James Barrington - Pandemic

Outskirts of Matera, Puglia, Italy

‘It’s gone,’ Vento shouted out, as he ran back up the villa’s drive towards Perini. They’d found one set of keys in the field adjoining the wasteland, and Vento had immediately set off with the driver to where he’d left the Agusta.

‘What?’

‘The helicopter,’ Vento said, ‘it’s gone. And the other Alfa Romeo was parked in the lay-by. Richter must have taken the Agusta.’

For a moment Perini said nothing, then he span round to face Simpson. ‘You knew ,’ he said. ‘You knew he could fly a helicopter.’ Simpson nodded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You never asked,’ Simpson replied, with a wintry smile. ‘And let’s get something quite clear, shall we? I will do nothing at all to assist you in capturing Richter. He’s one of my most valuable assets, and I will not tolerate seeing him incarcerated pointlessly in Italy, or anywhere else for that matter.

‘I don’t condone what he did here, but I do understand why he did it. Lomas killed a woman Richter had become personally involved with. He killed her slowly and with incredible precision so as to cause her the maximum possible pain, and when he’d finished he dumped her body next to Richter himself while he was unconscious. What Richter did was actually rather less than Lomas deserved. If it had been my decision, Lomas would have taken days to die.’

‘I have no interest whatsoever in Richter’s reasons,’ Perini snapped, then turned away and told one of the DCPP officers to contact Brindisi airport immediately and place the Sea Harrier under armed guard. Then he faced Simpson again. ‘The fact is that he made a murderous attack upon a bound and unarmed prisoner in full view of four witnesses. If Lomas dies, I expect Richter to be charged with murder. If he survives, I expect him to be charged with causing grievous bodily harm.’

‘Expect away,’ Simpson replied coldly. ‘As I’ve said, I’ll do nothing to help you. And you should also know that any attempts to extradite Richter from Britain will not succeed. I will see to that. If you persist with this vendetta, I promise you I will produce witnesses of unimpeachable probity who’ll be prepared to swear that at the moment this attack took place Richter was actually in London.’

‘Or Paris or Berlin or Madrid, I suppose,’ Perini said bitterly.

‘Or anywhere else I choose. Exactly,’ Simpson nodded. ‘I can see you’re finally getting the hang of it.’

Aeroporto di Brindisi, Papola-Casale, Puglia, Italy

Inside the squadron building, Richter dropped the flick-knife into a large plastic bag, then stripped off his T-shirt, jeans and trainers and stuffed them into it as well. Then he climbed into his flying overalls, pulled on his speed jeans and flying boots, slipped on the life-saving jacket, grabbed his helmet as well as the plastic bag and ran out of the building.

A fuel bowser had just arrived beside the Agusta and the driver was looking around in a puzzled fashion, presumably wondering where its pilot had got to. Richter strode briskly across to the Harrier, his eyes roaming over the control surfaces, but the Chief had been as good as his word, and all the locks had been removed. Richter climbed nimbly up the red ladder secured to the side of the aircraft, sat down, strapped himself in and pulled on his flying helmet. He shoved the plastic bag awkwardly over to one side of the cockpit.

He rushed through the pre-flight checks – again, the Chief Petty Officer had done those that he could – and as soon as he had completed them he reached out and levered the ladder away from the side of the cockpit. As it fell with a clatter on to the concrete hardstanding, the fuel bowser driver turned round to stare curiously at the Harrier.

Richter closed the canopy and removed the last two pins that primed the ejection seat. There are five pins altogether, but the Chief had already removed and stowed the other three. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a truck and a car approaching the hardstanding along the taxiway, headlights blazing and travelling at speed, but he ignored them.

He flicked the start switch and pressed the button next to it. The Auxiliary Power Unit started to whistle, and then Richter heard the sound he’d been waiting for: the mechanical whine as the APU started the Pegasus engine turning. This whine grew louder as the turbine span ever faster and then the jet settled into a steady, comforting roar.

Richter checked all the engine instruments, then glanced up the taxiway. The truck and car were almost at the edge of the hardstanding, but he really didn’t think they were going to pose a problem – for one very simple reason.

During practice air combat, live missiles are never carried, and the Sidewinder fitted below the starboard wing of Richter’s Harrier was a dummy apart from its seeker head, but the pair of Mark 4 Aden cannon – essentially a multi-barrelled Gatling gun similar to those fitted to American tank-busting helicopters and A10 aircraft – located in pods under the belly of the aircraft were very real, and he had persuaded Commander (Air) to authorize the loading of two ammunition packs of one hundred rounds for each gun.

Normally the FA2 Sea Harrier carries only missiles in various combinations. Richter had seen no point in asking Wings to let him carry live Sidewinders or AMRAAMs, but because he had no idea what Simpson was planning for him in Italy, some kind of self-defence capability had seemed prudent. The obvious solution was the Aden cannon, and the squadron maintainers had spent some hours fitting this pair of weapons.

The truck swept onto the hardstanding and screeched to a halt almost in front of the Harrier. Armed airmen poured out of the back and pointed their assault rifles at the aircraft. Richter did nothing, because he was waiting for the car to stop. When it did, blocking the access to the taxiway, two more armed soldiers climbed out.

Then Richter acted. He increased the power setting on the Pegasus slightly and pressed down on the right rudder pedal: the Harrier swung gently to the right until the nose of the aircraft was pointing directly at the back of the parked truck. He selected the Aden cannon, sighted carefully, making sure that none of the soldiers was in the firing line, and depressed the trigger, releasing it after about a second. There was a sound like tearing calico and the back of the truck simply ceased to exist as some fifty 30mm shells smashed into it from a distance of less than twenty yards. The impact swung what was left of the vehicle around in a half-circle, and Richter found himself looking into the terrified face of the driver, who was still in the cab.

The results were immediate and exactly what Richter had expected. The soldiers scattered and, as they disappeared into whatever cover they could find, he wound on the power and the Harrier began to move again, turning directly towards the car on the taxiway. The driver suddenly decided he’d be more likely to survive if he moved his vehicle, so floored the accelerator, swinging the wheel so that the car shot onto the hard-standing, well clear of the Harrier’s path and leaving the taxiway clear.

The Italians’ second line of defence was even then being assembled: three heavy fire vehicles were being parked nose to tail across the full width of the runway. But Richter didn’t need the runway. He turned the Harrier onto the taxiway, slammed the engine to full power, and the Harrier began to roll. He hit one hundred knots in four seconds, and less than two seconds after that, with one hundred and fifty knots showing on the ASI, he rotated the nozzles to fifty degrees and the Harrier leapt into the sky.

American Airlines 747, direct Baltimore-London Heathrow, western Atlantic