Counterpoint (12 page)

Carla of course took centre stage; she
positively glowed in a classic white dress by Chanel, contrasting
with her flawless golden brown skin, with a hint of twinkle, when
it caught the light. Her silky blonde hair was free to flow to her
shoulders, setting off her matching sapphire earrings, necklace,
and ring, set in platinum. Even they could not outshine her
sparkling personality and quick repartee; she was in her element,
luxurious surroundings and in the company of young intelligent men,
vying for her attention. She made all of them feel exceptional, by
being attentive to them all, but no one individually, except
Max.

Max watched her perform, she was pure
brilliance, and he felt so proud to be with her. He loved her so
much.

It took three days to tour the islands
and enjoy the sun and relaxation aboard. They landed at various
resorts and, although the accommodation and restaurants were of the
highest standards, they always returned to the ship at night for
the evening meal.

Captain Steel welcomed guests aboard as
they arrived. Although Max and Carla did not know them, they were
connected to The Organisation. The evenings were grand affairs with
guests and live entertainment flown in, to eat and drink at the
party. Some guests slept over, some returned to their hotels in the
early hours of the morning.

Fun though it was, both Max and Carla
yearned for the rush of adrenaline their exploits induced.

A week after they joined the ship,
Captain Steel visited Max and Carla at the poolside, with a message
from Sam.

His instructions were, for the ship to
anchor off Thiruvananthapuram, near the tip of India in the
Lakshadweep Sea, and wait for the arrival of a Mr Stephen Jackson,
who would join them within 48 hours. Jackson would phone the ship
when he could see it and land on the helideck. No guests are
allowed on board until further notice, except Max and Carla, who
would hand over the statuette. When Jackson authenticated the
statuette, he would leave in his helicopter. Be alert at all times
and issue firearms. Jackson’s details will follow.

“I don’t like the firearms bit,” said
Max.

“Sounds like real trouble to me.”
agreed the Captain. “We are getting under way now,” said Steel,
“and will cruise off Trivandrum in deep water. If we keep on the
move, boarding by the unwanted will be virtually impossible.”

In due course, the phone call came and
the helicopter arrived with Jackson, and landed on the helideck.
The crew attending escorted Jackson to the cool tranquillity of the
lounge, and introduced him to Captain Steel, Max, and Carla.

Immediately Jackson verified the
statuette and left. The Bell 412 helicopter lifted off and appeared
to head towards the southern tip of India.

Ten minutes after leaving the Ocean
Raider, events took an unexpected turn.

Stephen Jackson had acquired many
skills during his eventful 30 years of life, unfortunately, flying
was not one of them, but Kung Fu was. When the smelly, fat pilot
engaged autopilot and pulled a small Beretta on him, Stephen knew a
0.22 bullet would be enough to maim or kill, but a body shot would
not leave a mess to clean up. Stephen’s response was quick and
final. One hand grabbed the barrel of the gun, deflecting it away
from him as the other chopped the fat man’s throat.

The gun fired, punching a small hole
through Jackson’s door and the muzzle flash seared his wrist. The
potential assassin slowly and painfully choked to death from his
crushed larynx and finally slumped over the controls sending the
craft temporarily out of control. The autopilot soon returned on
course and altitude, South East at 500 metres above the sea.
Composing himself, Jackson realised he could not pilot the aircraft
even if he could find the autopilot and switch it off, so he made a
few urgent phone calls.

He explained his position to his
client, whose attitude was unsympathetic

“Let me know where you crash and I will
collect the statuette he said. By the way, if this is a double
cross, I will find you and kill you and your family.” He hung
up.

Stephen then called the only person he
believed he could trust. By the time Captain Steel answered,
Stephen’s phone battery failed. He was alone again!

Presuming the fat man’s intention had
been to reach land, not another ship, the helicopter should have
enough fuel to get to India on this course and altitude, thought
Stephen. The low height was to avoid radar he supposed, so no one
would know where he was or where he would end up, not even the
people employing the fat man. Stephen was certain no flight plan
had been filed with any authorities. If he crashed in the jungle,
he might never be found.

The heat from the sun through the glass
made the cabin unbearable, the stinking fat man added to the
discomfort. “Time for you to go I think Fatso.” Stephen
muttered.

Stephen reached over to move the
slumped corpse, its head was lolled to one side, mouth open and
blood stained. That was repulsive enough, but now he had to feel
under the bulging belly for the seatbelt release. He found it, and
the body fell away against the door.

Stephen undid his belt, eased open the
pilot’s door and pushed Fatso out. He was unprepared for the
violent lurching and pitching, as the autopilot immediately
compensated for the loss of the fat man’s weight as he fell out,
and then suddenly came back again as the body landed across the
skid below, and dangled there.

Stephen’s head smashed into the
doorframe leaving him dazed as he fell between the pilot’s seat and
threshing joystick. His body prevented the full return of the stick
as the autopilot tried to compensate. Pinned-down as the hydraulics
forced the stick back, squeezing the air from his lungs, the
helicopter continued to fall from the sky.

Through the glass at the edge of the
floor, he could see the water rising to meet him, and unable to
move, he could only watch his moment of death approach. Stephen
closed his eyes as the sea, now only 3 metres below the skids,
rushed by. He did not notice the rate of descent was extremely slow
now, but he did feel the crushing force of the stick ease.

The bedlam in the cockpit as every
alarm was sounding made thought almost impossible, and the words of
prayer were difficult to find.

Miraculously a wave crest plucked at
the dangling legs of Fatso and dragged him off the skid.
Immediately the helicopter climbed, and the stick eased forward
releasing Stephen from its grip.

With full control restored, the
helicopter regained altitude and settle back on its set course.
Stephen collapsed back in the pilot’s seat and strapped himself in.
Thoughts of experimenting with switches and levers in an attempt to
fly the machine were for the moment, out of the question.

As time went by, he examined the
instruments and began to make sense of them. He had spotted the
autopilot switch and various control dials and decided to adjust
one at a time to see what would happen. Ideally, if he could get
the helicopter to hover and descend, he might get low enough to
crash gently, if there was such a thing.

By now, the unbroken seam of the sky
meeting sea had a slight grey shadow along it. “We are approaching
land,” he muttered to himself. “I had better get the controls
sorted out before it is too late.”

By trying different control knobs, one
at a time, he found he could rise and fall, drift left and right
and probably change ground speed.

Land was clearly in sight now, and
rising ground and dense forest ahead made his stomach turn over
with fear. What height would he need to be, to clear the trees, and
would the machine respond in time?

He adjusted height and hoped it was
enough. Rising air currents and wind made the progress of the
flight devilishly unpredictable, and the effect of control knobs
became a lottery for success.

He had passed over the coastal towns,
and villages and the small settlements were becoming fewer as he
approached the jungle. The trees flashed by below him. What he
wanted now was a nice flat piece of grass or soft sand to hover
over, but it was miles later, after turning the speed knob that the
machine reached a hovering speed. He would either have to travel
extremely slowly to stop in time, or hope for a particularly large
space at a higher speed.

At this low altitude, the jungle spread
out as far as the eye could see, with no place to aim for and
mountains rearing up in the distance. He was actually near
civilisation, just past Maruthamparai, but he did not know this.
Fuel was also extremely low now he thought. “Hell, there is an
alarm going off too, what’s wrong, what do I do about it?” No
answer came to him, but fuel was dangerously low in the feeding
tank and unless he switched the tank transfer pump, the engine
would stop.

Minutes later other alarms and warning
lights flashed, and the engine note sounded rough. Prolonged slow
speed, almost a hover had caused the engine and gearbox oil to
overheat. The helicopter dropped as Stephen turned the ground speed
knob, intending to hover. The machine slowed, but also dropped even
faster. There was no fuel left to keep it in the air.

The trees below were extremely tall and
tightly packed together. A tuft of foliage at the top snagged a
skid and dragged the helicopter nose down into the trees, smashing
the glass front. The rotors snapped off as the craft plunged in and
rapidly lost forward motion. It now dropped tail first, sliding
down between the thickening trunks, screeching metal, cracking wood
and glass as it went.

The jerky
roller-coaster ride was nearly over; Stephen came to rest still
strapped into his seat, on his back. The remains of the tail were 3
metres above the ground and a fence of trees around him, formed a
hole to the sky. Branches and leaves gently rained down on him as
he lay back gathering his wits. The smell of hot oil and
metal
tinking
as
it cooled, reminded him a fire was likely, and he must get out as
soon as possible.

Looking around for useful items to take
with him, apart from the gun and a box of tissues, there was
nothing of use. He took them anyway.

Getting out was tricky; first he had to
climb out of the front where the Plexiglas was smashed away,
because the tree trunks held the doors shut. He slid down the
outside and clinging to the tree and machine, lowered himself down
the tail framework, finally dropping the 3 metres to the
ground.

There was no way of getting back up to
the wreck!

A sharp pain in the back of his calf,
followed by a burning sensation, as the venom from a Cobra he
stepped on, was injected into his bloodstream; this was the cruel
twist of fate as Stephens luck ran out.

After the handover of the statuette,
the Ocean Raider returned to the Maldives.

“How about a trip into Malé my love?”
Asked Max

“Anything special in mind?” Replied
Carla.

“No just a good look around, I rather
fancy a digital camera though, if I can find what I want.”

“Boys and their toys” she muttered,
smiling lovingly at him.

“OK! I’ll arrange for the launch to
take us.” And off they went.

An hour later, they arrived at the
north harbour; they walked along the seafront towards the market.
The smell of the fish was strong in the heat, so Max only glanced
in as he passed. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth wide open and
stunned.

Carla exclaimed, “What’s the matter?”
And looked where Max was staring.

“Oh my goodness,” said Carla, equally
stunned. “I don’t believe it….” Her voice trailed off. The young
girl they had just seen, turned to face them, and as her eyes
focused ahead she also stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at
them, aghast and muttered something open mouthed.

Carla and the girl were perfect
doubles.

The girl approached Carla in disbelief
and said in a false plumy accent “Oh my God! You’re me!”

As quick as ever, Carla stated, “No!
I’m me, you are you, damn cute though aren’t we!” Both burst out
laughing and engaged in a furious cross-questioning as to who each
was and what they were doing here.

“OK! OK! Girls hold it there,” said
Max. “Let’s all go to a cafe or something and sort things out in
the cool, over a drink.” Pausing for breath the two girls eagerly
agreed.

It appeared the girl’s name was Amy,
and she had just flown out yesterday to meet her man-friend on his
yacht. They had met on the Internet, and she had agreed to stay
with him for a month or so. She was just getting something for
their tea from the market. The conversation became more intriguing,
when they discussed their personal details.

Both had the same date of birth and
were born in Bristol, both had been adopted and had no knowledge of
their biological parents, and so it went on. Max was convinced they
were from the same womb; they were so perfectly alike, even to
their excited mannerisms and speech patterns. They were like the
same person asking and then answering questions.

“Can I leave you girls for a while, I
have things to do.” However, he knew he was wasting his breath. He
did not exist in their new world.

Two hours later when he returned, they
were still nattering. “Don’t you girls ever run out of things to
talk about?”

“Oh, you men are all the same. Still,
why don’t you come back to David’s boat, with me, I can introduce
you? I am sure you two oldies will hit it off,” said Amy. Max must
have looked as hurt as he felt, being called an oldie, because
Carla stood up and kissed his balding head. “Look!” She said to
Amy, grinning. “Poor old thing, all his fur is loved off.”

“Bitch!” Max retorted and grinned back,
and they set off to the boat.