Tripoli's Target (Justin Hall # 2) (33 page)

The general leaned forward and seemed to be getting ready to speak, when the Prince silenced him with a headshake.

“You’ll be there to watch with your own eyes, Justin,” the Prince said, “but I can tell you one who’s supposed to help the Prime Minister may actually end up killing him.”

Justin pondered on his words.
The assassin is one of the Prime Minister’s bodyguards? One of his drivers? One of his closest aides?

The voice of the captain was heard over the public address system of the airplane.

“We have begun our descent over Tripoli, and we should land within the next fifteen minutes.”

The airplane trembled slightly and Justin felt it beginning its descent.
Once we’re on the ground, it’s all over. If I’m to escape, I have to do it before we land.

“What’s on your mind?” the Prince reached for the wine bottle on the table and refilled his glass. “You’re going to tell us where the CIA men are hiding?”

“Sure, once you tell me where and how you’re planning to kill the Prime Minister.”

“Mr. Hall, I don’t think you’re in a bargaining position.”

“Think again.”

Prince Al-Farhan frowned and placed his wine glass back on the table without a sip. The gunman behind Justin moved closer. Justin felt him breathing on his neck.

“The CIA’s waiting for you,” Justin said. “As soon as you land, you’re their target.”
Maybe I can convince him to call off the assassination.

“That’s impossible,” the general replied. “My men control the airport. You’re bluffing.”

Justin opened his mouth to reject the general’s claim, when the corner of his right eye caught a quick movement in between the orange drapes. It came from behind the dark suit guarding the right side entrance to the lounge. It lasted less than half a second, but he saw Carrie’s eyes taking in every detail of the lounge. She was about the storm in.

“I’m not bluffing, you bastard,” Justin blurted.

The gunman behind him growled, but Justin was expecting his move. As the gunman lashed with his gun stock, Justin leaned to the right, turning around in his seat. He grabbed the shoulder stock of the mini Uzi with both his handcuffed hands and pulled it hard toward him. The submachine gun slid from between the fingers of the gunman. Once his hands reached the trigger, Justin jabbed the muzzle of the weapon at the gunman’s chest.

“Drop your guns,” he shouted at the two gunmen guarding the Prince.

One of them began to lower his gun. The other pointed his at Justin.

“No, you moron,” the Prince yelled at the defiant guard. “Put it down!”

“Drop the gun,” Justin said.

“No way,” the defiant guard replied.

Justin began to climb up to his feet, when his left knee jerked, hitting the glass table. The bump knocked over the wine bottle with a loud crack. At the same time, a spray of gunfire poured out of the defiant guard’s submachine gun. Bullets hit the aircraft’s walls, ricocheting around the lounge. One of them pierced through the man Justin had disarmed, killing him instantly. Justin was able to slip behind the couch, clenching the mini Uzi in his hands.

“No, no, stop,” the Prince shouted in between shots as he fell to the floor.

His shouts were stifled by more gunfire, coming from the other gunman who had begun lowering his gun. Justin replied with a single shot, through the back of the couch, which struck the gunman. A second later, another single shot came from the other section of the plane. The dark suit guarding the right entrance to the lounge collapsed, as Carrie fired at him through the glass door. She stormed the lounge. Without a word, she planted a bullet in the second gunman’s head and another one in the general’s chest. The last gunman, who was standing by the left entrance, responded with a short burst. Carrie rolled on the floor toward Justin.

“You’re hit?” he asked.

Carrie shook her head. “You are,” she added, glancing at his bloodied arm.

“That’s not mine.”

A barrage ripped through the couch over their heads, just as the airplane leaned to the left. They heard the empty click of the last gunman’s weapon.

“Now,” Justin whispered.

He peeked through the holes in the couch and shoved the short barrel of the mini Uzi in one of them. Then, he squeezed off two rounds. The last gunman let out a muffled scream and fell over the table, his head crashing through the glass top.

“The Prince,” Carrie shouted.

Justin knelt by the Prince, who was whimpering on the floor, lying on his back. Blood was gushing from a large wound in his chest. His golden tunic had turned crimson.

“No, don’t, don’t move,” Justin said, as the Prince tried to lift his head.

The man’s face was losing its color. He tried to speak but was only able to gurgle a bloody cough, followed by a raspy sigh.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.” Justin reached for a cushion from the sofa. As he tucked the cushion under the Prince’s neck, he noticed the Prince’s right hand twitching. His eyes were glassy and dim; his breathing barely noticeable.

“Zakir’s gone,” Carrie said, before kneeling next to Justin, “You think he’ll make it?”

“No, he won’t.”

Carrie placed her hand on the right side of the Prince’s neck, checking for his carotid pulse. She found it irregular and slow.

“Any last words?” She leaned over the Prince, almost whispering in his ear. “Where’s the attack taking place?”

The Prince seemed to shake his head, but Justin thought it was the airplane shaking as if going through turbulence.

“Tell us,” Justin said, “where’s the ambush?”

“Sa… Sameer… Please don’t hurt… don’t hurt Sameer…” The Prince gasped, his eyes blinking rapidly. He swallowed and a mouthful of blood bubbled in this throat. A second later, his eyes stopped moving, and his head fell to his left side.

“He’s gone,” Justin said.

“And we still don’t know any more about the attack.”

The sound of running startled them, and they pointed their weapons at the right side entrance.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, it’s me,” Abdul shouted, before entering the lounge.

“Abdul, I’m glad to see you.” Justin climbed to his feet.

Abdul shook his head as he observed the carnage. His lips were moving rapidly but made no sound. Finally, he said to Carrie, who was still clenching her pistol, “You killed the Prince.”

“You wish,” she replied. “How’s the kid?”

“What kid?” Justin asked.

“Sameer, the Prince’s son. He’s in the other lounge,” Abdul replied.

“Oh, that’s what the Prince was worried about. Us hurting his son,” Justin said, making sense of the Prince’s last words.

He began to walk toward the next lounge, which was smaller than the first one. Four guards were sprawled against the walls.

“They’re all dead, in case you’re wondering.” Carrie followed one step behind.

“I had no doubt. How were you freed?”

“They made a mistake.”

“Turned their back for a second?”

“Half a second.”

“Where’s Sameer?” Justin looked behind the couches.

“I told you, he’s in the other lounge.” Abdul had caught up to them.

“How many lounges are here?”

“Three. This is the private jet of a Saudi prince, remember?”

Justin looked over his shoulder at Abdul’s grinning face. “Yes, I remember.”

“He’s playing videogames,” Carrie said. “I bet you he didn’t hear a thing.”

Justin looked through a small crack between the drapes. He saw a little boy lying on the floor, in front of a large television screen, frantically handling a controller. Large wraparound headphones rested on his head. The screen erupted in a series of explosions and the boy nodded in satisfaction.

“An eight-year-old is playing Halo?” Justin asked.

Carrie shrugged. “I’m not his mother.”

“Let’s go in.” Justin placed his hand on the door handle.

The voice of the captain coming from overhead stopped him.

“We’re, hmm, we’re experiencing some trouble with one of our engines, but…”

“Trouble? What trouble? Why did he stop talking?” asked Justin.

Carrie turned around, heading for the cockpit. “I’ll check.”

“Go with her. I’ll talk to the boy,” Abdul said.

Justin nodded. “Be gentle with him.”

“Of course, Justin. I have a son of my own.”

They walked back through the two lounges, making their way to the cockpit. Carrie threw open the door, and Justin pointed his mini Uzi at the startled faces of the captain and his co-pilot.

“Who the hell are you?” asked the captain.

“I’m the one giving you orders,” replied Justin. “What’s wrong with the plane?”

“I’m not sure.” The captain eyes bounced between the airplane’s control panel and Justin’s submachine gun. “Two of our engines are not responding. There a slight loss of cabin pressure coming from the Prince’s lounge.”

“The hydraulics system is failing too,” the co-pilot added.

“The shooting,” Carrie murmured.

“What?” the captain asked.

“Nothing,” Justin replied. “How far is the airport?”

“Five miles,” the co-pilot said. “We’re approaching from the north.”

He was a bit calmer than the captain and still manning the tens of gadgets of the control system.

“What’s our altitude?” Carrie asked.

The glass cockpit was wrapped in a thick curtain of gray clouds.

“Almost six thousand feet,” the captain replied after reading the altimeter.

“Can we make it?” Justin asked.

The captain hesitated for a second. A loud bang came from the left side of the airplane. Carrie looked through a side window and saw a column of smoke pouring out of the engine.

“That was one of our working engines,” the captain cried.

“We’re losing power fast.” The co-pilot fumbled with the switches. A second later, he heaved a great sigh of resignation.

“We’re screwed,” the captain said.

“We’re crash-landing?” asked Justin.

“May Allah help us.” The captain turned his complete attention to the control panel.

“Let’s get ready.” Carrie led the way out of the cockpit.

“I’ll tell Abdul,” Justin replied.

He ran to the back of the airplane. Carrie stayed in the smaller lounge, since it was the closest to a set of exit doors. She dragged the guards outside the lounge and threw away every object unfastened to the floor or the walls. Then, she began gathering all cushions and blankets next to the large sofa, in order to make a soft protective pad.

“Bring cushions from the rest of the plane,” she said, as Abdul and Justin walked in. Sameer was following them, still holding his videogame controller. His face was pale and his lips were pursed.

“It’s going to be OK,” Carrie said to him, extending her hand. “My name is Carrie. What’s
your
name?”

“Sameer.” The boy shook her hand very gently. He sat next to her, on one of the cushions, following her lead. “Are we going to die too, like daddy?”

“No, we’re not.” Carrie rested her arm on his trembling shoulders, bringing him closer to her. “I’ve got you and I’m not letting you go.”

Sameer smiled and tucked his head on her chest.

“I found this.” Justin held Zakir’s laptop in his left hand and a bundle of cushions under his right arm. “We may find some good intel in it once on the ground.”

“You found the handcuffs key as well,” Carrie said.

“Yeah, one of the guards had them in his pocket.”

Abdul came in with a stack of bath towels and blankets.

“Spread them here.” Carrie pointed around them. “The softer the landing, the greater our chances of survival.”

“I’ll take the suits of the guards,” Abdul said.

“Hurry up,” Carrie said. “I saw a safe in the third lounge,” she added, this time talking to Justin.

He shook his head. “No time for that. Whatever secret it holds, it’ll have to wait until we land.”

If we’re still alive, he wanted to add, but did not want to frighten Sameer any more, if that was even possible. The boy was curled up into Carrie’s chest, sobbing quietly. Carrie was gently stroking his hair.

The airplane shook violently then took a nosedive. A great rattle came from the only working engine. Justin tightened the grip of his hands around the sofa legs bolted to the airplane’s floor.

“Abdul,” Justin called. “Quick.”

Abdul appeared in the doorway, struggling to stay on his feet. Four black suits were wrapped around his arms.

“What’s happening?” Sameer asked in a whimpering voice.

“The plane is broken. The pilots are trying to fix it and land us safely,” Carrie explained.

“Will they do it?”

“Yes, they will,” she said. “I hope they do,” she added under her breath.

The rattle grew louder. The airplane continued to shake greatly as if going through severe turbulence. They huddled around each other, holding onto each other and the sofa, bracing for the crash-landing. Abdul was muttering a prayer. His eyes were closed, his lips moving faster and faster, as the airplane came closer and closer to the point of impact. Justin had wrapped his arms around Carrie.

“When will it be?” Carrie asked.

“Anytime,” Justin replied.

The airplane’s rattle subsided. The captain was decelerating for landing. He was dumping the leftover fuel from the airplane’s tanks, to lower the risk of a fireball explosion on impact. He found a flat, open field and realigned the airplane’s flying course. The airplane began to lose both altitude and speed at a swift pace. Its vibrations returned to a somewhat normal level. Almost a minute passed. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, other than the repetitious cough of the engine.

Then the airplane crashed belly first on the ground.

The impact threw Justin against one of the airplane’s walls. He shouted in pain as he rolled on the floor. Abdul’s hand slipped off the sofa’s legs. He slid backwards and went through the glass door, screaming in agony. Carrie kept her left arm hooked around the sofa’s leg. Her right hand was embracing Sameer’s body. The little boy kept sobbing.

The captain fought with the reverse thrust of the engine. He applied the brakes, which were still working. The airplane ploughed through the brush and olives and palms of the field. One of the engines broke off. The airplane veered to the left. It continued to rip through the field, albeit at a slower speed. A moment later, its wingtip fell off. Within a few seconds, the entire tail split from the fuselage, causing a large opening. Strong wind gusts went sweeping through the airplane. A fire erupted in the cockpit, and a burning odor entered the lounge. One of the wings collapsed with a large bang, but the fuselage kept sliding for a few more yards. It came to a slow stop near a row of wooden shacks.