Chapter Thirteen. It was still noisy as hell when the tail ramp closed and the hydraulics cut off. I stood clutching Martin: trembling; aware that the others were watching, but not caring. Vivid imaginary freeze frames of the death we'd escaped kept flitting through my head, so I shut them out, closed my eyes, took a deep breath of Martin's scent, and kissed him instead. We must have stood like that for a couple of minutes before we let each other go, both smiling; both blushing; both wishing we were somewhere private. The sound of the engines lessened as the plane levelled out. "Cruising altitude," Sellick said. He was standing patiently next to the bench seat that stretched along one side of the cargo bay, and on which the others were sitting. Nick and Celia looked shell-shocked, whilst Brian's and John's frigid body language spoke volumes. I sighed, took a deep breath, and still holding hands, Martin and I walked over and sat down. "Now what?" I asked. The roar of the engines continued unabated. "Sellick?" I asked, looking at the stalwart South African. He looked back, and the gleam of humour in his eyes gave me courage. "There're no cameras back here, which means either we'll be visited very soon … or they don't care," he said, then pointed at the door in the bulkhead that cut us off from the rest of the plane, and the cockpit area. "But they're through there, and it's locked," he said. "Do you think the others are sitting in the lounge waiting for us?" I asked, "or what?" "Probably 'or what'," Sellick replied, sitting down on the other side of Martin. "Whoever planned this wanted to get rid of us, and hopefully, they think they've achieved it." "Me, you mean," I said, trying to work out who Valerian was. "You lot were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage." Sellick shook his head. "If that's the case, they could have had you shot at Trafalgar Square." "Unless there are two lots of people involved," Martin said, his tone flat; eyes dull. He rubbed his face. "I'm … I'm frightened." "We're all frightened, Martin," Celia said, getting to her feet. "Whoever did this has a huge amount of power, both political and financial. We need to get through the door, get on the comms, and find out just what in the hell happened." "Weapons?" Nick said, looking at Sellick, who shook his head. "I can pick locks." I blinked. It was John who had spoken, and he was looking past the others, and directly at me. I tugged on my lower lip, and looked at Brian, who was bug-eyed, his mouth a perfect 'O'. "Then if no one has an …." "The Hummer." Brian interrupted. "The Hummer's in desert configuration, so even though it's got no major armament it'll have an emergency kit which should have a pistol in it." We were all looking at him, now. "Umm … for emergencies…." He trailed off, blushing. "Great, then let's do it!" Sellick said, rubbing his hands together and striding over to the Hummer, which was painted in desert camouflage and sitting on a drop palette. We all got up as he opened the front door and peered in. "It's in the back with the spare." Brian and John spoke at the same time, and grinned at each other. Martin nudged me with his elbow. "Glad that's sorted," he whispered. I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah, I guess." I watched the twins go to help Sellick, thinking that trust was a lot easier to lose than re-build. Brian found the emergency case, and not only was there food and water, but a flare gun with six flare shells, and a .357 magnum, complete with two full clips. Celia insisted that Nick take it, much to Sellick's chagrin, though he seemed happy enough as I watched him strip the flare gun, check and re-assemble it. John was examining the lock on the bulkhead. I felt a hand on my elbow. It was Brian. "Sorry," he said, almost breathless. I turned to him, pursing my lips, and took him to one side. "'Sorry' doesn't cut it, Brian. How could you?" "I …." He was looking so unhappy, and yet I didn't want to forgive him, tell him it was all alright; because it wasn't. A tear crept out of his right eye and made its way down his cheek. "I don't know what to do or what to say to you, Gabe," he sniffed. "But … but if you can ever forgive me …." He looked hopeful, while I just stared back, blankly. I nearly shook my head; nearly brushed him off: then realised that as the trouble we were in was a direct result of my fooling around on the Internet, I wasn't in any position to be high and mighty about his duplicity. People I hadn't even known had stuck by me, and Brian had been a very good friend. "I'll try, Brian," I said. "That's all I can promise; I'll try." That's … thank you, Gabe!" he said, and wiped the tears out of his eyes. "Done it!" John said, the lock on the bulkhead door cracked, though the door was still closed. "Sweet!" Sellick piped up, "I'll take point." "No, you won't," said Celia, "Nick's point, I'm middle and you're tail-end. The rest of you are staying here." "Excuse me!" Brian hissed, his tone stopping conversation. "Before anyone gets overly excited," he continued, his voice stronger, more confident, more like the Brian I knew. "Remember we're in a pressurised plane. Shooting through the outer skin means trouble. Big trouble." Celia nodded at him, and Sellick patted him on the back. "Good point, Bri," John said, getting out of the way of the door. I watched Nick count to three with his fingers, then Sellick pulled the door open. The corridor was narrow, brightly lit and empty, the muted roar of the engines the only sound. Sellick held his finger to his lips as he followed Nick and Celia in, pulling the door closed behind them. There was no sound of gunfire; or of screams; or of a struggle; and after a tense ten minutes, Sellick came back, nearly getting the Hummer's tyre iron wrapped over his head by Brian. "It's like the 'Marie Celeste'," he said, worry lines creasing his brow. "Bereft of life." "They're all dead?" I said, close to collapse at the thought of my parents and friends slaughtered by Valerian. "No! No, mate!" Sellick blinked, realising what he'd said. "Sorry, Gabe. I mean they're not on board. There's no one on board except Sterling, and he's dead." "Dead! What do you mean, dead?" Martin was wide eyed. "And what about the pilots?" "Celia found him in one of the cabins: with a shiv through the heart. And no pilots either, which is why you two need to come up to the cockpit. The controls are locked out. The plane is being flown remotely." Martin and I gawped at each other. Sellick led the way, and we all trooped after him. The corridor ran up the side of the plane. We passed a series of cabins before arriving in a large lounge which stretched the full width of the plane, and was complete with galley and service area. Celia and Nick were sitting on a couch, the former pale and shocked whilst her brother comforted her. Another short corridor led on to the cockpit. The night was bleeding away to the west as dawn crept up through the port cockpit windows. Though I'd been in a cockpit before, it had been as a guest of the captain in a flight I'd taken with my parents when I was nine. The sheer number of levers, dial and panels was horribly daunting, and when I glanced at Martin I saw he felt the same. There was no way we were going to be able to get out of this jam, and my stomach started to flip flop. I grabbed Martin's hand and squeezed. He squeezed back. There were four seats, all empty. Two for the pilots, one for the engineer, and one for the comms officer. I took a deep breath, sighed and steeled myself to concentrate. The plane was obviously on autopilot: the yokes and pedals moving of their own volition. I glanced at Martin again, then looked around carefully. "Advanced avionics," I said. "I know nothing at all. Martin?" He shook his head. "What do you expect us to do, Sellick?" Martin said. "Unless by some miracle you can fly this thing, we're pretty much stuffed." "Read the letter," Sellick said, pointing to a typewritten sheet of paper stuck on the console between the pilots' chairs. "Just read the letter." I sat down in the lefthand seat and read: Dear Gabriel, If you are reading this then you didn't die in the van, and are, de facto, still playing the game. Frankly, you are a thorn in my side. An irritant I've failed to have removed. However, I find myself in a quandary. Though you have betrayed me -- for which, I am sure you realise, you deserve to die -- I find myself liking you. It would be enjoyable to play Chess with you, but sadly, out of the question. It's a good game. Better than chess, don't you think? So, Gabriel: escape if you can. Valerian "No!" I said, ripping the letter off the console and screwing it into a ball. "Chess is better, you despotic loony!" I pursed my lips and looked over at Martin, who had sat down in the co-pilot's seat, and was looking over the contols. "What are we going to do?" Blinking, he ajusted his glasses; turned to me, and smiled. "Well, for a start, we take stock of the situation, and then we figure a way out. Simple, really." "Simple!? Are you nuts, Martin!? We're thousands of feet up in the air, in a plane we can't fly, and … and … and…." I was panting with panic as he got to his feet, ushered Sellick out and firmly closed the door. I was still panting when he bent over and gave me a long, sweet and oh so gentle kiss … panting for an entirely different reason. *** "See," he murmured in my ear, nibbling the lobe, which tickled. "It's very good for nerves." "Mmm," I replied, lifting my head up so I could look into his eyes. "I must panic more often. Or we could take it in turns, whadda ya say?" I bussed him gently on the cheek. "Uh uh," he said. "This way I always get to be the strong one, Gabe. So, what now?" "I was going to ask you the same thing … however, since you asked, I'll begin." I got up, offered him my hand and pulled him to his feet. "As it looks like the entire aircraft is controlled by computers, we find out how, and where we're headed, and then we make sure we get there in one piece. Comments?" "It sounds reasonable, but it can't be that simple." "Why not?" "Because it's Valerian we're talking about, and even if he's besotted with you, he won't make it easy." He folded his arms. "And he'd better not be." "Why? Jealous?" I said lightly. "I might be," he grinned, "or I might not. Let's get Sell back in here, and he can tell us what's what." "Huh?" I said, confused. "He's got a pilot's license, and though he's only rated single engine he's better than no pilot at all." "Good point," I said "Anyway," Martin said, "we'll get in touch with ground control and get talked down. It shouldn't be difficult." I nodded, and opened the door. The others were sitting in the lounge, eating, which, I thought and Martin vocalised, was typical. Celia sent Nick and Sellick to find out where we were and how much fuel we had left, then she pointed to a couch and we sat. "The plane was empty except for Sterling," she said. "I found him dead in one of the cabins." I nodded. Though I hadn't liked Sterling, the thought of him being knifed made me queasy. Brian and John, sitting together on another couch, looked pale, too. "He had a knife in his heart," Celia continued, her voice even and calm. "He was a duplicitous bastard, but he didn't deserve that." "No, he didn't." "How far off the grid are we?" Martin asked, his hand finding mine again, our fingers interlocking. Celia opened her handbag; took out a compact; powdered her nose; then put the compact away, and with a snick, closed the bag. She sighed. "Completely," she said. "No one knows, not even those back at Thames House." "Oh," Martin said. "You really thought they'd all be aboard and safe?" he asked, his hand almost crushing mine. Celia looked across at him, and smiled. "I'm not used to being interrogated," she said mildly, "but yes, those were the instructions I gave." "To who?" I butted in, squeezing Martin back. "Your father, His Highness the Prince, and the King." "Ah!" Martin and I said together, just as Sellick and Nick returned. "Bad news or good news?" Celia said. "Both, kind of," Sellick replied, sitting down. Nick walked over to the service area, came back with a Coke, and catching my eye, sighed and went back for more. I popped the tabs on ours and handed one to Martin, who drank deeply, then belched. "Sorry," he said, grinning. Celia huffed. "Go on, Sellick." "Well it would probably be better if the wunderkind twins looked around, but from what I can tell we're fine for fuel, and we're headed to Dubai." He paused and drank half his can. "It's the route I don't understand." "The route?" Celia said, "what do you mean?" "Well the standard route from England to Dubai is across Europe over the Mediterranean, Egypt and Saudi to the Emirates. Our course is different. We're heading south. Out over the Atlantic, then parallel to the West coast of Africa, and then straight across." "So what's the problem, provided we get there?" Brian piped up. I was watching Celia's face as Sellick had described the route, and she wasn't happy. "Wars are the problem," she said, getting to her feet. "Flying through hostile airspace is never a good idea. We need to change course." "I don't think we can," Sellick said. "That's why Gabe and Martin should have a look see." "Don't tell me," Martin said. "The comms are out?" Sellick nodded. "Yeah, at least I couldn't get them to work." "And just where are we now? And what's the ETA, supposing nothing goes wrong?" "Four hundred nautical miles south of the Scillies and eighteen hours best guess," Sellick said. "This isn't the fastest plane in the world." "No, and it's big and easy to shoot down," I put in, getting to my feet. "Come on, Martin, let's see if we can get through another round." "Right," Celia said, "and while they're doing that, the rest of us are going to scour the plane for anything useful." She clapped her hands. "Come along, we're not dead yet." I closed the door to the cockpit and pulled Martin into a hug. I wanted this desperately ludicrous situation to end; wanted to go back to being the kid I was. I was mentally cursing myself when Martin bit on my ear lobe. "Ow! What was that for?" I said, pushing him away. "That was to stop you being stupid. There's no point in blaming yourself." "Isn't there?" "No, and it's not your father, either." I shuddered. Even though I knew Valerian wasn't my father, somewhere deep within myself I'd let an idle thought that he might have been germinate. It would have been the ultimate irony. "So who, then?" "Well, I can guarantee it's not Jamal, so that only leaves Karim." "I don't understand," I said. "He helped us after the kidnapping. Helped us escape and then …." I petered off, looking at the navigational array that Sellick had switched on. It was a two dimensional projection that hovered in real space between the pilots' seats, and seemed similar to, though far more sophisticated than, a GPS mapping system. A track in blue stretched from Northolt out over the Atlantic, then cut abruptly left across mainland Africa, over the Red Sea, Saudi Arabia and into the United Arab Emirates. A flashing red track was superimposed over the blue, but this ended some way north of Santiago. "Then what?" Martin asked. He was examining the comms array. I knew if anybody could get it working it would be him. "Then we ate with him, and you're not supposed to eat with your enemy." "Yeah, but we didn't know he was, then." "But he did, Martin. He did, and he seemed friendly … I liked him!" "And it seems he liked you, too. Damn, it's no good. I can't get this to work, Gabe," Martin said, turning to see what I was doing. "The controls are locked out and there's no way of cracking the encryption." "Mmm, okay … so what do you think's wrong with this, then?" I pointed to the blue track on the array. "Other than it's a long way around, noth …." He stopped in mid-flow and elbowed me aside, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Celia was right, we're at war with them all," he said, flatly. "That's not good." "No, it's not!" Martin and I both jumped at the voice that leapt out of the comm unit's external speaker. It was crystal clear, though disguised. Almost as if he were in the cockpit with us. "Valerian," I whispered to Martin, who nodded. "No need to whisper, Seraph. I can hear you clearly. It's a marvellous thing, science." "How did you …?" "Take Her Majesty's latest toy, you mean. Tsk tsk tsk. You aren't the only hacker for sale, you know." "So why not let us go?" Martin said. His voice betraying his nerves. I reached for his hand and squeezed. "Ah, the boyfriend, Seraph. He's both cute and smart, isn't he? Quite the catch … if only I were wired that way." "Reading your note, I thought you were," I said. "Or perhaps wired to a bomb would suit better," I continued, through gritted teeth. There was a moment's silence, a hint of static the only indication he hadn't broken off the transmission, then the voice laughed. "Funny boy, but don't push me too far. I can destroy your plane at the touch of a button." "So what do you want?" "What we agreed: my bomb. Delivered. Nothing more, nothing less." "And my parents and friends? Where are they? Are they safe?" "Your parents are taking a swim, or they were earlier. They're all here … as my guests, Seraph." "And if I don't?" I asked, knowing I was pushing. "Then the plane explodes. Now. But if you agree, we continue the game. Games are good, though sad to say you still might lose and die. Who knows, we are all in the hands of the almighty." "So what is the game, Valerian, or may I call you Karim?" I said, using his name for the first time. The voice sighed. "I wish you hadn't said that. I thought you were sensible." "Why, because the NSA will have picked up the transmission and even now be decoding it?" I said, glanced at Martin who was shaking his head. "No, because now you lose an engine," Karim said. No sooner had he spoken than the plane lurched to port as one of the engines cut out. "Rules are rules." "We don't know the fucking rules!" I screamed. He chuckled, the sonic disguise making the sound ominous. "Anything that hurts me, or that I think will hurt me, gets you punished. Simple! Now, to re-cap. As you know, your course takes you over some rather hostile countries. As soon as my agent tells me the bomb has been delivered, the controls are freed, and you can go where you like. Also your parents and friends will be returned unharmed. Fail and … well, I think you can guess. You had four hours, but since you've sadly lost an engine, let's say five hours until you cross the coast … and you really don't want to cross the coast. They have radar controlled missiles. Ironic, you'll agree, that they were sold by your government." I slumped down in the pilot's chair and looked at Martin, who was looking at the screen and writing on a pad. He seemed to be avoiding my eye. "Okay, Valerian. But I'll need the comms back … and a computer." "Do you take me for a fool? Please say you don't." Karim's voice was both amused and feigning hurt, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Martin. He shrugged. "What do you want, then?" I asked. Watching the red line creep ever further south. "The URL, your access codes: logon and password." He chuckled. "No more …." "No less," I interrupted. "Yeah, I get it. And you think I can remember them?" "I know you can, Seraph. Otherwise we wouldn't have started doing business." There was a pause, then he sighed. "Your father is very proud of you, by the way." I was about to reply when Martin, who had been writing for the last minute or two, drew his hand across his throat, and mouthed 'end it!'. "Got to go. Call of nature, back in a jiffy." Martin grabbed me by the arm, and, opening the cockpit door, dragged me out. He marched me past the others who were examining their finds: back down the corridor into the cargo hold. The first thing he did was take off his glasses and kiss me on the lips. I felt the tension drain away as I melted into his arms. We might have stood there for hours, revelling in holding each other, had Sellick not coughed. "What'd you want, Sell?" Martin mumbled, his cheek pressed against mine. One of us would need to shave soon, and I wasn't sure which. "We were wondering … I mean, Celia was wondering what was going on," Sellick said, 'what with you galloping past like that." "Well, it's all part of the plan," Martin replied, breaking our clinch, and waving the pad he'd been writing on. "And I'm glad it's you that interrupted, 'cause you have the first job." "Plan?" I blinked. I'd had my eyes closed, savouring the taste of Martin on my lips: but now I was intrigued. "Yeah, plan. One of those things you seldom bother with." "Oh, ha! ha!" I said, sliding my arm around his waist. "Do tell, then. And why are we back here?" Martin blushed, and batted his eyes. "I thought we'd have some privacy," his smiled, his arm joining mine, "but then I always forget the Sellick factor." "The plan!" Sellick and I spoke in unison. Martin led us to the bench and we all sat. "Okay." He ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times. "To bring you up to date, Sell. Valerian wants the bomb Gabe got him. In order for him to get it, either Gabe goes online, which means Valerian gives us back control of the comms, or Gabe has to give him his logon and password. Right so far, Gabe?" "Yeah," I said, watching Sellick tug on his lower lip. "Which obviously can't happen," Martin continued. "Why?" Sellick asked. "Because if Valerian gives us control of the comms he loses control of the aircraft," I said. Martin huffed at my interruption. "So give him the codes." "If Gabe gives him the codes we're redundant, and we'll be dead," Martin continued. "I'm pretty sure as soon as he has them, the plane will self-destruct. Erm … do butt in if you think I'm wrong." "Nope, that's about it …." I pondered, then added, "it's stalemate." "Stalemate, yeah, I see," Sellick said. "So what do we do, then?" He jumped to his feet and began pacing. "I should have known it was 'off' being asked to sit in a van during take off. How stupid can you be. I mean, I …." "Chill, mate!" Martin got up and patted Sellick on the back. "One question. How did Sterling look?" Sellick frowned. "No idea. I was by the door to the cargo bay, and Nick was up in the cockpit. It was Celia who found him … in the third cabin down." "Oh." Martin chewed on his bottom lip, and I could almost hear his mind working over the steady roar of the engines. "Right, then, Sell," he said, and pointed to the Hummer sitting on the air drop sled. "That's the job I was talking about. Check the chutes and make sure it's not booby-trapped, or bugged." Sellick set to work. Leaving him whistling tunelessly and inspecting the first of the parachute canisters, I followed Martin back down the corridor. At the first door we came to I grabbed him by his belt and pulled him into the room, shutting the door behind me. He turned around, kissed me hard, then let me go. "This is nice, Gabe, but we really …." "There was never a bomb," I said. With four windows, the room was quite large, and reminded me more of a cabin on a ship. A desk with a large leather chair stood at right angles to the window wall, and there was a small wet bar and a seating area with a couch and two recliners. I sat down on the couch, and Martin, blinking furiously, took the chair opposite. "You lied," he said flatly. "You lied to me, Gabriel." I met his glare with one of my own, and took a deep breath. "Kind of. Yes, I guess I did, Martin. I didn't want to lie to you, but I didn't know who to trust." "But …." "Look. If you remember, we were alone, but the computer room was bugged, and anybody could have been listening. Then there's Sterling and Celia. They were meant to be on the same side, but now Sterling is dead so we'll never know." "I never liked Sterling." "Me neither, but now …." "What do you mean: but now?" "I mean I'm starting to wonder. Why was he left on board?" "Obviously as a warning," Martin said, beginning to sound irritated. "Then why didn't Karim mention him?" "I … don't know," Martin said, "why?" "Because …." The door opened and Celia poked her head in. "There you are! That's quite enough canoodling for now. Sellick says you have a plan of action." We'd just got to our feet when the plane lurched heavily. Martin and I flew across the cabin into the wall, whilst Celia fell into the room, landing flat on her face. The plane lurched for a second time, as the constant background noise of the engines waned, then slowly, sounding strained, began to pick up again. Chapter 12 • Index • Chapter 14 Seraph by Camy © 2006/2007/2008 Thanks to my editor, Kitty. She has made this tale much, much better than it was. Gassho. All errors are mine, and mine alone. Your name: Your e-mail address: copy message to you Subject: