Deadly Sky (ePub), The (12 page)

It's a joke, Darryl knew. Some sort of weird joke.

He gaped at the guns. Alicia's was small and flat and grey, Raoul's was longer; its barrel gleamed. Alicia's eyes were wide, her teeth clenched. Her whole body twitched and shuddered. She gripped the gun with both hands, fighting to hold it steady as she aimed it down the cabin. Darryl's stomach went heavy. This wasn't a joke.

Raoul had begun shouting, voice lifted so that it rang down the rows of seats. He stood with legs apart, gun pointed into the cockpit, jerking his head towards the cabin. He was yelling in French, but Darryl heard ‘
bombe atomique … Mururoa
'. Suddenly, he guessed what this was about.

He was still on his feet. Opposite him, his mother stood too, starting to speak. Françoise hurried past them towards the front of the cabin, protesting and waving her hands, tray abandoned. Alicia's mouth opened. ‘
Non!
' she said again. ‘
Non!
' Her gun swung towards the advancing air hostess, jerking in her grasp. She was shaking so much that the weapon looked as though it might go off by itself.

Françoise kept moving, one arm out-stretched. A male passenger ahead of Darryl was struggling up as well, stabbing his finger at Alicia, mouthing words angrily. Other voices joined in. Françoise had almost reached the front row. Alicia's gun jerked again. She screamed. ‘
Non!
'

Behind her, Raoul wheeled around. His face twisted; he grabbed the air hostess by one arm, flung her down into a seat. Her head rammed into the hard leather. Raoul snarled something at her and Alicia, then swung back, gun pointing into the cockpit again. Whatever was happening here, it was no joke. Those voices in the dark on Mangareva. Those half-glimpsed meetings. They'd all been about this.

Raoul had started shouting again, in English this time. ‘The nuclear tests fill our sky and sea with poison! The
government does nothing. We will make them! We fly to test area, say on the radio what we do. Everyone in world will know. The tests must end!'

As Darryl stood there, hands locked on the seatback, he remembered Alicia's words on the beach. ‘Someone must stop.' Why hadn't he recognised then what she meant? Why hadn't he understood that Raoul wouldn't be satisfied with little protests on a little island?

He looked at the girl again. She still trembled and gasped, but her hold on the gun seemed steadier, and she echoed her cousin's words. ‘Tests must end.'

More angry words from the passengers. Frightened ones, too: a woman had started wailing. Raoul shouted into the cockpit once more; a voice yelled back at him, and he thrust the long barrel of his gun towards the speaker.

Someone called Darryl's name. His mother, across the aisle, still standing. ‘Darryl, sit down. Sit down.' She sounded calm, and he found himself sliding back into his seat. His mum kept facing the front. ‘Alicia?' she went. ‘
Pourquoi
, Alicia? Why?'

The girl stared. Her words came in shuddering bursts. ‘Tests must stop.
Mon père
– my father die of bomb. Others will, too.' Darryl remembered what Lily had said: Alicia's father and others, barred from their usual fishing grounds during the tests, had drowned in a part of the ocean they didn't know. He remembered the expression on Alicia's face after the boat had sunk
the day before. Why hadn't he taken more notice of all that?

Raoul swung around again. He saw Darryl's mother standing. ‘
Asseyez-vous!
Sit!' His voice was harsh and strained. ‘Sit!'

Darryl's mum raised her hands. ‘Raoul, this won't stop the tests. People will think you are a … a criminal.'

The young man seemed to recognise her. His expression changed, became sad. ‘
Madame
Day-vees.
Je regrette
– I am sorry. We march. We write. Nobody listens. Now they will. We fly to Mururoa. We send radio messages. Everyone hears. We—' He whirled, thrust his gun into the cockpit, shouted in French. More cries from some of the passengers.

Alicia was gabbling at her cousin. She seemed frightened by something he'd said. Raoul didn't look at her, just shook his head impatiently.

What if the pilots won't do it? The thought beat in Darryl's head. What if they refuse to do what he says? He won't shoot, will he?

Yes, he will. He's been building up to something like this. Other people argue that thousands may have to die from nuclear weapons, so millions can live in peace. If that means that a plane-load of fifteen passengers has to die to stop those weapons, then all of us on Flight 766 could be killed.

Raoul took a step away from the cockpit, gun still levelled into it. He snapped something over his shoulder at Alicia; she jerked, and made way for him.

A figure emerged from the cockpit. A short, thick-set man in a white shirt with gold shoulder stripes. One of the pilots. His face was set and angry. He ignored Raoul, and began speaking instead to the passengers. A spate of French, then, ‘This crazy fool! But stay calm … we have plenty of fuel …'

Raoul shoved him into the seat next to Françoise, and whipped around to face into the cockpit again. The gun in Alicia's hands had begun to shake once more, and her lips trembled.

A second uniformed figure appeared, taller and younger than the first. Darryl's stomach clenched. Who was flying the plane? It must be on automatic pilot or something. Of course – Raoul! He would fly them to Mururoa. How long had he been planning this? Was it already in his mind when he went to Sydney for training? Jeez, thought Darryl, I hope he paid attention in the lessons!

The second pilot began moving past Raoul, face as grim as the first. Raoul hissed words to Alicia, and Darryl saw that the girl was crying again, hands quivering worse than ever as she grasped her gun. Her
cousin saw it, too; half-turned towards her. Right then, the second pilot leaped at him.

The two men slammed against the doorway, then fell back into the cockpit, flailing and punching at each other. Darryl glimpsed them crashing against the control panels, before going down in a tangle of writhing arms and legs. Screams from Alicia and passengers.

The plane bucked sideways, flinging Darryl against the cabin wall. It plunged vertically, jolted so hard that his teeth clacked together, then started skidding downwards through the sky. The screams rose to a frenzy. Alicia clung to an overhead locker with one hand, gun swinging wildly, mouth open in terror. If she'd been frightened of flying before; how was she feeling now?

The aircraft levelled out. The other pilot had half-risen in his seat, yelling. Alicia tried to point her gun at him, gabbling in French. Behind her, Raoul and the second uniformed figure wrenched and punched. The aircraft slewed sideways; dropped a second time. The thick-set pilot threw himself at Alicia.

BLAM!
The shot rang and echoed through the cabin. Alicia shrieked and fell. The pilot dropped back in his seat.

Darryl twisted out into the aisle and plunged towards the front, ramming against arm-rests as the plane bucked sideways again. Behind him, he heard his mother scream. He took no notice. Alicia was hurt or dead.

In the cockpit, Raoul slumped against the control panel, panting, trying to stare into the cabin. Blood welled from one corner of his mouth. The gun was in his hand, pointing at the younger pilot, who crouched on the narrow floor-space, head turned to where the shot had sounded. Broken glass glinted on the cockpit floor; lights flashed above the dials.

Raoul glimpsed Darryl struggling forward. ‘Alicia!
Vite! Vite!
' The girl clawed her way up, shuddering and whimpering, gun swinging in all directions. She was unhurt. The pilot who'd attacked her seemed OK, also. Darryl gaped around, then saw the shredded bits of plastic dangling from an overhead locker. Alicia had shot someone's hand luggage.

She stared at the weapon in her hand. For a second, she seemed about to hurl it from her. She began yelling –
howling
– at Raoul. French first, the words tumbling over one another. Then, ‘You tell me the gun is pretend! You lie! You—' More French, her voice high and furious.

Darryl took another step towards the shuddering girl. She was gabbling at him now. ‘Please!
Non!
Please!' The square, blunt shape of the gun wobbled in his direction. Her hair had come loose; it tumbled across her face. A scratch showed on her neck. ‘Please!'

She staggered sideways as Raoul shoved the other pilot through from the cockpit, half-throwing him into a second-row seat. Raoul's eyes were slitted; his teeth bared. It was the way he'd looked as he began to crash the handle of his sign down on the fallen policeman in Tahiti. Except that this time, Darryl knew, he wasn't going to stop.

Raoul thrust his gun forward. ‘Sit! There – you sit there! We see you!' Carefully, Darryl lowered himself down beside the younger pilot. The plane seemed to be flying steadily. Thank God for that.

‘
Tu – menteur!
You lie!' English and French together kept pouring from Alicia. ‘You say nobody hurt! Gun is pretend!
Menteur!
'

Raoul grabbed his cousin by one elbow, shaking her, urging her. Again, she looked as though she might throw away the gun she held. She closed her eyes, then clutched it in both hands. Raoul sucked in deep breaths; Darryl could see him fighting to get control of himself.

The older pilot was talking loudly. ‘Papeete … radio', pointing to his watch. Darryl peered at his own watch: 10.59. Just an hour until the bomb was supposed to go off. They couldn't—

Raoul's voice lifted. He was still breathing deeply,
but he sounded calmer. ‘
Je regrette … Du calme
… Please be calm. We do not wish …' He paused, wiped blood from his mouth. A red scrape covered most of his forehead. Darryl pictured the two figures battering at each other in the cramped cockpit. It was amazing the plane hadn't been wrecked.

Raoul was talking to Alicia again, ordering her, pleading with her at the same time. She wouldn't look at him. After a couple of seconds, she snapped a couple of words. He stopped, breathed slowly again, then spoke to the frightened watchers.

‘Alicia will watch. I keep gun, too.
Mes amis
, we must stop the tests. We will fly for Mururoa – half an hour. Then we call on radio. No time for them to stop us, but time to stop bomb.'

Silence in the cabin, except for low sobbing from a couple of places. Raoul turned, and stepped back into the cockpit. Darryl watched him settle into the left-hand pilot's seat, brush a shard of broken glass from the panel, and take a deep breath. Then he placed his hands on the U-shaped control column.

Alicia stood, trembling and silent. She held the gun away from her as if she could hardly bear to touch it, barrel pointing down the aisle. Her eyes darted from person to person. The pilots said nothing.

Then Darryl felt the aircraft turning, swinging towards the right. Raoul was altering course. They
were heading towards Mururoa. And towards the nuclear bomb waiting there. The bomb due to explode in fifty-seven minutes.

The plane flew on. Its two engines droned; the fuselage creaked occasionally. Darryl had heard the same creaks on their other flights. He'd been told that they were caused by parts of the aircraft flexing in flight, the way they were meant to. He hoped that struggle in the cockpit didn't mean some parts now flexed
more
than they were meant to.

He could see Raoul through the open cockpit door, gun across his lap, hands on the control column. The panel in front of him was a cram of dials and gauges, knobs and switches. Needles trembled on some of them; lights flickered on others. Through the windscreen, a big empty arc of blue sky. How long before they reached
Mururoa? How long before the military realised they were approaching? What would the people in charge of the test do?

Alicia stood with her back to the bulkhead, still gripping the squat pistol with both hands. Her mouth had stopped trembling, but she looked exhausted. If the bulkhead weren't there, she seemed likely to slump to the floor. Now Darryl understood why there'd been so many tears when she'd said goodbye to Lily and Napoleon.

Twice she'd spoken to her cousin, questions of some sort. The first time, he snapped a couple of words; the second time, he said nothing.

Serve her right if she and Raoul were thrown in jail when all this was over. She didn't deserve anything else. She was crazy. What right did she have to put people's lives in danger like this?

The younger pilot, the one who'd jumped at Raoul, sat grimly silent beside Darryl. Half the buttons had been torn from his shirt; a bruise was starting to show around one eye. Directly in front, the other pilot and Françoise the air hostess sat unmoving as well.

11.16. Less than forty-five minutes until the explosion. Darryl drew in a shuddering breath. His legs twitched; his body kept shaking. He knew he wasn't far from losing control.

He turned his head, slowly so the movement wouldn't startle Alicia, and gazed back. The few passengers he
could see sat staring stonily ahead, except for two whose faces were buried in their hands, and who moaned quietly. His mum was hidden by the seats.

11.20. Ten minutes until Raoul radioed Tahiti to tell them what he was doing. Were air-traffic control following the flight on radar? They must be worried by the radio silence of the past half-hour. Maybe they'd notify the military at Mururoa that something had happened to one of their planes, and the test would be stopped? Another thought lurched into his head. ‘Where's the bomb?'

He hadn't meant to speak the words aloud. They seemed to fill half the cabin. Alicia twitched and stared. The pilot next to him replied. ‘It hangs from a giant balloon, hundreds of metres in the sky. Or perhaps this is one where the bomb is on a barge.' He paused. ‘The bomb in the sky is for us most dangerous. The blast wave will reach us faster.'

He called something in French to Raoul. ‘I tell him he must radio soon. Each minute, we are ten … eleven kilometres nearer.' Darryl's stomach cramped as he pictured their aircraft speeding towards the atoll, every second bringing them closer to death.

The pilot called out again. Raoul began shouting from the cockpit, a torrent of words pouring from him. He slapped the palm of one hand on the control panel, and another piece of glass dropped to the floor. The
guy was so worked up. No way was he going to listen to anyone.

Alicia's cousin switched to English once more. ‘I radio at 11.30. So they have not time to think excuses. Not time to send warplanes to shoot us down.'

Alicia jerked her head to stare at him, and Darryl knew straightaway that she was hearing this for the first time. Raoul hasn't told her the truth about this, either, he realised. He hasn't told her how she might die. How we might all die. Darryl tried to swallow, but his throat felt parched. His hands hurt; he'd squeezed them into fists without even noticing.

The girl was hurling more words at her cousin; once again, he ignored her. Darryl raised his voice above them. ‘How … how much time do we need to be safely away from the bomb?'

Beside him, the pilot shrugged. ‘I cannot know.' His words came level yet harsh. Darryl understood the man was afraid, and his own body shuddered again. ‘The French military, they tell all aircraft to keep 320 kilometres away. Since these mad fools take the plane, we are nearly 160 kilometres closer.'

Darryl's mouth was dry. Halfway to the bomb, and getting closer every second.

The plane flew on.

‘I want to talk to my mother,' Darryl heard himself say. Alicia shook her head. ‘
Non
. Please, Dah-reel, you sit!' At the same moment, Raoul shouted from the cockpit. ‘All people stay where they are! Just stay!'

‘I'm only going to talk to her,' Darryl told them. Alicia began to say ‘
Non
, you—' once more. He ignored her, and raised his voice once more. ‘Mum? I'm OK. Are you all right?'

His mother spoke, calmly and quietly. ‘I'm OK, son. You be careful, please.' A pause, then: ‘Your dad would be proud of you.'

Darryl saw Alicia glance at him. Her bottom lip trembled. Was she thinking of her own father? He tried to imagine what he'd have done if he was in her place. A few minutes back, he'd been thinking she should be chucked in jail. But it wasn't as simple as that.

The other passengers had begun talking among themselves. Most of them sounded shaky: a couple hadn't stopped crying. Some called out, pleading with Alicia and Raoul. Darryl couldn't understand the words, but their meaning was clear.

The pilot beside him spoke. ‘The people say they do no harm, so why are they put in danger? They say the government will not listen. These two will be in prison.' He started talking at Alicia in French, fast and angry. The girl shook her head harder, swallowing the
sobs that shook her again. Her gun wavered, then pointed once more.

She's a mess, Darryl realised. This isn't what Raoul told her was going to happen.

Sadness swept through him. Sadness for himself and his mother, just when there was a chance of their being with his dad again. Sadness, too, for Alicia. She could be on her way to Tahiti, starting a new life. She might even have been coming to New Zealand. Now, whatever happened, fear and punishment lay ahead for her. Could he ever have made such a choice?

The plane droned on. Closer and still closer. Darryl licked his lips. He looked again at his watch. 11.29.

Right then, Raoul called out. ‘Silence! I speak on the radio. I tell them what we do. Tell them to stop the bomb.'

Alicia had begun nodding eagerly. ‘
Oui! Oui!
' The young man picked up a set of headphones and slipped them on. He pulled a clip on the control panel, and a small microphone swung out. Another piece of broken glass dropped to the floor.

Through the open cockpit door, Darryl saw him flicking switches. Raoul paused, licked at the blood crusting one corner of his mouth, and spoke.

‘'Allo, Papeete. Here is Flight 766 from Mangareva. We have an urgent message. Do you read? Over.'

Raoul flicked one switch up. He sat, body tense, listening. Five … ten seconds. He flicked the switch back down, and spoke once more. ‘'Allo, Papeete. Flight 766 calling. Urgent message. Over.'

Once more, Alicia's cousin sat motionless. Beside Darryl and in front, the two pilots started to shift in their seats. As Raoul reached for the switch again, the older pilot began talking quickly in French, snapping out what sounded like instructions. The pilot beside Darryl joined in, began rising to his feet. Alicia shook her head violently, jabbed her gun at him, and he sank back.

Raoul was shouting back, flicking the switch up and down at the same time. He spoke a third time, louder and faster. ‘'Allo, Papeete! Flight 766!'

Something's wrong, Darryl realised. Nobody's answering. His body jolted as he remembered that fight in the cockpit, the two bodies crashing into the control panel, glass showering onto the floor. ‘It's broken!' he exclaimed. ‘The fight – it broke the radio!'

Beside him, the younger pilot shouted agreement. ‘The fight!
La radio ne marche pas
– broken!'

Raoul joggled the switch once more. He yelled into the microphone: ‘'Allo, Papeete! Flight—' Then he snatched off the headphones and flung them on the cabin floor. ‘I cannot tell them!'

Françoise cried out, and sank her face into her hands. Darryl's breath seemed to stop for a second; his whole body twitched and shuddered. Behind him, voices babbled. ‘No radio! Stop! We die!'

We can't tell them. The words beat in Darryl's head. We can't contact Papeete. They can't contact Mururoa. The bomb will explode.

11.36. Both pilots had begun calling out again, half-standing, ignoring Alicia as she gabbled at them to sit down. Raoul yelled back. The back of his shirt was soaked in sweat; he pounded one fist on the control column. From the back of the cabin, more voices begged and wailed. Darryl's mother was silent.

‘Radar!' Darryl realised it was his voice. ‘They'll see us on the radar!'

The pilot beside him shook his head. ‘
Non!
They may not. We have the small plane. It not shows much on screen. They do not expect. Perhaps they close radar to protect it.' Another burst of French between him and Raoul. Alicia clapped a hand to her mouth. She'd understood.

Darryl fought to think. They must be only eighty to a hundred kilometres from Mururoa now. Did Alicia know her cousin had planned to fly them right into the
explosion area? He twisted his neck around and stared through the window. Nothing but blue sky and green-blue ocean. Eighty kilometres. The Hiroshima bomb had smashed buildings out to sixteen kilometres from the explosion centre. Their plane was still safe, surely? Except— except some of the French nuclear tests were ten or fifteen times more powerful than Hiroshima. His book said so. They might already be inside the death zone.

Raoul smacked one hand down on the control panel again, and yelled. His voice was so loud, so furious, that everyone else went silent.

‘They see us! They will see us! We— we die if they do not stop. The world will know. Then the tests end. We die, but others are safe from this evil thing!'

The silence grew. He means it, Darryl understood. He's ready to die. Ready for all of us to die as well.

11.42. Eighteen minutes until the explosion. At nearly two kilometres every ten seconds, the plane sped towards Mururoa.