“Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We are beginning our descent into the London area.”
Eric complied. He was anxious to resume his search for Lisa. The flight had provided him with time to reflect, and he’d decided that the best way to try to pick up her trail here was by repeating his visit to the local Colligatarch Terminal and asking the same questions he had in Nueva York.
He leaned against the cool window glass. There wasn’t much to see. Rain covered the British Isles this time of year.
Don’t worry, Lisa, he thought confidently. They can’t hide you from me forever. I won’t let them keep us apart. If necessary I’ll follow you around the world. Or off it.
Touchdown was a gentle bump, the shriek of the jets as the pilot backthrusted only slightly deafening. The steward moved through the cabin asking everyone to please keep their seat belts fastened until the plane came to a complete stop. As usual, he was ignored. The plane taxied toward the terminal and slowed. Frowning, Eric joined his fellow passengers in staring out at the rain-slicked tarmac.
“There’ll be a brief delay, ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot didn’t try to hide the irritation in his voice. “Some trouble with the ramp. I’m told they’ll have it fixed in a minute. If you’ll all relax, we’ll be deplaning shortly.”
Eric leaned back against his seat and read through the last of the in-flight magazine. When it began to repeat itself he turned it off by pushing the tiny teletext screen back into the armrest of his seat.
He was almost looking forward to confronting Lisa’s captors. The giddy feeling of invulnerability, though dangerous, was exhilarating. He let it flow through him, because it was better than feeling the fear.
Up the aisle on his side of the cabin a woman was leading her young daughter back from the forward restroom. The most peculiar expression suddenly transformed the woman’s face. It hung there like a bad taste until she unexpectedly dropped to her knees. When she fell over on her side, the passengers nearest her moved to help.
The little girl was able to cry, “Mommy, mommy!” and bend over the unconscious woman for a second before her own eyes rolled up and she fell on top of her mother. She was joined by the men and women who’d left their seats to try to help.
The progressive collapse of everyone seated forward led to an inescapable and frightening conclusion, and Eric was up out of his seat racing for the rear of the plane even as the realization struck home. Around him, the rest of the passengers were slumping in their places. He held his breath and his face reddened. All he knew was that he had to get off the plane fast.
He’d reached the stern exit and was grabbing at the emergency door release handle when whatever it was that had laid low his fellow travelers finally caught up with him. He stood swaying for a moment, trying to focus on the suddenly elusive handle. It danced maddeningly in front of him and refused to stay in one place. His eyes began to water. He made a convulsive stab for the handle and missed, his fingers puncturing the inner wall of the door but only bending the titanium alloy beyond.
Then it was quiet as death.
Five minutes passed before the forward door popped open. Figures entered, moving slowly while inspecting every quiescent body. Occasionally a passenger who’d fallen into the aisle had to be gently lifted and returned to an empty seat.
The intruders were completely encased in suits of flexible silvery material that was transparent from the neck up. These suits were designed to protect their wearers not only from the intentionally fouled atmosphere inside the plane but from more motile dangers.
In addition to protecting the wearer from most beam weapons and many solid projectile guns, the charged field suits could also, at the touch of a switch, fill themselves with several thousand volts. The charge could be regulated, to stun or to kill on contact. They were not activated now, but nervous fingers hovered close to controls.
“I don’t see him,” said the leader of the squad. Not satisfied to rely for protection on his suit, he also carried a stun pistol. Like the suit, it was linked to the battery pack on the man’s back.
He stepped over an unconscious girl of eleven. “Charlene, you and Habib check the first-class compartment.”
“He wasn’t traveling first class,” the woman behind him objected.
“I know, but he might have switched over in-flight. We can’t take chances. Watch yourselves.”
“What chances?” the woman protested. “Everyone on board will be out twenty-four hours, including him. I don’t understand all the precautions. Seems like a bloody lot of trouble to go through to take one fugitive.”
“You heard the reports from Nueva York.”
“Sure, we heard them,” said the dark-skinned man standing near the woman, “but that doesn’t mean we must believe them. You know our American friends—always prone to exaggeration. It’s their proclivity for romanticizing crime.”
“Our job’s not to evaluate, Habib. All we have to do is follow orders.”
“Suit yourself, Sergeant.” Habib and the woman moved away. Others came aboard to take their place.
The silvery figures continued their inspection of the aisles, moving together toward the back of the plane.
“I overheard,” said a burly newcomer to the sergeant. “What is the big deal with this guy? There’s going to be hell to pay when this hits the media. Imagine snucking a whole plane to take one man!”
“It won’t reach the media,” said the sergeant, “unless somebody opens their big, fat mouth. Then there will be hell to pay.”
“Don’t look at me, Sarge,” said the questioner. He paused to adjust an elderly man who’d fallen awkwardly from his seat. “I think this one’s got a broken arm. How are they going to keep the hospital cases secret?”
“Not our concern,” said the sergeant. “That’s in the lap of the Chief and Airport Security, thank goodness. All we’ve got to do is find this bloke.”
Find him they did, several minutes later.
“Looks like he made a run for the exit,” suggested one of the argent police. "He must’ve held his bloody breath forever.”
“Not long enough.” The sergeant eyed Eric Abbott’s motionless form speculatively. He certainly didn’t look like much, he thought. “Looks like he gave it a good try, though.” He glanced back up the aisle.
“His ticket says he was in seat eighteen. Here he is back at forty-four. That's a helluva run under the gas. Doesn’t take but a whiff of that stuff to put you under.”
“Maybe he was back here to go to the loo," suggested one of the bobbies.
“Could be. We won’t find out.” The sergeant checked his chronometer. “Time to haul him out of here. We can thank our stars for this rotten weather. Hides us from the terminal.” He reached down and slipped Abbott’s legs under his arms.
“How come you get the light end?” grumbled the next bobbie in line.
"Because I’m a sergeant and you’re only a corporal. Put some back into it.”
Together they wrestled the unconscious form up the aisle. Other silver-suited commandos made way for them, commenting as they passed.
“’E’s nothin’ to look at,” muttered one. “Bloody lot of trouble for nothin’.”
