The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  Andersen felt her stomach twist as apprehension gripped her. It was an unwelcome but familiar feeling she had experienced many times before, signalling something unpleasant and dangerous.

  McGregor pulled an envelope out of his tunic pocket and handed it to Andersen. ‘These are your orders,’ he said. ‘From the very top.’

  Andersen opened the envelope, read the single sheet of paper inside signed by Dr Hubert, and inhaled sharply. ‘When?’ she asked.

  ‘The CIA has operatives on the ground right now. As soon as they give the signal to go ahead, your mission starts. I expect within the hour at the latest. All top secret, of course. You better get ready and stand by. And remember, officially, you are part of exercises we are conducting.’

  Andersen stood to attention. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said and saluted.

  McGregor did the same. ‘Good luck, Major. For what it’s worth, you are by far the best-equipped fighter pilot with combat experience I have for this kind of job. You have what it takes to pull this off and I don’t have to tell you what’s riding on it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Andersen, trying to make sense of what she had just read. Then she turned around, her head spinning, and quickly left the bridge to get ready and prepare herself for what was to come.

  Jack sat next to Tristan in their tiny cabin, telling him about Rahima and what it meant to him to have found his long-lost mother in such unexpected and dramatic circumstances. If Tristan was in any way surprised, he certainly didn’t show it. For someone who was a strong believer in destiny and fate, such matters were part of the workings of everyday life.

  ‘How do you feel about all this?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘Right now, I feel worried about her. She’s very vulnerable, emotionally, especially with all that’s been going on.’

  ‘Hardly surprising.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I’m just sorry I had to leave so suddenly with so many questions left unanswered.’

  ‘I can imagine ...’

  Jack pointed to the ceiling. ‘I feel very uneasy about all this, Tristan. Something’s going on here we don’t know about. An entire aircraft carrier strike force just to rescue a scientist?’ Jack shook his head. ‘Hardly. There has to be more to it than that.’

  Tristan smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking that too. We are talking about a superpower here. National interests, reputations, prestige!’

  ‘Exactly, and that’s what worries me. A Colombian drug baron holding the US to ransom? Do you really think he will be allowed to get away with it? I don’t think so. I think there’s a bigger picture here.’

  ‘What bigger picture?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘The drug problem. It’s a huge political issue in the US at the moment and it’s all about the South American drug supply. Elections are coming up.’

  ‘What are you saying? This could be the opportunity Washington’s been waiting for? The strong man in the White House protecting the national interests?’

  ‘Something like that. To show force and do something about the drug problem.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By teaching the drug barons a lesson they are not likely to forget and at the same time making huge political capital out of it back home.’

  ‘Hm. And linking it all to the Stolzfus abduction the whole country’s talking about?’

  ‘Exactly! Maximum exposure, maximum impact, opportune timing, patriotic and emotional – perfect. A re-election spin doctor’s dream.’

  Jack could hear some noise in the cabin next door. ‘That must be the major,’ he said and stood up. They hadn’t seen Andersen since the helicopter had landed and Stolzfus was rushed to the intensive care unit on the ship. Jack opened the door and looked outside. Andersen was just leaving her cabin. Jack looked at her, surprised.

  ‘Going somewhere, Major?’ he said, pointing to her sage-green flight suit. ‘Don’t tell me some of the pilots here are a little rusty and in need of a lesson?’

  She looks uncomfortable, thought Jack.

  Andersen shook her head. ‘No, it’s a little more complicated than that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I can’t explain, I’m sorry. Orders ... must dash!’

  Tristan stepped out into the corridor and watched Andersen turn around and quickly walk away. ‘I can see a blinding flash and balls of fire, and hear the deafening roar of jet engines,’ he called out after her. Andersen stopped and turned around, her mouth agape. He knows! she thought. He used the same words in Langley. Amazing!

  ‘Bogota?’ said Tristan. It was more of a statement than a question.

  Holding his breath, Jack watched Andersen carefully. Their eyes locked and Jack thought he could detect an almost imperceptible nod. It only lasted for an instant, then Andersen turned and hurried down the corridor without saying another word.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Jack. ‘They are going to attack the compound! These jets could be there within minutes and wreak havoc.’

  Tristan put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘Ticks all the boxes. I think you were right, mate; they are not going to take this lying down. The lesson Major Andersen will deliver is not intended for pilots, but for drug barons.’

  ‘We must warn Rahima!’ said Jack.

  ‘How?’

  ‘She always has her phone with her. I have her number and you have a satellite phone.’

  ‘Come inside quickly. It’s worth a try.’

  Cordoba’s helicopter had just landed in the H Cartel compound. Standing at the window of his observation room, Cordoba watched his son climb out of the cockpit, waving. A group of security guards patrolling the grounds close by cheered and clapped. Alonso closed his eyes and took a deep breath, drinking in the familiar air. Then he knelt down and kissed the ground like he had seen the pope do during his visit to Colombia in 2017, which Alonso had watched on the TV in his prison cell.

  Rahima turned to Cordoba standing next to her, tears in her eyes. She reached for his hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Hernando,’ she said. ‘You kept your word. I will never forget this.’

  ‘It will come at a price; I just can’t see what it is right now and that makes me nervous,’ said Cordoba, ignoring her comment. ‘The American ambassador has asked to see Rodrigo. He said it was urgent. I’ll send him over straight away to find out what this is all about.’

  Andersen sat in the cockpit of the F/A-18E Super Hornet, waiting for take-off. Armed with two of the latest air-to-surface missiles, the jet had awesome firepower. For a fighter pilot like Andersen, this was a special moment. How I’ve missed this, she thought as the flight deck crew moved the plane into position at the rear of the catapult. They were about to attach the towbar on the nose gear to a slot in the shuttle. Andersen gripped the controls and checked the indicator panels, the palms of her hands beginning to sweat. Next comes the holdback, she thought. In the F/A-18E the holdback was built into the nose gear.

  As the flight crew raised the jet-blast deflector aft of the plane, the catapult officer known as the ‘shooter’ was standing by in the catapult control pod, getting the catapults ready. Now the jet was almost ready to go. The catapult officer opened the valves to fill the catapult cylinders with steam from the reactors. Suddenly, steam began to rise from the catapult as the Super Hornet prepared to launch. Soon the steam would provide the necessary power in the pistons to sling the plane forward, providing the required lift for take-off.

  Now! whispered Andersen and blasted the plane’s engines. The holdback kept the plane on the shuttle until the engines generated sufficient thrust. Carefully watching the piston pressure gauge, the catapult officer released the pistons just at the right moment, causing the holdbacks to release as well, thereby thrusting the shuttle and the plane forward at enormous speed. This incredible force allowed the twenty-thousand kilogram plane to accelerate from zero to 266 km/h in just two seconds, and take off. Minutes later, four other fully armed planes took off in close succession as part of an exercise.

  The CIA operatives who had been wa
tching the H Cartel compound had seen the arrival of the Cordoba helicopter with Alonso on board. Satisfied that everyone who counted was now inside the building, they gave the go-ahead.

  After briefly embracing her son, who appeared strangely cold and distant, Rahima left Cordoba’s observation room. Sensing that father and son wanted to be alone, she knew it was time to withdraw. The observation room was Cordoba’s private domain where he received visitors and conducted most of his business. It was understood that Rahima would only enter if invited, and never unannounced.

  Rahima was on her way back to her apartment on the ground floor when her satellite phone rang. Expecting a call from a friend in New York, she answered the phone. It was Jack.

  ‘Where are you?’ he demanded, his voice sounding shrill.

  ‘About to enter my apartment. Why?’

  ‘Please listen carefully! There’s no time to explain. You are in great danger! Leave the building at once and get as far away from it as you can. Now! Run! Do you understand?’

  ‘Why?’ stammered Rahima, starting to panic.

  ‘No time! Run!’ Then the phone went dead.

  Breathless and in a panic, Rahima hurried along the corridor and burst into the observation room. Alonso was standing next to Cordoba by the window. Both men turned around, surprised.

  ‘We must go outside now!’ shouted Rahima. ‘We are in great danger. Come; now!’

  ‘Please calm down,’ said Cordoba. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Jack Rogan called. We are in great danger!’ said Rahima, barely able to speak. She hurried over to Alonso and took him by the hand. ‘Come with me, I implore you!’

  Alonso withdrew his hand and pushed his mother aside. ‘I’m not going anywhere. My place is here with my father.’

  ‘Please, pull yourself together, Rahima,’ said Cordoba. ‘This is nonsense. We are safe here.’

  ‘Noooo!’ shouted Rahima, tears streaming down her troubled face. ‘My son warned us!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Cordoba. ‘Your son is right here.’ Cordoba shook his head, suspecting some kind of stress-related medical episode brought on by Alonso’s return. ‘Please go back to your rooms and calm down. I mean it. I’ll send someone.’

  Rahima staggered out of the observation room, finding it difficult to breathe. Confused, she ran to one of the back doors leading into the garden. She was about to open the door when she almost bumped into Agabe coming the other way.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, looking concerned.

  ‘Come with me!’ shouted Rahima, remembering what Jack had told her about Agabe. ‘Quickly!’ She took Agabe by the hand and pulled him along the path leading to the little chapel at the far end of the garden.

  ‘We must get inside before it’s too late,’ she whispered. Then she pushed open the chapel door, ran towards the altar and collapsed on the floor.

  Flying at 2000 km/h, it took the Super Hornet only a few minutes to reach its target. Flying high above Bogota, Andersen released the two powerful air-to-ground missiles. Precision guided by GPS, they homed in on the H Cartel compound below. Because the target wasn’t moving and had been precisely identified with exact coordinates, the missiles had no difficulty finding the compound. By the time they slammed into the main building, obliterating it, Andersen was already on her way back to the Endeavor, having spent less than a few minutes in Colombian airspace.

  Rodrigo was talking to the ambassador at the US embassy when he heard a loud explosion that shook the building. Through the windows he saw a ball of flames and a plume of black smoke rise from the compound, visible in the distance. ‘Good God!’ Shaking, he turned to face the ambassador standing behind him.

  ‘That’s the reason I asked you to come here urgently, Mr Rodrigo,’ said the ambassador calmly. ‘A little different from viewing that video you presented not that long ago, but just as realistic if not more so, wouldn’t you say? I would be surprised if anyone in the compound survived this.’

  Rodrigo shook his head, desperately trying to understand what he had just witnessed. ‘Who? What?’ he stammered.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? Rival cartels fight one another all the time here. We’ve both seen it before ...’

  ‘On this scale? Never!’

  The ambassador shrugged. ‘Be that as it may, asking you to come here saved your life. So much is clear. A little cooperation in return would go a long way to make sure it wasn’t in vain.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Rodrigo, the lawyer in him sensing that some kind of deal was about to be proposed.

  ‘I suggest you return to New York at once. You will be contacted at your office, by the CIA most likely. They will explain everything. My driver will take you to the airport now. Tickets have been arranged. Have a good flight, Mr Rodrigo,’ said the ambassador and pressed the call button on his desk. ‘There is nothing left here for you, trust me.’

  54

  On the USS Endeavour: 18 July, 2:40 pm

  Flying high above the jungle, Andersen was on her way back to the Endeavor when she noticed dark clouds and lightning in the distance. Gaining momentum, the violent storm she had encountered during the handover on the beach earlier, had moved out to sea. Soon visibility became poor as she approached the Endeavor, looking like a tiny life raft floating in the vast grey ocean below.

  Fuel is low, visibility poor and getting worse, thought Andersen as she began to line up for landing. As she got closer, sea mist moved in suddenly and it began to rain heavily as the Endeavor disappeared from view behind a curtain of dense fog. Andersen realised it would take all of her aviator skills and experience to land the jet in these conditions. Landing a supersonic jet on a floating piece of metal runway one hundred and fifty metres long was one of the most difficult manoeuvres for even the most seasoned navy pilot, but to attempt to do this almost blind and with the deck pitching in rough seas in the middle of a tropical storm was practically a death wish.

  Jack and Tristan stood in the back of the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center watching the planes that had already completed their mission, land one by one. They had returned early and were able to land before the storm closed in. That only left Andersen, returning from a secret mission over Bogota, still in the air and attempting to land.

  Jack could sense the tension in the control room. He looked at Tristan and raised an eyebrow as he overheard the exchange between Andersen and the landing signals officer (LSO) guiding the plane in using radio communications, and a collection of lights on the landing deck that would be difficult if not impossible to see in these conditions.

  They knew Andersen didn’t have enough fuel to stay in the air and wait for the storm to pass. She only had enough fuel for one, or at best two attempts to land the plane. To do this safely, she would have to snag one of four steel arresting wires stretched across the deck with the tail hook at the back of the jet. These arresting wires are attached on both ends to hydraulic cylinders below deck to absorb the enormous energy generated by a twenty-thousand kilogram aircraft travelling at 240 km/h attempting to land and come to a sudden stop in a ninety-six metre landing area. Four parallel arresting wires were stretched across the deck, fifteen metres apart. An experienced aviator like Andersen would aim for the third wire, which was the safest and most effective. To do this almost blind would stretch the pilot and the LSO to the limit and require a high level of skill and luck to perform successfully. There were only a handful of pilots in the navy who could do this in such treacherous weather conditions, and Andersen was one of them.

  Instead of abating, the tropical storm was becoming more violent. Heavy wind gusts swept across the pitching deck and bolts of lightning raced across the sky like trapped snakes trying to escape. The calm voice of the LSO sounded almost surreal as he listened to Andersen and gave her instructions over the radio:

  Andersen: ‘Marshal, 201 checking in state 6.4.’ This was the crucial fuel level expressed in pounds and reduced to two numbers. It meant that Andersen had 6
400 pounds of fuel left.

  LSO: ‘201, expect CV-1 recovery Case III approach, altimeter 29.92, marshal on the 240 radial, 21, angles six, expected push time 22.’

  Andersen: ‘201, marshal on the 240, 21, angles six, 29.92, state 6.3 …’

  I can’t see anything! thought Andersen, ignoring the fear clawing at her empty stomach.

  LSO: ‘Deck’s moving; you’re a little too high.’

  Using slight stick and throttle modifications, Andersen repositioned the aircraft for a good landing start by using the information on her head-up display.

  Mesmerised, Jack and Tristan stared out the window, watching the grey, windswept flight deck below. Suddenly, they could see the outline of the approaching jet coming towards them out of the mist at high speed like a giant primeval bird of prey ready to attack, and they could hear the whining roar of the engines. The jet was coming in too high and moments later, it missed the arresting wires altogether. A veteran pilot like Andersen knew that instead of slowing down the plane just before landing, she had to come in at full military power, which meant at full power without afterburners. This was of course counterintuitive, but absolutely essential should it become necessary to abort the landing and take off again because the tail hook had missed the arresting wire. If the pilot didn’t come in at that speed, the jet wouldn’t be able to take off again and would crash into the sea instead.

  Then came the LSO’s call over the radio: ‘Bolter, bolter, bolter. Hook skip bolter!’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ said Tristan, trying to interpret the disturbing signals assaulting his brain like a warning from the future, trying to change the present. For a moment, bright flashes of light obscured his vision. Feeling frustrated and dizzy, he had to lean against Jack’s shoulder to steady himself.

  Taking a deep breath, Andersen checked again that the Super Hornet was at military power, and began to climb away to attempt another landing.