Anthony Horowitz - Eagle Strike

“You see? It doesn"t work!”

“Then all this has been a waste of time!” Alex said.

“Oh no, my dear Alex. Because, you see, you may remember that I recently had the privilege—

the very great privilege—of shaking hands with the president. I insisted on it. It was that important to me. But I had a special latex coating on my own hand, and when we shook, I took a cast of his fingers. Isn"t that clever?”

Cray removed what looked like a thin plastic glove from his pocket and slipped it onto his hand.

Alex saw that the fingers of the glove were moulded. He understood. The president"s fingerprints had been duplicated onto the latex surface.

Cray now had the power to launch his nuclear attack. “Wait a minute,” Alex said. “Yes?”

“You"re wrong. You"re terribly wrong. You think you"re making things better, but you"re not!” He struggled to find the right words. “You"ll kill thousands of people. Hundreds of thousands of people, and most of them will be innocent. They won"t have anything to do with drugs…”

“There have to be sacrifices. But if a thousand people die to save a million, what"s so wrong with that?”

“Everything is wrong with it! What about the fallout? Have you thought what it"ll do to the rest of the planet? I thought you cared about the environment. But you"re going to destroy it.”

“It"s a price worth paying, and one day the under the ground. Some exploded out of specially adapted train carriages. Others came from submarines. And nobody knew who had given the order. It was a billion-dollar fireworks display that would change the world for ever. And in ninety minutes it would all be over.

In the communications room the computer screens were flashing red. The entire operating board was ablaze with flashing lights. Cray stood up. There was a serene smile on his face.

“Well, that"s it,” he said. “There"s nothing anyone can do now.”

“They"ll stop them!” Alex said. “As soon as they realize what"s happened, they"ll press a button and all your missiles will self-destruct.”

“I"m afraid it"s not quite as easy as that. You see, all the launch protocols have been obeyed. It was the Air Force One computer that set the missiles off; so only Air Force One can terminate them. I noticed you eyeing the little red button on the keyboard right here. SELF-DESTRUCT.

But I"m afraid you"re not going anywhere near it, Alex. We"re leaving.” Cray gestured with the gun and Alex was forced out of the communications room and back down to the main cabin. His head was still hurting where Cray had hit him. He needed to recover his strength. But how much time did he have left?

Yassen and Sabina were waiting for them. As soon as Alex appeared, Sabina tried to go over to him but Yassen held her back. Cray sank into a sofa next to her.

“Time to go!” he said. He smiled at Alex. “You realize, of course, that once this plane is in the air, it"s virtually indestructible. You could say it"s the perfect getaway vehicle. That"s the beauty of it. It has over two hundred and thirty miles of wiring inside the frame which is designed to withstand even the pulse of a thermonuclear blast. Not that it would make any difference anyway. If they did manage to shoot us down, the missiles would still find their target. The world would still be saved!”

Alex tried to clear his head. He had to think straight.

There were just the five of them on the plane. Sabina, Yassen, Damian Cray and himself—with Henryk in the cockpit. Alex looked out of the main door. The ring of fake American soldiers was still in place. Even if anyone at the airport glanced their way, they would see nothing wrong. Not that that was likely to happen. The authorities must still be concentrating on the cloud of deadly nerve gas that didn"t in fact exist.

Alex knew that if he was going to do anything—if there was anything he could do—it would have to happen before the plane left the ground. Cray was right. Once the plane was in the air, he would have no chance at all.

“Close the door, Mr Gregorovich,” Cray commanded. “I think we should be on our way.”

“Wait a minute!” Alex started to get to his feet but Cray signalled to him to sit down. The gun was in his hand. It was a Smith and Wesson .40, small and powerful with its three and a half inch barrel and square handgrip. Alex knew that it was extremely dangerous to fire a gun on a normal plane. Breaking a window or penetrating the outer skin would depressurize the cabin and make flight impossible. But this, of course, was Air Force One. This was not a normal plane.

“Stay exactly where you are,” Cray said.

“Where are you taking us?” Sabina demanded. Cray was still sitting on the sofa next to her. He obviously thought it would be better to keep her and Alex apart. He reached out and ran a finger across her cheek. Sabina shuddered. She found him revolting and didn"t care if he knew it.

“We"re going to Russia,” he said. “Russia?” Alex looked puzzled.

“A new life for me. And a return home for Mr Gregorovich.” Cray licked his lips. “As a matter of fact, Mr Gregorovich will be something of a hero.”

“I rather doubt that.” Alex couldn"t keep the scorn out of his voice.

“Oh yes. Heroin is smuggled into the country—I am told—in lead-lined coffins, and the border guards simply look the other way. Of course, they"re paid. Corruption is everywhere. Drugs are ten times less expensive in Russia than they are in Europe and there are at least three and a half million addicts in Moscow and St Petersburg. Mr Gregorovich will be ending a problem that has almost brought his country to its knees, and I know that the president will be grateful. So you see, it looks as if the two of us are going to live happily ever after—which, I"m afraid, is more than can be said for you.”

Yassen had closed the door. Alex watched as he pulled the lever down, locking it. “Doors to automatic,” said Yassen.

There was a speaker system active in the plane. Everything that was said in the main cabin could be heard in the cockpit. And, sitting at the flight deck, Henryk flicked a switch so that his voice too could be heard throughout the plane.

“This is your captain speaking,” he said. “Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for take-off.” He was joking: a grisly parody of a real departure. “Thank you for flying with Cray Airlines. I hope you have a pleasant flight.”

The engines started up. Out of the window Alex saw the soldiers scatter and run back to the trucks. Their work was done. They would leave the airport and make their way home to Amsterdam. He glanced at Sabina. She was sitting very still and he remembered that she was waiting for him to do something. I know things… You have to leave everything to me. That was what he had told her. How very hollow the words sounded now.

Air Force One was equipped with four huge engines. Alex heard them as they began to turn.

They were about to leave! Desperately he looked around him: at the closed door with its white lever slanting down, at the stairway Leading up towards the cockpit, at the low tables and neatly arranged line of magazines, at the trolley with its bottles and glasses. Cray was sitting with his legs slightly apart, the gun resting on his thigh. Yassen was still standing by the door. He had a second gun. It was in one of his pockets but Alex knew that the Russian could draw, aim and fire before he had time to blink. There were no other weapons in sight, nothing he could get his hands on. Hopeless.

The plane jerked and began to pull back from its stand. Alex looked out of the window again and saw something extraordinary. There was a vehicle parked next to the VIP building, not far from the plane. It was like a miniature tractor, with three carriages attached, loaded with plastic boxes.