Adam Hall - Quiller Solitaire

A teddy bear on the floor, a lipstick and a smashed cup, the small signs of great crisis, of the process of an act of inhumanity.

If Khatami moved, I would see it in the periphery of my vision field.

I took out the first sheet from the briefcase and let my eyes make leaps across the paragraphs to get the gist. The first of them were in French and one pulled me up short.

… You will insist that you have a fire in the cabin and that you cannot risk going on to Dulles International. Remind Air Traffic Control that you have a full complement of passengers and that you must get them onto the ground as soon as possible and regardless of all other considerations…

There were three more paragraphs in Farsi and some figures that looked like radio call signs. I took out the second sheet.

It was a map for airline pilots: Washington DC (VA). Washington National, River Visual Approach for Runway 18.

I began taking slow breaths. The image of Khatami's seat had moved, the whole silhouette had moved against the lights of the instrument panel. I didn't want any more of that bloody dizziness at a time like this, I couldn't afford the luxury, nobody could afford it, the President of the United States couldn't afford it, I knew that now.

You will make your approach to Runway 18 from the north-west, following the lights and landmarks of the Potomac River. You should pick up the river just after passing through 10 DME 6 at 3000 feet. The American Legion Memorial Bridge will be on your right. You will pick up the lights of the Chain Bridge just after 10 DME 6 and you should now be down to 1800 feet.

I felt the vibration of the bulkhead against my shoulder-blades, could smell the stale coffee that had been spilled, and Khatami's vomit. The lights and the LEDs shimmered below the darkness of the windscreen, some of them steady, some of them flashing red, green, amber, white. I had to look away from them; they were starting to swing a little in front of my eyes.

Never neglect concussion . It was in the medical section of the Manual at the Bureau, and Doc Dibenidetto can be trusted to know whereof he speaks. It had happened in the underground garage at Tegel Airport, and pitching out of the limousine in Algiers had aggravated things.

Slow breaths.

And make haste, great haste now.

The Georgetown Reservoir will be coming up on your left and you should now be down to 1200 feet. At this point you should request confirmation of your permission to make an emergency landing from ATC, so as to reassure them that your situation is genuine. You should be through the 3 DME 6 and over Key Bridge at 900 feet. Continue your approach above Roosevelt Bridge and Arlington Memorial Bridge as scheduled, with the Washington Monument now on your left. At this point you will break off your approach path and make a 70 ° turn to line up with the White House and complete your run in to the target.

The lights swinging at the edge of the vision field, around the edges of the map, the rush of the jets diminishing a little.

I waited, had to wait, until I thought I could get onto my feet and stay there. I think it took only a few seconds, and when I finally managed it I had the feeling I should have waited longer, not rushed it.

'Khatami,' I said, 'get on the floor.'

He looked up at me, down at the map in my hand.

There wasn't any point in talking to him about this. I hadn't got a gun that I could have pressed to the back of his neck while I told him where to fly this thing, where not to fly it, but I had enough stamina left to kill him if I had to. But he was beyond threats to his life: he'd already surrendered it to Allah, and nothing could touch him now. This is the strongest weapon of the kamikaze: he's got nothing to lose, nothing you can threaten to take away from him.

He was still looking up at me, Khatami.

'You killed Hassan,' he said.

'Down on the floor! Face down on the floor – move!'

He held my eyes for a moment and then dropped from his seat and lay prone, I think because he'd seen I was ready to kill him if he didn't obey, and that would mean he'd have no chances left of overcoming me if he could. That was all he wanted to live for: my death and his final run in to the target.

I put my foot on his neck so that I'd feel any movement, any attempt to get up. Then I hit the speaker switch of the radio so that I wouldn't have to reach for the head-set, and raised the board for Solitaire in the Signals room in London.

'Can you hear me?'

Yes-yes.

The voice-activated tapes would be starting to roll.

'I am on board Pan American Flight 907.'

Croder would be there, Chief of Signals. During the end-phase of a mission he will never leave the Signals room. Sometimes a camp bed is brought in there for him.

We have that.

I felt a chill: I'd paused longer than I'd thought, and they were having to prompt me.

The radio display was blurring, clearing again, blurring. I'd got up too soon, off the floor too soon, pushing it, this was pushing things, no good, this was dangerous.

Said, I said: My position is west of the Moroccan coast and south – south-east of the Azores.

We have that.

Oh Jesus Christ, this wasn't – I wasn't doing this fast enough 'Listen – this aircraft must not be allowed -must not be allowed -'

Lights went out, the lights of the display went out, dark now, not the lights, my eyelids closing, that was it, have to open them, open them – This aircraft must not be allowed -'

The lights swung in an arc and a flash of pain shot into my right shoulder as I crashed down on it.

In the dream I heard a voice.

It was screaming at me.

Heat in my shoulder, white heat. It didn't bother me. I listened to the dream, because that was all it was, a voice. It was screaming at me, but I didn't understand the words.

I went on pushing.

The lights were beautiful, circling above my head, red, green, amber, white, circling around the starfields in the windscreen, went on pushing, running down my arm, there was something running down my arm – Oh mother of God this is -

Screaming at me about Hassan, I could hear the name Hassan.

I pushed harder. I wasn't going to let him do this. He had a knife, a long knife with red on the blade.

Come in, please. Come in.

That was in English.

London.

Hassan , Khatami was screaming, then he seemed to remember and switched to French – You killed Hassan … and went on screaming, something about Le Grand Satan , he would die, the Great Satan, yes, a 70° turn from the river – Jesus Christ I've got to -

Pushed very hard, but my hand was slipping because of the blood, it was dripping against my face.

Come in, please, come in.

London, waiting.

I had things to tell London, very important things: This aircraft must not be allowed to approach the eastern seaboard of the United States. It must not be allowed to approach land at all.

Tried – tried to shout it out so they'd hear, nothing happened.

His face was above me, Khatami's, dark, enraged, in the centre of the swirling vortex of lights, one clear thought burning in my head, one clear thought, If I don't tell London, this whole bloody thing is going to hit the target , the one thought burning in my head.

Come in, please. Come in.

Calm – his voice sounded very calm, but they knew what was going on, they could hear this bastard screaming, could understand his French.

Come in, please.

Blood in one of my eyes.