Алистер Маклин - Air Force One is Down

‘Come with me, young lady,’ Hemmingsway growled, and led the way towards the flight deck …

‘Lights up ahead, I think,’ Latimer exclaimed.

‘Coastal lights,’ Kowalski cautioned. ‘We’re approaching land now. Could be anything.’

The Commander called for flaps, and Latimer reached out his left hand to operate the lever mounted in the centre console. Position indicators on the right of the instrument panel registered his actions, which were monitored by Fairman and Kowalski – and, above all, by Jagger.

The aircraft’s speed died rapidly and Fairman demanded more. Then he ordered the landing gear to be lowered. Latimer obeyed like an automaton, the tension and strain mirrored on his handsome face. A distant rumbling beneath the aircraft signalled the dropping of the landing gear. With the mild thump that always accompanies the final locking of the undercarriage, the jarring motion communicating itself through the floor to the soles of Jagger’s feet, three green lights flashed on above the operating lever on Latimer’s side of the flight deck.

The flight system was still controlling the aircraft, but the Boeing showed a tendency now to pitch and wallow, as all airliners do when they are operating close to their stalling speed. The eddies and currents and warm air thermals coming from the sea and the liberal scattering of tiny islands did nothing to help steady her progress …

With the stateroom door firmly closed behind them, Hemmingsway grabbed Sabrina’s arm and whispered hoarsely, ‘What the hell’s going on here, Airman? You know something, don’t you? Well, tell me!’

Sabrina wrenched her arm away and said, ‘You’re hurting me, sir. You have no need to. I’ll tell you what I know – and I’d better warn you, it’s all bad.’

The colour left Hemmingsway’s big, florid face as Sabrina filled him in on the scene in the rear galley. He wanted to speak, but the words refused to come.

‘If you’re trying to ask me if we’ve been hijacked, sir,’ Sabrina said, ‘the answer is: yes, I believe we have. Whatever’s happening to us is being master-minded from the flight deck, which I’m sure will be locked against us. But I think there’s a way to get more evidence that should convince everyone back there.’

She led the way to the rest room cabin, and pushed at the door. It met an immediate obstacle, giving them no more than a two-inch-wide aperture into the room. Hemmingsway lent his weight to hers, and the body of the fallen engineer rolled across the carpeted floor and folded itself around a leg of the card-table.

Sabrina’s mouth set into a grim line.

‘I was afraid of this most of all,’ she said, indicating one of the three men.

‘Who’s that?’ Hemmingsway asked.

‘The Secret Service agent, Bert Cooligan. And his gun’s been taken,’ she replied.

‘And that means what?’

‘It means,’ Sabrina said, ‘that the security chief, Colonel McCafferty, must be up there–’ jerking her head towards the nose of the plane ‘–under arrest like the flight deck crew. We don’t have anybody else who can help.’

Hemmingsway looked shrewdly into her eyes.

‘Not even you, I suspect, young lady, because you’re no ordinary stewardess, are you?’

Sabrina smiled and said, ‘No, I’m not, but I’m on your side, like Joe McCafferty. But the point is – I’m not armed, so we’re still back where we were.’

Hemmingsway’s tall frame had slumped as he realised the gravity of their position, then he pulled himself up with a visible effort.

‘I’m not taking this lying down, Airman,’ he snapped. ‘I’m going up front now. I’m going to find out who’s kidnapped us, why, and where they’re taking us.’

‘I wouldn’t advise that, sir,’ Sabrina returned anxiously.

Hemmingsway fixed her with a fierce, but controlled stare.

‘In a real sense, Airman,’ he continued, ‘it’s my plane, my responsibility, my job to do something about it. And I don’t shirk my responsibilities. Ever.’

He led the way from the rest room cabin and halted before the flight deck, Sabrina at his elbow. Hemmingsway raised his hand to rap on the locked door, but a voice, sharp and incisive, came behind them.

‘Freeze,’ said Achmed Fayeed.

They turned and saw the gun, pointing at the left lapel of Sabrina’s blazer. Achmed stepped backwards and motioned them to follow. Hemmingsway opened the door and let Sabrina precede him into the stateroom, then stumbled through himself as the Arab brutally shoulder-charged him. Hemmingsway lurched into a table and fell to the floor, his head resting against the base of Zeidan’s wheelchair.

Zeidan’s piercing eyes fixed on the face of his aide, and he said, ‘What is the meaning of this outrage, Achmed?’

Fayeed straightened up and sneered, ‘Surely, you can see for yourself, cousin. This aircraft has been commandeered under my orders, and is now being flown to a place designated by myself and my friends.’

‘And what happens next?’ Dorani inquired, completely unruffled, like the other Arabs.

‘You will be told that at the right time,’ Achmed returned. ‘For the moment, you are my prisoners. Remain in your seats, and fasten the belts.’

Hemmingsway climbed to his feet, breathing almost as heavily as Feisal had been a few moments before.

‘You won’t get away with it, damn you,’ he hissed, ‘this plane belongs to the Presid–’

‘I am aware,’ Achmed cut in, ‘who the aircraft belongs to. That is why we have stolen it. And you are wrong, Mr Hemmingsway, in any case. We have already got away with it. You are powerless to prevent us from accomplishing our purpose, and your people back in Washington, and yours, and yours–’ ranging around the room ‘–do not, in fact, know what is happening, and would not believe it if they did.’

‘Why not?’ Zeidan asked curiously.

‘Because they think you are dead,’ Achmed replied.

Sabrina paled and clutched at the head of Arbeid’s seat.

Achmed said to her, ‘Your assistance as a stewardess is no longer needed, and your function as a secret agent has been nullified. Sit down with the rest, and fasten your seat-belt.’

Dumbly, Sabrina complied. Philpott’s worst fears had been realised: a strike in the air had been launched at the President’s Boeing.

And his words came back to her: ‘If that happens, nobody can help you. You’re on your own …’

Fairman was sweating, and he knew Latimer had spotted it. The Commander was finding it difficult to do no more than rest his hands and feet lightly on the controls, following the effect of the pulses sent out from the computer brain that was really flying the machine. His eyes kept flickering to the airspeed indicator, resolutely steady at 110 knots.

‘Three miles or so, I reckon,’ Latimer said. ‘See anything?’

‘Not a thing,’ Fairman replied.

His next words were cut short by Jagger.

‘There!’ Cody yelled, pointing ahead.

They strained their eyes through the clouded night and saw, dimly, a signalling light a short distance away.

‘Altimeter setting,’ Fairman snapped.

‘One-zero-zero-nine,’ Jagger answered. ‘Wind, three-seven-oh degrees at one-six.’

‘Right on the nose, baby,’ Fairman continued. ‘OK, I have control.’

As he spoke, he flicked the switch on the left of his control column to cancel the automatic system, and settled down to pilot the Boeing manually.

The aircraft juddered as they hit a patch of turbulence, and the starboard wing dropped sharply. Fairman righted it again in what was really a reflex action. The runway, picked out by the flickering dots of the paraffin lamps, was in sight. Fairman eased his hands forward to start the landing.