by Stuart Field
‘Samara’s on that plane, I’ve got to try,’ Steel said, looking over at Kane, who silently nodded.
‘Damsel in distress, huh. God, you damn limeys and your gallantry shit,’ Bolton laughed at the thought of Steel on a white steed and shining armour.
‘Something like that, but most of all, I owe her.’
Bolton remained silent for a moment.
‘Look, I just need a safe frequency the pilot can patch through so we can talk, and Calver, I’m going to need your eyes on this, I need to know locations and directions.’
‘Rodger that,’ Calver said, typing something into his computer. ‘We can chat on 134 megahertz,’ Calver replied.
‘Thanks, guys, speak to you soon,’ Steel said before closing down his phone. Steel gave the pilot the frequency Calver selected. Steel figured he would need Calver to direct them to the C-130. There was a lot of sky out there, and Steel did not have time to guess where they would be.
Steel had left it an open channel, so the pilot would get the information directly and would be able to compensate quicker if needed.
‘So, what happens when we get there?’ asked the pilot.
A question Steel was dreading, because up to now – he had been winging it. All his thoughts had been on getting to the plane before it took off, now he would have to think about how they would get to the transport plane in flight. He knew there was no way they would get to it before it took off in Tunisia. They could not shoot it down – first off, Steel was in the civilian model – not a gunship. But more importantly – Samara was aboard.
‘Calver you there?’ Steel spoke into the microphone of the headset.
‘I’m here.’
‘How are we looking?’ Steel asked, hoping for good news.
‘That lear jet is already about twenty-minutes in front of you, need to get a move on or change ya plan,’ Calver said. Steel realised that his negotiations over the aircraft had cost them time. If Calver’s computations had been correct, it was about an hours flight. The lear jet had a twenty-minute leed on them. That meant they would have to fly west until Calver gave them a course to move to. Not ideal, but it was the best they had.
‘Got any parachutes?’ Steel joked.
‘Back there somewhere,’ said the pilot. ‘We were due to pick up some of your parachute display fellas after the presentation and do a display.’ The pilot pointed backwards using his thumb towards the rear of the craft. ‘I think their gear is in the back already.’
Steel turned and followed the pilot’s direction moving slowly, keeping low as not to get knocked over by the many small pockets of turbulence. He found a storage bin containing several parachutes.
Steel smiled.
Now, he had a plan. They would have to get close to the transport plane, and Steel would have to find a way inside. The C-130 had several hatches on the top he could use, the trouble was opening them.
‘Calver, can you access the C-130’s onboard computer to open a hatch?’ Steel asked.
‘Uh – yes – why?’ Calver asked, his words were drawn out in fear of the answer.
‘I’ll get back to you on that,’ Steel said and sat back in his seat.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The CIA’s Learjet aircraft touched down on the dusty tarmac of an abandoned Tunisian airstrip. The sun beat down hard, and the wind was dry and harsh.
The side hatch from the jet opened with a heavy clunk, then the steps extended towards the ground. Angry voices left the plane, and then Samara appeared at the top of the stairs. Samara raised a hand to shield her eyes. Blinded by the sudden, intense sunlight.
‘OK – get going,’ said a voice behind her. Samara walked down steadily, her hand still shielding her eyes while her other hand, held onto the rail for support. Behind her was the giant man who had tried to take her at the old barracks, his nose was thick and purple and dark circles surrounded his eyes. The rest of the team were behind him, each carrying M4 Mk 18 CQBR rifles with ACOG 4X32 scopes and tri-magazines. As Samara reached the foot of the stairs, she looked over at the massive C-130 transport plane. The four propeller engines' noise was defining, and black smoke billowed from the exhausts at the four Rolls-Royce engines' side.
The man behind Samara nudged her forwards using the elbow of his gun arm.
‘Go on you, your going for a little ride.’ He grinned maliciously as he nudged her in the back again. Samara turned, anger burned in her eyes, her pearly white teeth bared into a snarl.
The man just laughed and pushed her again, harder. Samara looked at the hardware the men were carrying and decided against the move she wanted to make. The kick in the balls and the knife to the carotid artery could wait until later.
Samara looked around at the almost deserted airfield. By the look of things, it hadn’t been used since the second world war. Around the plane were ten men, five on either side of the loading ramp. Then Samara saw another man approach. He was an older man dressed in white cotton garments and holding a strangely carved wooden walking stick.
Samara knew this man from his file. He was the one they called the Master. Even though he was in his sixties, the Master was as dangerous as they come. As his file read, the Master pulled no punches when it came to chaos, so this whole thing came as no surprise to discover he was behind this.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ the Master said as she approached. His voice rang with politeness and something some may mistake as fondness. ‘It appears you will be joining us after all – I’m so glad.’ The Master smiled. The old man stepped up to Samara and brushed the back of his scared hand on her cheek. Samara jerked her face away, repulsed at his touch.
The Master smiled gently.
‘As you can see,’ the Master said, turning towards the C-130, ‘we have a little surprise visit planned for the good people of the United States.’
He pointed his cane towards several large crates that sat in the middle of the transport plane's loading bay. They were heavy wooden crates. Some were long, others short and box-like. They were a mix of wood and brown metal. Samara realised with horror what they were. They were hundreds of boxes and crates, full of weapons and ammunition, broken down and strapped onto pallets, tired down with cargo nets.
Samara had seen the same thing many times, but they had been for aid packages.
‘Those are weapons, you’re going to…’ Horror and disbelief stopped her.
‘Yes.’ the Master said. ‘We shall drop these in the heart of the Washington D.C, and watch the people wreak havoc. We will rejoice as the country tears itself apart. Their country will burn, and their own people will be responsible for its demise,’ the Master said. His voice was loud like it was a war cry. His followers cheered as the Master raised his arms.
Then the Master’s gaze fell onto Samara, a wicked grin etched across his face. His eyes alight with passion and blood lust.
‘But don’t worry my dear, you won’t be making the journey alone,’ the Master said. His voice returned to its calm and friendly tone.
Samara shivered at his unnerving presence.
‘We have a friend of yours with us to keep you company,’ the Master said, with a hideous smile, like a snake before it struck.
The big man pushed Samara in the back, urging her up the ramp to the aircraft's cargo hold. As she reached the top, she saw the silhouette of a man. He was sat on the canvas bench at the far end of the plane near the cockpit. His features bathed in shadow, but she could make out his hands and feet, which were illuminated by a console's red light. His back was flat against the fuselage or the plane. He was a big man, all dressed in black, which made the white plastic of plasticuffs stand out against his clothing's dark. His hands and feet were bound.
A tear of despair rolled down her face as hope left her. She did not know how, but Steel was meant to save her. He was supposed to suddenly appear like he always did and rescued her. Instead, he was bound and was sat in a darkened corner, the strength missing from his body.
She did not cry ju
st for her, but for him. The stories she had heard about him painted him as some mythical beast to be feared.
A green-eyed demon some had called him.
But all she saw from his place in the shadows, was a man whose will had left him. The legends had been wrong. In some way, she pitied him. That he would go out like this.
A broken man.
Chapter Seventy-Four
The S-98 helicopter travelled fast through the clear blue sky. The engines screeched like a banshee, giving it a distinctive sound. Steel could imagine the helicopter's military version, the shiny skin of this model, replaced by a matt anti-infrared green or black. The shape, coupled with the terrifying howl from the engines, would be enough to make an enemy crap themselves.
‘Steel,’ Calver’s voice came over the headset.
‘What’s up?’ Steel asked. Surprised at the sudden call.
‘Looks like they are getting ready to take off, so – what’s the plan?’ Calver asked.
‘You know that question?’
‘What, the one about – ?’ suddenly silence filled the airwaves as Calver figured out what Steel’s next plan was. ‘You know that’s completely nuts?’
‘Probably,’ Steel replied as he started to pull on one of the parachutes.
‘You know, as soon as I pop the hatch the plane is going to lose control because of the lack of cabin pressure?’ Calver asked nervously.
‘Know it, I’m actually counting on it,’ Steel said. ‘can you do it though?’ silence filled the headset. ‘Calver – Calver?’
‘Yeah, I’m here, and yeah, I can do it.’ There was a whistling sound over the headset as Calver exhaled.
‘Thanks, the pilot will let you know when,’ Steel said.
Silence.
‘Catch you on the other side,’ Bolton’s voice crackled over the headset.
‘Just make sure he does it, Bolton,’ Steel ordered.
‘He will just make sure that plane doesn’t get stateside,’ Bolton said.
Steel did not answer, he just let the crackle of the airwaves fill the void. Steel just hoped he was making the right decision. The futuristic new attack helicopter was pulling at two-hundred and seventy miles an hour. Possibly the fastest Steel had travelled in a helicopter. Steel looked out of the windshield at the landmass in front of them. Tunisia grew nearer. Steel knew if he did not bring the plane down, an F-22 Raptor aircraft from the USS Nemesis would make sure the transport plane did not make it across the North Atlantic.
Steel watched intently as they approached the two miles out point, Steel and the pilot saw the Hercules C-130 travel upward then level off.
‘So, what was plan B?’ asked the pilot.
Steel scowled at the image of the plane getting away. ‘Try and get close to it will you.’
‘Where do you want to be?’
‘Inside it, before the damned thing took off,’ Steel said, still using on the New York accent.‘But, I guess on top just behind the cockpit of it will have to do for now.’
‘I’ll get you as close as I can,’ the pilot said. He was both confused and scared, whatever this man had planned, was bound to be completely nuts – but would make great footage for the bosses.
Steel knew this could end in several different ways. One of which was him impacting the cockpit like a bug hitting the windshield of a car. Another was with him flying into the propellers and getting blended. Even with the parachute, he would have only one chance. He had to get on the aircraft somewhere in the middle. He knew they had several emergency hatches on the top – he just had to find one – and, not get ripped off the plane or sucked into the propellers.
Steel hoped Calver was right, and he could get the hatch open once he got onto the plane. There weren’t any latches he knew of, only the internal ones. Steel began to worry. If Calver could not, Steel would have to think of something else – and each moment the Raptor was getting closer.
‘There she is,’ said the pilot, pointing to a distant aircraft.
‘Get her up, as close as you can,’ Steel said.
‘Sure you wanna do this?’
‘No, not really, but I’ve got no choice,’ Steel said. His eyes fixed on the plane in front.
‘You’ll have to tell Calver when to open the hatch, luckily, he’s got three to chose from, I just hope he opens the right one,’ Steel said.
They watched in silence as the rear of the transport came into view. It was getting closer and closer as the pilot of the helicopter pushed the craft to the limit. Once he was over the C-130 transport, the helicopter pilot match speed until Steel was inside.
The helicopter began to shudder as the pilot pushed it to the max. The helicopter pilot was hoping the C-130 wasn’t going full speed. The pilot flew parallel but keeping a safe distance above the C-130.
Steel just hoped the transport pilot hadn’t seen them if they had the pilot would start manoeuvring. But the transport plane remained true and steady.
The timing would have to be perfect, the helicopter would level off above the transport plane, and Steel would jump down. If they heard a bump, the people inside would think it was a bird or something. They wouldn’t be expecting a crazy guy jumping on top of a moving plane.
The helicopter pilot moved over the C-130. They were at least twenty feet above. Steel got him to close the gap as much as he could. Steel could be blown straight off the roof of the plane without touching it if there was too much distance.
The helicopter lowered.
Ten feet. They began to feel the turbulence rocking the helicopter.
At five-feet, the helicopter began to shudder and sway. Caught in the wake turbulence from the engines of the transport.
‘If you are going to do it, it needs to be now,’ said the pilot, who was now struggling with the controls.
Steel raced for the side door of the helicopter. His timing would have to be precise.
‘Your friggin nuts – you know that?’ said the pilot.
‘I’ve been called worse,’ Steel said opening the door. There was a blast of air and the helicopter rocked from the change in air pressure. But the pilot kept the craft steady.
‘Good luck Agent Bolton.’
‘Ah, yeah, about that,’ Steel said. His accent was gone. ‘My name’s not Bolton, it’s John Steel.’
Steel grinned, shrugged, pulled off the headset – then jumped.
The pilot eased off the power, and the helicopter slowed slightly, inching back over the transport plane. He began filming with the HD camera, taking it all in like it was some action movie.
Steel hit the sheet metal hard just behind the cockpit. He was amazed the pilots hadn’t noticed the helicopter that had been above them. The impact winded him slightly, but the air current had taken most of the damage away, but he was still going to have a bruise on his chest to show for it. His target was one of the three emergency escape hatches on the roof of the plane. Steel was hoping that Calver could open one of them before he got ripped off the plane.
Steel lined himself up as best as possible as the downdraft pushed him and the oncoming wind was ripping him backwards. As Steel began skimming the surface of the transport, he started to grasp at anything that would hold him. He had already past two of the hatches, and now he was beginning to get nervous. It would just be his luck if Calver managed to open the hatch at the front of the plane, or even the primary loading ramp – underneath the tail. Steel was dragged down the length of the aircraft like a ragdoll, his hands desperately grasping at anything. Cursing the makers for their aerodynamic design – hell – even trains had handholds. There was a clunk, and the hatch opened, Steel quickly grabbed the sides. Steel could feel the muscles in his arms straining as he fought to hold on. The plane shuddered and banked to the side, the sudden loss of air pressure had done precisely what Steel had thought it might. Steel imagined the pilot struggling with the controls, fighting to bring it to five-thousand feet to level it off. The wind dragged him backwards while he gritted his teeth, and with
all his strength fought to pull himself down towards the hatch and drag himself inside – Calver had come through.
In the helicopter, the pilot sat stunned. His mouth opened closed like a bass out of water. Not believing what he had just seen, and also hoping he had caught the footage.
The new helicopter hovered where it was, only turning to capture the shots. As the plane disappeared into the horizon, the helicopter pilot banked and headed home.
Calver and Bolton watched the monitor.
They had seen everything and still could not quite comprehend what they saw.
‘Nice job,’ Bolton said, patting Calver on the shoulder.
‘I’m just glad it worked. You think I want that guy tracking me down cause I fucked it up?’ Calver said with fear in his eyes.
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ Bolton said. ‘Crazy ass limey,’ he laughed. Bolton went to walk away. He had a call to make upstairs. They needed the cavalry down here, and he needed a doctor, but he stopped and turned.
‘Can you predict a route, a flight plan I mean? Find out where these assholes might be going?’ Bolton said.
Calver did not say anything, just started to type and click the mouse. Bolton watched Calver work. His method was fluid, no starting or stopping, it was only one motion. He was slightly jealous. His typing involved two fingers and a lot of swearing.
Calver stopped, and his eyes stared slowly at the screen.
‘So…got anything?’ Bolton said. Calver turned the monitor so Bolton could see.
‘Shit…their heading for the States,’ Bolton said. His voice was full of fear. ‘What the hell are they carrying on that plane?’
Calver shook his head, unable to speak, and wore the same look of fear as Bolton.
Chapter Seventy-Five
A call to the embassy lobby brought the troops down. The guards in the lobby of the blockhouse were told of the situation. As Bolton had thought, Price had given some bullshit story about how they were not disturbed because of the software. And because of the lockdown, anyone leaving the hive should be detained – regardless of who they were. And they had believed her.