Eye of the Storm (34 page)

‘Come on, you numpty!’ he urged himself as he eyed the ever-darkening sky ahead. ‘Fly smart. Try to steer between the thunderstorm cells. Stay airborne and stay
alive.’

His teeth chattered as he spoke, though this was as much from fear as it was the cold. A moment later, the aircraft dropped like a stone, only to be flung back skyward as it met the first of
many pockets of severe turbulence. Callum gasped. He had never experienced anything like it before. This was no small burbling bump. For a moment, he had the mental image of being a football in the
hands of a goalie delivering a clearing kick. First the sudden drop and then the powerful boot from underneath that sent him sailing high through the air. One of the pieces of fruit Leah had tucked
by his side came loose, shooting up to hit the fabric of the upper wing before punching down through the lower wing like a bullet. It ripped through one of the repair patches, leaving a loose
corner fluttering.

He swore as he tried to regain control of the machine and settle it into a semblance of steady flight. Glancing left and right at the wings, he was almost surprised to see they were still there
and intact after the brutal surge. The only damage seemed to be the fruit-sized hole in the fabric below him. ‘Sorry, but this is going to be a rough ride,’ he said, addressing his
machine as if it could hear him. ‘Just hold together for me, will you? Please?’

He tucked the remaining fruit under his left hip, took a swig from the bottle and tucked that under his right. The cloud base began to drop and the first smattering of raindrops rattled across
the wings and pattered against his mac and goggles.

‘Here goes nothing.’

Diving down until he was no more than a couple of hundred metres above the foaming waves, he scanned ahead for any sign of a passable route. There was nothing obvious. A flashing bolt of
lightning speared down at the sea from a particularly dark area to his left. Seconds later, a crackling peel of thunder reached him, setting all the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. To his
relief, the wind was carrying him away from that area, but the comfort that brought proved short-lived, as moments later, a similar flash and crash split the sky to his right.

Bouncing and lurching, often with his heart pounding in his throat as the air tried repeatedly to rip the wings from his machine with vicious swirling currents, Callum fought deeper and deeper
towards the heart of the howling hurricane. Despite his best efforts to steer round the darkest areas of torrential rain, there were times when he could barely see through his goggles for the
pounding spears of water hurled at him from above. Then, just as he felt he must surely be getting close to the eye, disaster struck not once, not twice, but three times in quick succession.

Sizzling bolts of lightning seared out of the cloud above, striking first the left wing tip, then twice on the right in the space of as many seconds. The ear-splitting explosion that accompanied
each strike left Callum’s ears ringing. Every hair on his body suddenly felt as if it was a straight metal pin sticking into his skin at ninety degrees.

‘
AAAAARRRRgggggghhhh
!’

His cry petered out as he realised first that he was still alive, and second that once again, his aircraft was still flying and in one piece. A golden after-image of the final flashing bolt
filled his vision wherever he looked. After a minute or so, he began to make out scorch marks on both lower and upper wing tips, but the special flame-resistant material that David had used to
cover the wings had done its job. With his heart hammering at his ribs like a mad drummer, he ran his tongue over his teeth to try to dispel the tingling he was feeling through them. Shivers ran up
and down his body in uncontrollable waves and he shook himself in the harness like a dog in an effort to dispel the feeling.

Before he realised what he was doing, he began to laugh. He could barely hear himself for the deafening, ringing after-effects of the thunder, but he had no doubt that anyone hearing his
maniacal cackling would have felt shivers of their own.

‘Whoever said that lightning never strikes twice was a liar!’ he yelled into the wind.

He was about to add another comment when he noticed the vibration through the airframe. Although he couldn’t hear the wind howling louder, he could feel it battering his face with
invisible fists. A glance at the airspeed indicator showed he was flying way faster than the design optimum and still accelerating.

‘What the hell. . . ?’

The aeroplane wasn’t diving, but it was suddenly racing faster and faster like a runaway train.

The electromagnetic limiters! They must have been fried by the lightning! What do I do? What DO I do?

There was only one thing he could do – switch the converters off and slow down. If he didn’t, the fan would continue to accelerate until it self-destructed, assuming the aircraft
didn’t rip itself to pieces first. Would the converters start again if he switched them off? There was no way of knowing how the lightning might have damaged them.

‘God, if you’re out there, please let this work,’ he prayed.

He flicked the first switch to the off position, but to his horror, it seemed to have little effect. Even running on one de-limited converter, the fan was still accelerating. Gritting his teeth,
he switched off the second.

The effect was instantaneous. It was as if the aircraft had flown into a cloud of treacle. No longer powered, the huge fan suddenly changed from being a source of thrust to being a gigantic
airbrake. Callum’s harness swung forward violently and if he had not had his feet tucked into their special slots, he might have been thrown clear out of the front of the machine. The
remaining fruit and the bottle of drink that he had tucked by his sides had no such restraint and he was forced to watch them shoot past him and drop away like miniature bombs into the ocean.

The harness settled, which was more than could be said for Callum’s stomach. Without warning, he vomited. Three seconds later, he vomited again. For the first time since it had started, he
was glad of the pounding rain. Opening his mouth, he allowed the water to collect before swishing it round and spitting it over his shoulder.

The airspeed indicator was showing in the middle of the green sector and falling. Callum lowered the nose of the aircraft into a descent to stabilise the speed and then tentatively switched on
the left electromagnetic converter switch. He held his breath as he waited to feel a surge of power, but there was none. Horrified, he threw the right switch. Nothing. Panic gripped him and he
flicked both switches off and on several times in quick succession. Still nothing: no hum, no power, no thrust.

The towering waves reached up towards him with foaming claws of white. He had no more than a minute of gliding time before they would catch him and draw him down.

‘Damn you, God! Weren’t you listening?’ he cursed. ‘I said “Please let this WORK!”’

He jammed the switches off and on again. To his amazement, something stirred. Power started to feed to the fan. He didn’t know which converter was producing it, but he didn’t dare
selectively switch them off in case it wouldn’t come on again.

Whether or not God had really answered his prayer was something he didn’t like to think about, but he had always been brought up to be polite. Even though he found it hard to believe that
his prayer had actually done anything, he could not let his change in circumstance go without acknowledgement.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, feeling small and stupid. ‘I owe you one.’

Raising the front of the aircraft, he settled it into a climb, controlling the speed in the green sector by varying his rate of climb. He did not have a lot of altitude to play with. The cloud
base was not far above him and he did not dare enter it, as he had never been taught how to fly with reference only to instruments.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky to his right and the now familiar crash of thunder followed almost immediately. Having suffered multiple strikes and survived, the fearful sound did not
scare him quite so much this time.

By all rights I should be dead several times over by now,
Callum thought.
You did one heck of a job building this thing, David. If I ever get home, you’ll be a legend, I
promise.

Wispy tendrils of cloud reached down from the base to stroke the flying machine and Callum was forced to level off and let the speed build again. Again, he let the aircraft accelerate until the
vibration and buffeting was so bad that he felt sure it could stand no more before turning off the converter switches. This time he was ready for the sudden deceleration and effortlessly selected a
suitable glide angle.

For what seemed like an eternity, he repeated this procedure, gliding down as low as he dared before flicking the converter switches back on and climbing back up to the cloud
base. Turbulence bounced him; lightning struck his machine twice more – both times during a gliding descent; thunder deafened and bouts of torrential rain battered him with every gram of
force they could muster, but none broke him. Somehow, he kept the machine in the air and creeping forward ever closer to the eye until suddenly he broke into clear air and his heart soared.

He had done it. Against all odds, he had reached the eye of the hurricane.

A towering wall of cloud soared behind him and he found if he followed the line of it round, he could see the full circle of the eye. It couldn’t be more than about forty miles across. All
that remained to do was to find a crossing point and Callum knew exactly what he was looking for.

Hitting the converter switches, he settled the aircraft into a glide towards the very centre of the eye. Excitement thrilled through him like an electric current as he scanned the water ahead
for areas with unusual wave patterns. When he and Sam had crossed before, that had been the only visible, tell-tale clue to the presence of a crossing point, but would the same be true from this
side? He could only hope.

Lower and lower he went, leaving it much later before switching the converters back on this time. Finally, he could leave it no longer and he flicked the switches. As soon as he did so, he
noticed something different. The hum of the electromagnetic converter sounded different, rising and falling in pitch. Rather than the smooth wind-up of power that he had experienced each time he
had switched them on previously, the power surged through in waves and the aircraft accelerated in a sequence of erratic lurches.

‘Come on, baby!’ he urged. ‘Don’t give up on me now. We’re so close.’

No sooner had Callum uttered the words than he spotted the area of water just to the left of his track and no more than a few hundred metres ahead. It was the colour that caught his eye. The
shade of blue was very slightly different and as soon as his eye latched on to it, he saw instantly that the wave pattern was conflicting with the rest of the water around it.

‘Yes!’ he breathed, rolling sharply to the left and levelling the wings on a direct course for what he guessed was his doorway home. His trajectory looked perfect. Everything seemed
set. A grin was already spreading across his face as he pictured the look on his parents’ faces. He couldn’t wait to see them. They would be amazed when he told them what he had done.
Unfortunately, his mental celebration was premature.

As the aircraft reached the boundary, the electromagnetic converter that had been keeping him airborne went crazy. Suddenly screaming a high-pitched whine as it crossed the phenomenally dense
magnetic field surrounding the vortex the generator shoved out a massive burst of energy. The pulse of electricity surged the fan way beyond its design parameters, sheering the driveshaft and
sending it tearing through the back of the cage with a terrifying
DRRDRRDRRRDRR
. . . sound as it spat blades and bits of metal out in all directions round its plane of rotation. The final
burst of acceleration also proved too much for the weakened airframe structure, and with a rapid sequence of metallic cracks and pinging cables, the top wing separated from the bottom one and
Callum’s world toppled out of control.

* * *

It was early morning the day after the trip to Milton Keynes and Niamh was brushing her teeth when Aunt Aggie’s uncharacteristic squeal of delight piqued her curiosity.
She could not help wondering what had got Aggie so excited. The sound of low voices and the front door closing followed. Niamh put down her toothbrush, wiped her face with a towel and went to the
bathroom door. The voices had stopped speaking, but she could hear footsteps downstairs. What on earth was going on?

Wrapping her dressing gown tightly round her, she crept to the top of the stairs. Whatever she had been expecting as she looked down, it was not the sight that greeted her.

‘DAD!’ she exclaimed, and bounded down the stairs two at a time.

He met her at the bottom step with open arms, swept her into the air and hugged her tight.

‘Hey, Niamh! It’s great to see you . . . again.’

She didn’t miss the emphasis on the pause. He hadn’t told Aunt Aggie, had he? She hoped not. She didn’t want Archie getting into trouble. He’d been so brilliant about
taking her to visit Dad in prison.

‘How . . . ? What . . . ? I don’t understand!’ she gasped.

‘Callum’s been found,’ Matt explained, a smile on his face. ‘Mr Barnes spoke to my lawyer last night, and apologised for jumping to conclusions about what had happened to
the boys. He’s dropped all the charges.’

‘That’s brilliant, Dad!’ Niamh said, squeezing him tighter still.

‘Although Sam is still missing, the police now have no one accusing me of anything,’ Matt went on. ‘And the weight of evidence suddenly supports the fact that I was telling the
truth and had nothing to do with their disappearance. My lawyer managed to work miracles overnight to get me out of prison so quickly. I can hardly believe things have moved so fast. The police
want me to remain contactable, but they’re allowing me to go back and help look for Sam. So pack your bags, Niamh, we’re going back to Florida.’