Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (171 page)

The rest of the assault group had followed the "stick" men and split into four teams. They waited poised, squatting under the wings, gas masks in place, equipment and weapons ready for instant use.

Colin was watching his stopwatch. He could not chance exposing the passengers to more than ten seconds of Factor V. There would be elderly people, infants, asthma sufferers aboard; as the needle reached the ten-second mark, he snapped.

"Power on." Air-conditioning would immediately begin washing the gas out of the cabins again, and now it was "Go!" Two assault teams poured up the aluminium. scaling ladders onto the wing roots, and knocked out the emergency window panels. The other two teams went for the main doors, but they could only simulate the use of slap-hammers to tear through the metal and reach the locking device on the interior nor could they detonate the stun grenades.

"Penetration." The assault leader standing in for Peter Stride on this exercise signalled entry of the cabins, and Colin clicked his stopwatch.

"Time?" asked a quiet voice at his shoulder, and he turned quickly.

So intent on his task, Colin had not heard Peter Stride come up behind him.

"Eleven seconds, sir." The courteous form of address was proof of
Colonel Colin Noble's surprise. "Not bad but sure as hell not good either. We'll run it again."

"Rest them" Peter ordered. "I want to talk it out a bit." They stood together at the full windows in the south wall of the air traffic control tower, and studied the big red,
white and blue aircraft for the hundredth time that day.

The heat of the afternoon had raised thunderheads, great purple and silver mushroom bursts of cloud that reached to the heavens.

Trailing grey skirts of torrential rain they marched across the horizon, forming a majestic backdrop that was almost too theatrical to be real, while the lowering sun found the gaps in the cloud and shot long groping fingers of golden light through them, heightening the illusion of theatre.

"Six hours to deadline," Colin Noble grunted, and groped for one of his scented black cheroots. "Any news of concessions by the locals?"

"Nothing. I don't think they will buy it."

"Not until the next batch of executions." Colin bit the end from the cheroot and spat it angrily into a corner. "For two years I break my balls training for this, and now they tie our hands behind our backs."

"If they gave you

Delta, when would you make your run?" Peter asked.

"As soon as it was dark,"Colin answered promptly.

"No. They are still revved up high on drugs," Peter demurred.

"We should give them time to go over the top, and start downing. My guess is they will dope again just before the next deadline. I would hit them just before that-" He paused to calculate. " - I'd hit them at fifteen minutes before eleven seventy-five minutes before the deadline."

"If we had Delta,"Colin grunted.

"If we had Delta," Peter agreed, and they were silent for a moment. "Listen, Colin, this has been wearing me down. If they know my name, what else does that gang of freaks know about Thor? Do they know our contingency planning for taking an aircraft?"

"God, I hadn't worked it out that far."

"I have been looking for a twist, a change from the model, something that will give us the jump even if they know what to expect."

"We've taken two years to set it up tightly-" Colin looked dubious. "There is nothing we can change."

"The flares," said
Peter. "If we went, we would not signal the Delta with the flares, we would go in cold!

"The uglies would be scattered all through the cabins, mixed up with passengers and crew-"

"The red shirt Ingrid was wearing. My guess is, all four of them will be uniformed to impress their hostages. We would hose anything and everybody in red. If my guess is wrong, then we would have to do it Israeli style." Israeli style was the shouted command to lie down,
and to kill anyone who disobeyed or who made an aggressive move.

"The truly important one is the girl. The girl with the camera.

Have your boys studied the videotapes of her?"

"They know her face better than they do Fawcett Majors'," Colin grunted, and then, "the bitch is so goddamned lovely I had to run the video of the executions three times for them, twice in slow motion, to wipe out a little of the old chivalry bit." It is difficult to get a man to kill a pretty girl,

and a moment of hesitation would be critical with a trained fanatic like Ingrid. "I also made them take a look at the little girl before they put her in a basket and took her down to the morgue. They're in the right mood." Colin shrugged. "But what the hell, Atlas isn't going to call Delta. We're wasting our time."

"Do you want to play make-believe?" Peter asked, and then without waiting for an answer,
"Let's make believe we have a Delta approval from Atlas. I want you to set up a strike timed to "go" at exactly 10-45 local time tonight. Do it as though it was the real thing get it right in every detail."

Colin turned slowly and studied his commander's face, but the eyes were level and without guile and the strong lines of jaw and mouth were unwavering.

"Make-believe?"Colin Nobleasked quietly.

"Of course," Peter Stride's tone was curt and impatient, and Colin shrugged.

"Hell, I only work here," and he turned away.

Peter lifted the binoculars and slowly traversed the length of the big machine from tail to nose, but there was no sign of life, every port and window still carefully covered and reluctantly he let his binoculars sink slightly until he was staring at the pitiful pile of bodies that still lay on the tarmac below the forward hatch.

Except for the electrical mains hook-up, the delivery of medicines and the two occasions when Peter himself had made the long trip out there, nobody else had been allowed to approach the machine. No refuelling, no refuse nor sanitary removals, no catering not even the removal of the corpses of the murdered hostages. The hijackers had learned the lesson of previous hijacking attempts when vital information had been smuggled off the aircraft in refuse and sewerage at Mogadishu, and at Lad where the storming party had come disguised as caterers.

Peter was still gazing at the bodies, and though he was accustomed to death in its most obscene forms, these bodies offended him more deeply than any in his life before. This was a contemptuous flaunting of all the deepest rooted taboos of society. Peter was grimly content now with the decision of the South African police not to allow any television teams or press photographers through the main gates of the airport.

Peter knew that the world media were howling outrage and threats,
protesting in the most extreme terms against the infringement of their
God-given rights to bring into the homes of all civilized people images of dreadful death and mutilation, lovingly photographed in gorgeous colour with meticulous professional attention to all the macabre details.

Without this enthusiastic chronicling of their deeds,
international terrorism would lose most of its impetus and his job would be a lot easier. For sneaking moments he envied the local police the powers they had to force irresponsibles to act in the best interests of society, then as he carried the thought a step further, he came up hard once "again against the question of who was qualified to make such decisions on behalf of society. If the police made that decision and exerted it, was it not just another form of the terrorism it was seeking to suppress? "Christ," thought Peter angrily, "I'm going to drive myself mad." He stepped up beside the senior air traffic controller.

"I want to try again," Peter said, and the man handed him the microphone.

"Speedbird 070 this is the tower. Ingrid, do you read me?

Come in, Ingrid." He had tried a dozen times to make contact in the last few hours, but the hijackers had maintained an ominous silence.

"Ingrid, come in please." Peter kept trying, and suddenly there was the clear fresh voice.

"This is Ingrid. What do you want?"

"Ingrid, we request your clearance to have an ambulance remove the bodies, Peter asked.

"Negative, Tower. I say again, negative. No one is to approach this aircraft." There was a pause. "We will wait until we have a round dozen bodies for you to remove-" The girl giggled, still on the drug high, wait until midnight, and we'll make it really worth your while."

And the radio clicked into silence.

"We are going to give you dinner now," Ingrid shouted cheerfully, and there was a stir of interest down the length of the cabin. "And it's my birthday today. So you're going to have champagne,

isn't that great!" But the plump little Jewish doctor rose suddenly to his feet. His grey sparse hair stood up in comical wisps, and his face seemed to have collapsed, like melting wax, ravaged and destroyed by grief He no longer seemed to be aware of what had been said or what was happening. "You had no right to kill her." His voice sounded like a very old man. "She was a good person. She never hurt anyone " He looked about him with a confused, unfocused look, and ran the fingers of one hand through his disordered hair. "You should not have killed her, he repeated.

"She was guilty," Ingrid called back at him. "Nobody is innocent you are all the cringing tools of international capitalism-" Her face twisted, in an ugly spasm of hatred.

" You are guilty, all of you, and you deserve to die,-" She stopped short, controlled herself with an obvious effort of will, and then smiled again; going forward to the little doctor, she put an arm around his shoulders.

"Sit down, she said, almost tenderly, "I know just how you feel,
please believe me, I wish there had been another way. He sank down slowly, his eyes vacant with sorrow and his fingers plucking numbly at themselves.

"You just sit there quietly," Ingrid said gently. "I'm going to bring you a glass of champagne now." Prime Minister." Kelly Constable's voice was husky with almost two days and nights of unceasing tension,

it's after ten o'clock already. We must have a decision soon, in less than two hours-" The Prime Minister lifted one hand to silence the rest of "Yes, we all know what will happen then." An airforce jet has delivered a copy of the videotape from Johannesburg, a thousand miles away, and the cabinet and the ambassadors had watched the atrocity in detail, recorded by an 800 men. lens. There was not a man at the table who did not have children of his own. The toughest right-wingers amongst them wavered uncertainly, even the puckish little Minister of
Police could not meet the ambassador's eyes as he swept the table with a compelling gaze.

"And we all know that no compromise is possible, we must meet the demands in full or not at all."

"Mr. Ambassador-" the Prime Minister broke the silence at last, " if we agree to the terms, it will be only as an act of humanity. We will be paying a very high price indeed for the lives of your people but if we agree to that price, can we be absolutely assured of your support the support of both Britain and the United States in the Security Council the day after tomorrow at noon?"

"The President of the United States has empowered me to pledge his support in return for your co-operation," said Kelly Constable.

"Her Britannic Majesty's Government has asked me to assure you of the same support," intoned Sir William. "And our governments will make good the 170 million dollars demanded by the hijackers."

"Still I
cannot make the decision on my own. It is too onerous for one man,"
the Prime Minister sighed. "I am going to ask my ministers, the full cabinet-" he indicated the tense, grim faces around him, to vote. I am going to ask you gentlemen to leave us alone now for a few minutes while we decide." And the two ambassadors rose together and bowed slightly to the brooding, troubled figure before leaving the room.

"Where is Colonel Noble?" Kingston Parker asked.

"He is waiting-" Peter indicated with a jerk of his head the sound-proof door of the Hawker's command cabin.

"I want him in on this, please," Parker said from the screen, and
Peter pressed the call button.

Colin Noble came in immediately, stooping slightly under the low roof, a chunky powerful figure with the blue Thor cap pulled low over his eyes.

"Good evening, sir." He greeted the image on the screen and squeezed into the seat beside Peter.

"I'm glad Colonel Noble is here." Peter's voice was crisp and businesslike. "I think he will support my contention that the chances of a successful Delta counter strike will he greatly enhanced if we can launch our attack not later than ten minutes before eleven o'clock." He tugged back the cuff of his sleeve, and glanced at his watch. "That is forty minutes from now. We reckon to catch the militants at the moment when the drug cycle is at its lowest, before they take more pills and begin to arouse themselves to meet their deadline. I believe that if we strike then, we will have an acceptable risk-"

"Thank you, General

Stride-" Parker interrupted him smoothly, " but I wanted Colonel
Noble present so there could be no misunderstanding of my orders.

Colonel Noble," Parker's eyes shifted slightly as he changed the object of his attention. "Commander of Thor has requested an immediate Delta strike against Speedbird 070. "I am now, in your presence, disapproving that request. Negotiations with the South African Government are at a critical state, and under no circumstances must there be either overt or covert hostile moves towards the militants. Do I make myself entirely clear?"

"Yes, sir. "Colin Noble's expression was stony.

"General Stride?"

"I understand, sir."

"Very well. I want you to stand by, please. I am going to confer with the ambassadors. I will re-establish contact as soon as I have further concrete indications."

The image receded rapidly, and the screen went dark.

Colonel Colin Noble turned slowly and looked at Peter Stride, his expression changed slightly at what he saw, and quickly he pressed the censor button on the command console, stopping all recording tapes,
killing the video cameras so there would be no record of his words now.