glance at him. Her bottom lip trembled. Was she thinking of her own father? He tried to imagine what he’d have done if he was in her place. A few minutes back, he’d been thinking she should be chucked in jail. But it wasn’t as simple as that.
The other passengers had begun talking among themselves. Most of them sounded shaky: a couple hadn’t stopped crying. Some called out, pleading with Alicia and Raoul. Darryl couldn’t understand the words, but their meaning was clear.
The pilot beside him spoke. ‘The people say they do no harm, so why are they put in danger? They say the government will not listen. These two will be in prison.’ He started talking at Alicia in French, fast and angry. The girl shook her head harder, swallowing the sobs that shook her again. Her gun wavered, then pointed once more.
She’s a mess, Darryl realised. This isn’t what Raoul told her was going to happen.
Sadness swept through him. Sadness for himself and his mother, just when there was a chance of their being with his dad again. Sadness, too, for Alicia. She could be on her way to Tahiti, starting a new life. She might even have been coming to New Zealand. Now, whatever happened, fear and punishment lay ahead for her. Could he ever have made such a choice?
The plane droned on. Closer and still closer. Darryl licked his lips. He looked again at his watch. 11.29.
Right then, Raoul called out. ‘Silence! I speak on the radio. I t
ell them what we do. Tell them to stop the bomb.’
Alicia had begun nodding eagerly. ‘Oui! Oui!’ The young man picked up a set of headphones and slipped them on. He pulled a clip on the control panel, and a small microphone swung out. Another piece of broken glass dropped to the floor.
Through the open cockpit door, Darryl saw him flicking switches. Raoul paused, licked at the blood crusting one corner of his mouth, and spoke.
‘’Allo, Papeete. Here is Flight 766 from Mangareva. We have an urgent message. Do you read? Over.’
Raoul flicked one switch up. He sat, body tense, listening. Five … ten seconds. He flicked the switch back down, and spoke once more. ‘’Allo, Papeete. Flight 766 calling. Urgent message. Over.’
Once more, Alicia’s cousin sat motionless. Beside Darryl and in front, the two pilots started to shift in their seats. As Raoul reached for the switch again, the older pilot began talking quickly in French, snapping out what sounded like instructions. The pilot beside Darryl joined in, began rising to his feet. Alicia shook her head violently, jabbed her gun at him, and he sank back.
Raoul was shouting back, flicking the switch up and down at the same time. He spoke a third time, louder and faster. ‘’Allo, Papeete! Flight 766!’
Something’s wrong, Darryl realised. Nobody’s answering. His body jolted as he remembered that fight in the cockpit, the two bodies crashing into the control panel, glass showering onto the floor. ‘It’s broken!’ he exclaimed. ‘The fight – it broke the radio!’
Beside him, the younger pilot shouted agreement. ‘The fight! La radio ne marche pas – broken!’
Raoul joggled the switch once more. He yelled into the microphone: ‘’Allo, Papeete! Flight—’ Then he snatched off the headphones and flung them on the cabin floor. ‘I cannot tell them!’
Françoise cried out, and sank her face into her hands. Darryl’s breath seemed to stop for a second; his whole body twitched and shuddered. Behind him, voices babbled. ‘No radio! Stop! We die!’
We can’t tell them. The words beat in Darryl’s head. We can’t contact Papeete. They can’t contact Mururoa. The bomb will explode.
11.36. Both pilots had begun calling out again, half-standing, ignoring Alicia as she gabbled at them to sit down. Raoul yelled back. The back of his shirt was soaked in sweat; he pounded one fist on the control column. From the back of the cabin, more voices begged and wailed. Darryl’s mother was silent.
‘Radar!’ Darryl realised it was his voice. ‘They’ll see us on the radar!’
The pilot beside him shook his head. ‘Non! They may not. We have the small plane. It not shows much on screen. They do not expect. Perhaps they close radar to protect it.’ Another burst of French between him and Raoul. Alicia clapped a hand to her mouth. She’d understood.
Darryl fought to think. They must be only eighty to a hundred kilometres from Mururoa now. Did Alicia know her cousin had planned to fly them right into the explosion area? He twisted his neck around and stared through the window. Nothing but blue sky and green-blue ocean. Eighty kilometres. The Hiroshima bomb had smashed buildings out to sixteen kilometres from the explosion centre. Their plane was still safe, surely? Except— except some of the French nuclear tests were ten or fifteen times more powerful than Hiroshima. His book said so. They might already be inside the death zone.
Raoul smacked one hand down on the control panel again, and yelled. His voice was so loud, so furious, that everyone else went silent.
‘They see us! They will see us! We— we die if they do not stop. The world will know. Then the tests end. We die, but others are safe from this evil thing!’
The silence grew. He means it, Darryl understood. He’s ready to die. Ready for all of us to die as well.
11.42. Eighteen minutes until the explosion. At nearly two kilometres every ten seconds, the plane sped towards Mururoa.
TWENTY-FOUR
The next voice sounded so strange, so different, that Darryl didn’t recognise it at first. He stared as he realised it was Alicia speaking, heavy and sad.
Her eyes were on the two pilots, and she was asking them something. They both burst into words again, nodding, waving hands at her.
They stopped as Raoul shouted from the cockpit. He wrenched his head around, glaring at Alicia. She stood without moving until he was finished, then spoke to the pilots once more. Again they both replied, stabbing fingers down towards the sea, then back the way the plane had come.
The girl did nothing for a second. She looked calm, determined. Then she nodded, let out her breath in a long sigh, half-lowered her gun, and stepped into the cockpit.
While Darryl watched and his heart thudded, she stood beside her cousin and spoke. Raoul jerked as if she’d stabbed him. His whole body convulsed. ‘Non!’ he yelled. ‘Non!’ Alicia spoke louder, more urgently, clutched his shoulder. He twisted away.
Darryl’s heart lurched as he understood: Alicia was demanding that Raoul turn back. He flicked a look at his watch. 11.46. Hurry! he pleaded inside his head. Please hurry!
Françoise began calling out also, begging with Raoul. Other voices joined in from the cabin: people had seen or guessed what was happening. Darryl’s mother stayed silent.
His eyes were fixed on Alicia. The grief and determination on her face. Her cousin had deceived her. Things had gone so wrong. Now she was giving up her own dreams to try to save others. Whatever happened now, whatever she’d done before, she was amazing.
She spoke once more to Raoul, her voice harder still. He flung an arm out at her, slamming her across the cockpit and into the wall. Screams from some of the passengers. The plane dipped sideways as Raoul snatched at the controls. Darryl clutched at his seat.
Alicia had half-fallen to her knees. While Darryl watched, his stomach knotted, she stood. Her hand came up, and the ugly grey gun pointed at Raoul’s head. Three … four words in French, tight and harsh.
Gasps from all around. A stifled cry from Françoise. Raoul turned his head, very slowly, and gazed at his young cousin.
Then he faced the front again. His hands stayed steady on the control column. He’s not going to turn us around, Darryl knew. She’s threatening to kill him, but he’s not going to change his mind.
Alicia seemed to know it, too. She stared at the young man for another few seconds. Then she turned the gun, and placed the muzzle against her own head.
Instantly, Darryl was out of his seat, struggling towards the cockpit. ‘No!’ he blurted. ‘Stop! Please, no!’
Alicia turned to face him. Darryl saw the dark eyes, the slim brown curve of neck with its new scratch, the smooth cheeks and forehead, the little scar over one eye. The gun muzzle stayed pressed against her head, half-hidden in the fall of thick black hair.
‘No!’ Darryl kept gabbling. ‘Please, no. Non!’
The girl lifted her hand and his voice choked. Raoul had swung around again, and was staring up at them both. Alicia raised the pistol a fraction so its barrel was level, drew in a breath, and closed her eyes. Oh, no, Darryl’s mind begged. Please, no!
‘You’ve done enough!’ The words spilled from him. ‘People will hear about this. They will take notice. You’ll make everyone think about the bomb. The military are going to have to listen. So you must be there, to – to keep telling people things.’
Had he said all that? He had. The older pilot nodded. ‘He is true. Listen to him.’
The girl’s eyes were open again, fixed on Darryl. He swallowed, struggled to think what to say next.
‘Alicia.’ He jerked as Raoul spoke. The young man’s voice sounded flat and dull. On his face was an expression that Darryl knew he’d never be able to describe. ‘Assez. Enough.’
Then Raoul lifted his hands from the control column. He took one last look at the great expanse of blue sky ahead, then he rose from his seat and stepped out of the cockpit into the cabin.
Both pilots shot to their feet, shouting and exclaiming. Raoul gazed at them as though he had forgotten who they were. He held
the long-barrelled gun in one hand, down by his side. He looked at Alicia for a second, then turned his back on her. The girl’s hand holding the gun dropped away from her head, and she swayed where she stood.
The pilots barged past them into the cockpit, flinging themselves into their seats, yelling instructions at each other. One seized the control column and wrenched it sideways. The aircraft swung left, so hard that Darryl tumbled backwards into the seat he’d just left. Behind him, voices cried out in fresh alarm. Raoul and Alicia staggered and almost fell. He seized her, half-threw her into the seat beside Darryl. He stared expressionlessly at her for a moment, then clawed his way into the row in front, next to Françoise. The air hostess shrank away from him.
The violent turn ended. The plane rocked, then steadied. They were heading back the way they’d come. 11.52. They had eight minutes to escape.
The girl was slumped against the side of her seat. She’d begun weeping again, almost silently, face half-turned away from Darryl. He stared at her. What should he do? Tie her up, or talk to her? He hesitated, began to reach out a hand.
Ting! Ting! The seatbelt sign. He grabbed his seatbelt and clipped it into its socket. He bent towards Alicia, reaching for hers. ‘Your belt,’ he mumbled. ‘Put your seatbelt on!’ She didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes stayed closed; tears making fresh trails down her cheeks. ‘Menteur!’ Darryl heard her sobbing quietly.
The engines roared, and the plane’s nose dipped down. Darryl clutched at the arm-rests as the aircraft went into a shallow dive. They must be trying to get every inch of speed they could. He grabbed at the girl as she was nearly flung from her seat. ‘Belt!’ he yelled again. ‘Put your belt on – quick!’ She started to struggle upright, fumbling for her buckle. Darryl snatched it from her; rammed it into its socket.
He pressed himself against the back of his own seat, dragging in breath, peering at his watch. 11.54. The aircraft hurtled forward and down. Please don’t crash into the sea, his mind bleated. Please don’t let the wings fall off.