Raymond Benson - High Time To Kill

The jeep swerved in front of the aircraft. The three policemen jumped out and aimed FN 7.62mm self-loading rifles at the cockpit. The sergeant grabbed a bullhorn and ordered the pilot to stop.

The plane came to a halt as the officers approached it. Bedi got out of the jeep and went to the side of the aircraft. As the door opened, he leaped up the steps and stuck his head in the cabin.

It was completely empty.

Confounded, he turned to the pilot and asked where his Chinese passenger was. The pilot shook his head as if he didn’t understand. Bedi drew a Browning Hi-Power 9mm handgun, the same pistol used by the Nepalese police.

“Tell me where he is or your brains will be all over your nice, clean windscreen,” he said. Although Bedi had been raised a Hindu and still believed that the taking of human life was a grave sin, he had never hesitated doing so in the line of duty. As he had grown older, religion became less and less important to him. He figured that Shiva the Destroyer was on his side since he worked for law and order.

The pilot pointed to a hangar some two hundred yards away. It was the tourist company’s outfit.

Bedi jumped out of the plane and shouted for the policemen to get into the jeep.

“He’s over there!” he yelled, pointing to the twin prop that was just leaving the hangar.

The words ABOVE THE EARTH FLIGHTS were painted on the sides of the plane. It was beginning to pick up speed on the runway. The jeep sped after it, and the sergeant blasted orders with the bullhorn. The pilot refused to stop. The sergeant contacted the control tower and ordered them to halt the takeoff. He was told that the pilot was not responding.

Had they been able to see inside the cockpit, they would have understood why the pilot was incommunicado. The leader of the three Nepalese men was holding a pistol to his head.

“Just take off and get in the air,” he commanded.

The other two hijackers were holding guns on the eleven frightened passengers, all British or American adults of both sexes. Lee Ming was sitting among them, next to a window. He didn’t know what the hell was going on. Was this the Union’s plan? Hijack a tourist plane? Where did they think they were going to go? Surely they couldn’t cross the border into Tibet in a tourist plane!

Zakir Bedi ordered the jeep’s driver to speed up, although the plane was now gaining momentum and would soon be off the ground.

“Shoot at them!” he ordered. One of the policemen aimed his SLR and fired. A bullet pinged off the tail, damaging it slightly, but it didn’t slow the plane.

The aircraft reached its top speed and lifted off. It sailed neatly over the terminal and into the sky.

“Call your air force! We have to stop that plane!” Bedi shouted at the sergeant.

“Air force? We don’t have an air force!”

Zakir Bedi put his head in his hands. After taking ten seconds to count to himself, he said, “Tell the control tower to keep track of that plane. I want to know where it goes.”

Passengers were beginning to panic inside the aircraft. One of the Nepalese men told them to shut up.

The leader told the other man to keep the gun on the pilot, then went into the small, cramped cabin to address the people.

“Please remain calm,” he said. “This plane is not going to look at Mount Everest as originally scheduled. We’re taking a little side trip to Darjeeling. No one will be harmed if you stay quiet and cooperate. You’ll be back in Kathmandu in a few hours.”

Darjeeling? Lee Ming thought. Why Darjeeling? They were supposed to be going to Tibet! Was this a new, roundabout way of getting there? One of the passengers, a man in his fifties, said, “Excuse me, I’m Senator Mitchell from the United States, and this is my wife.” He indicated a man and a woman across the aisle. “That’s Mr. Roth and his wife. He’s a Member of Parliament in Britain. I’ll have you know that both our governments will not tolerate—”

“Shut up!” the leader said, pointing the gun at him. The senator complied.

Lee gestured for the leader. “What is going on? Since this is all about me, I demand you tell me what is happening.”

The leader smiled and said, “I’m sorry I could not say before. We’re taking you to a safe place in Daijeeling. What becomes of you there is not our responsibility.”

“What do you mean? I thought I was going to Tibet.”

“Plans change” was all the man said.

Smelling a rat, Lee Ming suddenly became very agitated. He felt his heart start to pound, but the pacemaker kicked in after a few seconds. Still, he felt very anxious. Something was very wrong. These men weren’t Union.

Relying on old skills and the experience of a man who was in his prime, a formidable secret service agent, Lee Ming jumped out of his seat and attacked the leader. They struggled in the aisle as passengers screamed. The Browning went off accidentally. The hijacker holding a gun to the pilot’s head was hit in the throat. He fell back against the controls, gagging.

The plane swerved dangerously before the pilot was able to level it and set a course for east Nepal.

The leader punched Lee hard in the face. The Chinese man fell back into his seat, unconscious. The leader told the woman next to “Fasten his seat belt.”

He went back to the cockpit and pulled his companion out and kid him in the aisle. He was dead. The other conspirator looked frightened. Now what would they do? In answer to the unstated question, the leader said, “We continue as planned. It just means more money for the two of us, right?”

The other man hadn’t thought of that. He grinned nervously and nodded.

“Keep an eye on the passengers, and especially that Chinese piece of dirt,” the leader said, then went back to the cockpit.

The pilot said, “There’s a storm over east Nepal. Looks like a bad one. We should not fly that way.”

“Just get us to Darjeeling,” the leader said.

“I can’t without going through the storm. We don’t have enough fuel to skirt around it. We’ll have to go back to Kathmandu.”

“No! Fly into the storm. We’ll take our chances.”

“Are you mad? We could crash into one of the mountains!”

The leader shoved the barrel into the pilot’s temple, hurting him. “Get us to Darjeeling, or you’re dead.”

“If you shoot me,” the pilot stammered, “then you will die, too.”

“So be it. You want me to shoot you now and get it over with?”

The pilot hesitated, then turned the plane eastward.

A half hour later, they felt the effects of the storm. High winds, sleet, and snow battered the little plane. The turbulence bounced it up and down, frightening the passengers even more. Some of them were praying aloud, others were sobbing and holding on to their loved ones, and a few were sitting silently, staring ahead in horror. The senator from America was sweating profusely. The Member of Parliament was biting his lower lip.

They were over Taplejung when visibility became impossible. Now even the leader was concerned.

“Do you know where we are?” he asked.

The pilot shrugged. “Somewhere over east Nepal. The navigation isn’t working. They shot at our tail earlier, on the ground. There’s something wrong with it. I can’t maneuver the plane very well. We should turn back.”

“Keep going.”

The pilot, who was not accustomed to anything more complicated than sight-seeing flights over the Himalayas, didn’t know how to handle the situation. He was lost, and he had no clue as to which way was north or south. For all he knew, he could be flying completely off course.

The storm assaulted the plane with intensity. At one point the aircraft dipped so abruptly that the pilot thought for certain that it was all over. He managed to pull the aircraft back up into the thick white wall of horror and kept going. He didn’t know that the plane was now headed northeast into the Himalayas.