Authors: Wilbur Smith
Wild Justice (3 page)
P
eter Stride dipped his lights three times as he raced down the long narrow alley that led to the gates of the compound without slowing the Rover, and the sentry swung the gate open just in time for him to roar through.
eter Stride dipped his lights three times as he raced down the long narrow alley that led to the gates of the compound without slowing the Rover, and the sentry swung the gate open just in time for him to roar through.
There were no floodlights, no bustling activity â just the two aircraft standing together in the echoing cavern of the hangar.
The Lockheed Hercules seemed to fill the entire building, that had been built to accommodate the smaller bombers of World War II. The tall vertical fin of its epinage reached to within a few feet of the roof girders.
Beside it the Hawker Siddeley HS 125 executive jet seemed dainty and ineffectual. The differing origins of the machines emphasized that this unit was a co-operative venture between two nations.
This was underscored once more when Colin Noble hurried forward to meet Peter as he cut the Rover's engine and lights.
âA grand night for it, Peter.' There was no mistaking the drawl of mid-Western America, although Colin looked more like a successful used-car salesman than a colonel in the U.S. Marines. In the beginning Peter had believed that this strict apportioning of material and manpower on equal national lines might weaken the effectiveness of Atlas. He no longer had those doubts.
Colin wore the nondescript blue overalls and cloth cap, both embroidered with the legend âTHOR COMMUNICATIONS' which deliberately made him look more of a technician than a soldier.
Colin was Peter's second in command. They had known each other only the six weeks since Peter had assumed command of Thor â but after a short period of mutual wariness the two men had formed one of those fast bonds of liking and mutual respect.
Colin was of medium height, but none the less a big man. First glance might have given the impression that he was fat, for his body had a certain toad-like spread to it. There was no fat upon his frame, however, it was all muscle and bone. He had boxed heavyweight for Princeton and the marines, and his nose above the wide laughing mouth had been broken just below the bridge, it was lumped and twisted slightly.
Colin cultivated the boisterous bluff manner of a career athlete, but his eyes were the colour of burned toffee and were brightly intelligent and all-seeing. He was, tough and leery as an old alley cat. It was not easy to earn the respect of Peter Stride. Colin had done so in under six weeks.
He stood now between the two aircraft, while his men went about their Alpha preparation with quick understated efficiency.
Both aircraft were painted in commercial airline style, blue and white and gold, with a stylized portrait of the Thunder God on the tail fin and the âTHOR COMMUNICATIONS' title down the fuselage. They could land at any airport in the world without causing undue comment.
âWhat is the buzz, Colin Peter Stride demanded as he slammed the Rover's door and hurried to meet the American. It had taken him some time and conscious effort to adapt his language and mode of address to fit in with his new second-in-command. He had learned very early not to expect that, merely because he was the youngest major-general in the British army, Colonel Colin Noble was going to call him âSir' every time he spoke.
âMissing aircraft.' It could have been a train, an embassy,
even an ocean liner, Peter realized. âBritish Airways. For Chrissake let's get out of the cold.' The wind was flapping the legs of Colin's overalls and tugging at his sleeves.
even an ocean liner, Peter realized. âBritish Airways. For Chrissake let's get out of the cold.' The wind was flapping the legs of Colin's overalls and tugging at his sleeves.
âWhere?'
âIndian Ocean.'
âAre we set for Bravo?' Peter asked as they climbed into his command plane.
âAll set.'
The interior of the Hawker had been restyled to make it a compact headquarters and communications centre.
There was comfortable seating for four officers directly behind the flight deck. Then the two electronic engineers and their equipment occupied a separate rear compartment, beyond which were the small toilet and galley in the extreme rear.
One of the technicians looked through the communicating door as Peter stooped into the cabin. âGood evening, General Stride â we have a direct link with Atlas established.'
âPut him on the screen,' he ordered as he sank into the padded leather of his chair behind the small working desk.
There was a single fourteen-inch main television screen in the panel directly facing Peter, and above it four smaller six-inch screens for conference communication. The main screen came alive, and the image of the big noble leonine head firmed.
âGood afternoon, Peter.' The smile was warm, charismatic, compelling.
âGood evening, sir:'
And Dr Kingston Parker tilted his head slightly to acknowledge the reference to the time difference between Washington and England.
âRight at this moment we are in the dark completely. All we have is that BA 070 with four hundred and one passengers and sixteen crew on a flight from Mahé to Nairobi has not reported for thirty-two minutes.'
Parker was Chairman of the Intelligence Oversight Board, among other duties, and he reported directly to the President of the United States in that capacity. He was the President's personal and trusted friend. They had been in the same class at Annapolis, both of them had graduated in the top twenty but, unlike the President, Parker had gone directly into government.
Parker was an artist, a talented musician, the author of four scholarly works of philosophy and politics, and a grand master of chess. A man of overwhelming presence, of vast humanity and towering intelligence. Yet also he was a secret man, avoiding the glaring scrutiny of the media, hiding his ambitions, if ambitions he had â although the presidency of the United States would not be an impossible dream to such a man â only taking up with rare skill and strength any burden that was thrust upon him.
Peter Stride had met him personally on half a dozen occasions since being seconded to Thor. He had spent a weekend with Parker at his New York home, and his respect for the man had become boundless. Peter realized that he was the perfect head for such a complex concept as Atlas: it needed the philosopher's tempering influence over trained soldiers, it needed the tact and charisma of the diplomat to deal directly with the heads of two governments, and it needed that steely intellect to make the ultimate decision that could involve hundreds of innocent lives and incur fearsome political consequences.
Now swiftly and incisively he told Peter what little they knew of Flight 070 and what search and rescue routine was already in force, before going on, âWithout being alarmist, this does seem to be the perfect target. The flight carries most of the world's leading surgeons, and the convention was public knowledge eighteen months ago. Doctors have the necessary image to appeal to public sentiment and their nationalities are nicely mixed â American, British, French, Scandinavian, German, Italian â three of those countries
have notoriously
soft
records with militant activity. It's a British aircraft, and the final destination would probably have been chosen to further complicate the issue and inhibit any counter-action.'
have notoriously
soft
records with militant activity. It's a British aircraft, and the final destination would probably have been chosen to further complicate the issue and inhibit any counter-action.'
Parker paused, and a small crease of worry appeared for a moment in the broad smooth forehead.
âI have put Mercury on condition Alpha as well â if this is a strike the final destination could just as easily be eastwards of the aircraft's last reported position.'
Atlas's offensive arm comprised three identical units. Thor would be used only in Europe or Africa. Mercury was based on the American Naval base in Indonesia and covered Asia and Australasia, while Diana was in Washington itself and ready for counteraction in either of the American continents.
âI have Tanner of Mercury on the other relay now. I will be back to you in a few seconds, Peter.'
âVery well, sir.'
The screen went blank, and in the chair beside him Colin Noble lit one of his expensive Dutch cheroots and crossed his ankles on the desk in front of him.
âSeems the great god Thor came down to earth for a little poontang. When he'd finished pleasuring one of the vestal virgins he thought he'd let her know the honour she'd been given. “I'm Thor,” he told her. “Tho am I,” she agreed, “but it wath loth of fun.”'
Peter shook his head sorrowfully. âThat's funny?' he asked.
âHelps to while away the time.' Colin glanced at his wristwatch. âIf this is another false alarm, it's going to make it thirteen straight.' He yawned. There was nothing to do. It had all been done before. Everything was in the ultimate state of readiness. In the huge Hercules transport, every item of a comprehensive arsenal of equipment was ready for instant use. The thirty highly trained soldiers were embarked. The flight crews of both aircraft were at their
stations, the communications technicians had set up their links with satellites and through them to the available intelligence computers in Washington and London. It remained only to wait â the greater part of a soldier's life was spent waiting, but Peter had never become hardened to it. It helped now to have the companionship of Colin Noble.
stations, the communications technicians had set up their links with satellites and through them to the available intelligence computers in Washington and London. It remained only to wait â the greater part of a soldier's life was spent waiting, but Peter had never become hardened to it. It helped now to have the companionship of Colin Noble.
In a life spent in the company of many men it was difficult to form close relationships. Here in the smaller closed ranks of Thor in shared endeavour they had achieved that and become friends, and their conversation was relaxed and desultory, moving casually from subject to subject, but without relaxing the undercurrent of alertness that gripped both men.
At one stage Kingston Parker came on the screen again to tell them that search and rescue aircraft had found no indications at the last reported position of 070, and that a photographic run by the âBig Bird' reconnaissance satellite had been made over the same area, but that film would not be ready for appraisal for another fourteen hours. Speedbird 070 was now one hour six minutes past âoperations normal' and suddenly Peter remembered Melissa-Jane. He asked communications for a telephone line and dialled the cottage. There was no reply, so the driver would have collected her already. He hung up and rang Cynthia in Cambridge.
âDamn it, Peter. This really is most inconsiderate of you.' Freshly aroused from sleep, her voice was petulant, immediately awakening only antipathies. âMelissa has been looking forward to thisâ'
âYes, I know, and so have I.'
ââ and George and I had arrangedâ' George, her new husband, was a Political History don; despite himself Peter quite liked the man. He had been very good to Meliasa-Jane.
âThe exigencies of the service.' Peter cut in lightly â and her voice took on a bitter edge.
âHow often I had to listen to that â I hoped never to hear it again.' They were on the same futile old treadmill, and he had to stop it.
âLook, Cynthia. Melissa is on her wayâ'
In front of him the big television screen lit and Kingston Parker's eyes were dark with regret, as though he mourned for all mankind.
âI have to go,' Peter told the woman whom once he had loved, and broke the connection, leaning forward attentively towards the image on the screen.
âThe South African radar defences have painted an unidentified target approaching their airspace,' Kingston Parker told him. âIts speed and position correspond with those of 070. They have scrambled a Mirage flight to intercept â but in the meantime I'm assuming that it's a militant strike and we'll go immediately to condition Bravo, if you please, Peter.'
âWe are on our way, sir.'
And beside him Colin Noble took his feet off the desk and thumped them together onto the floor. The cheroot was still clamped between his teeth.
T
he target was live and the pilot of the leading Mirage F.1 interceptor had his flight computer in âattack' mode and all his weaponry â missiles and cannon â were armed. The computer gave him a time to intercept of thirty-three seconds, and the target's heading was constant at 210° magnetic and its ground speed at 483 knots.
he target was live and the pilot of the leading Mirage F.1 interceptor had his flight computer in âattack' mode and all his weaponry â missiles and cannon â were armed. The computer gave him a time to intercept of thirty-three seconds, and the target's heading was constant at 210° magnetic and its ground speed at 483 knots.
Ahead of him the dawn was rising in wildly theatrical display. Avalanches of silver and pink cloud tumbled down the sky, and the sun, still below the horizon, flung long lances of golden light across the heavens. The pilot leaned forward against his shoulder straps and lifted the Polaroid
visor of his helmet with one gloved hand, straining ahead for the first glimpse of the target.
visor of his helmet with one gloved hand, straining ahead for the first glimpse of the target.
His trained gunfighter's eye picked out the dark speck against the distracting background of cloud and sunlight and he made an almost imperceptible movement of the controls to avoid the direct head-on approach to the target.
The speck swelled in size with disturbing rapidity as they converged at combined speeds of nearly fifteen hundred miles per hour, and at the instant he was certain of his identification the leader took his flight, still in a tight âfinger five', up into a vertical climb from which they rolled out neatly five thousand feet above the target and on the same heading, immediately reducing power to conform in speed to the big aircraft far below.
âCheetah, this is Diamond leader â we are visual, and target is a Boeing 747 bearing British Airways markings.'
âDiamond Leader, this is Cheetah, conform to target, maintain five thousand feet separation and avoid any threatening attitudes. Report again in sixty seconds.'
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