Cole’s weapon was up and targeting the engineer before the man could work out what was going on. A quick glance of the trussed-up body of Schoenhoffer told him everything, and his eyes went wide, the tray dropping in seeming slow motion from his hands.
The tray crashed to the floor, and Cole had still not taken his shot. He couldn’t — the engineer was military, but not a hands-on combatant. Instead, Cole made a dive forwards, trying to get himself into the doorway before the engineer could close it.
The engineer recovered his senses and snatched backwards through the portal as quickly as he could, reacting as if scalded. Cole was almost there, so close, his arm extending to stop the door being closed, but the man was too quick, and Cole heard the disheartening metallic scrape as the sliding door was pulled shut, then the click of the heavy lock; then the inevitable shouts as he alerted his compatriots.
Cole’s mind raced. What would happen now? The crew would doubtless alert Andrews, who would certainly inform Hansard. And what then? Cole considered matters even as he went back to the porthole. Hansard would probably up the amount of agents that would be waiting for him at the air base, and he was pretty sure they would launch an armed siege of the plane. Other than that though, probably not a lot would alter. After all, he was going to be killed if the plane landed anyway.
He looked out of the window, and saw the very vague, very faint outline of the coast just visible in the distance. Probably no more than an hour until they were feet dry over the United States. Shit.
He went back to the forward end of the cargo hold and tested the door. It didn’t move an inch. Cole considered shooting it, but knew that it wouldn’t do any good — it was two-inch thick steel, and the ricochets would probably kill him.
He paced the plane, thinking. And slowly — ever so slowly, piece by piece, it came to him. It would be dangerous, certainly. Suicidal, possibly.
But he knew if he didn’t get to the flight deck, he would be dead anyway.
10
Sarah Cole eased herself down the stairs one by one. She was far from fully recovered, but the fact was that she was going stir crazy cooped up in that little bedroom.
Also, the events of the past few days meant that she wanted her children close to her, and they had been enjoying themselves so much with Stefan’s own three children that they had scarcely been up to her room to visit her.
So despite the pain, the dizziness and the nausea, she had popped a couple of super strength painkillers and made the arduous trip from her bed, out of the bedroom, agonizingly across the hall, and slowly — oh, so very slowly — down the stairs, holding onto the wooden banister for dear life.
She was also more than a little concerned about her husband, as there had still been no sign of him. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she resolved to get Stefan to try and find out some information — it simply wasn’t sufficient waiting around, hoping Mark would either show up at last, or contact them in some way. They needed to find him.
Sarah would take Stefan off to one side, away from his wife and the kids, and discuss it with him.
She turned the corner into the kitchen, but it was empty. She heard voices off to the right, and followed them through the kitchen, into the dining room, and then further into the house, each slow, deliberate footstep more painful than the last.
And then she was there, at Stefan’s own little den, a wood panelled study where he sat to write his memoirs over a bottle of night time schnapps.
He was sitting with Ben and Amy, who were sitting in rapt fascination as he showed them a large hardback book.
He looked up as her shadow passed over the entrance to the room. ‘Well, look who’s up!’ he said jovially. ‘Mark would kill me if he could see you! Have a seat, have a seat!’
Steinmeier got up and helped Sarah the last few steps into the room, sitting her down in a comfortable easy chair next to the sofa where Ben and Amy were sitting.
Her children all but ignored her, continuing to leaf through the big book, and although she had missed them and certainly wouldn’t have minded if they had run to her and covered her with kisses, she was really quite glad. It meant they weren’t concerned about her, or about the events of the past few days. They were now somewhere familiar, somewhere fun, and somewhere safe.
But Sarah was surprised not to see Sabine and the three other kids. ‘Thanks Stefan,’ she said, accepting his offer of a mug of coffee as she relaxed into the chair. ‘What are you guys doing?’
‘Oh,’ Steinmeier said, sitting down between Ben and Amy, ‘we’re just going through some of our old photo albums. Mark’s in a few of these, although Ben and Amy don’t seem to think it’s him!’
Sarah smiled. He had certainly looked different back when he had been Mark Kowalski, that was sure. But she wondered why Stefan had the album out, and why he was showing them such strange pictures.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ she asked next.
‘On an unfortunate trip,’ Steinmeier explained. ‘Sabine’s mother has taken rather ill, so they’ve all gone to visit her in Bern.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing serious I hope?’
‘Well,’ Stefan said uneasily, ‘at this stage they do not know. We will have to wait and see. And maybe pray, yes?’
‘I’m sorry, Stefan,’ Sarah offered, and Steinmeier nodded his head.
He felt guilty for lying to her. There was nothing wrong with his mother-in-law. He had simply sent his family away for their own safety.
Because just five hours earlier, he had finally made the call.
11
Dan Albright was no longer in the hospital. After disconnecting himself from the monitors and drip he was hooked up to the previous evening, he had signed himself out. The doctors had at first refused to let him go, but he had demanded it and they had no power to keep him.
It had been necessary for the doctors to remove his eye completely, and it was now protected by a white plastic eye guard. His savaged nose was also covered by a guard, and his shaven head was criss-crossed with scabs. With the addition of light stubble, he now looked nothing like he used to; nothing at all.
After leaving the hospital, he had subsequently booked into a nearby hotel, where he had started making his plans. He had left for the sole purpose of tracking down Sarah Cole and killing her. He decided he was going to kill her kids first, right in front of her, force her to watch every last second. And then he was going to slit her throat from ear to ear.
He was lying in bed dreaming of his revenge when the call came. ‘Albright,’ he answered, immediately sitting up in bed upon hearing Charles Hansard’s voice on the other end. ‘No sir, I’m fine. No, I’m not at the hospital anymore, I was discharged last night … Yes sir, I’m in good health.’
And then Albright listened quietly to what Hansard told him, and he felt the excitement build as he was given his orders.
12
If the aircraft was going to cross over the US coastline within the next hour, then at their cruising speed of 250 miles per hour, they would be at Andrews within the next ninety minutes or so. This was both a good thing and a bad thing, Cole reflected as he wrenched free the upper attachments of the wrist and ankle bracelets from the chair at the rear of the cargo hold.
It was good because the aircraft’s speed would necessarily slow as it made its final approach, whilst the altitude would also reduce steadily, and both facts would make his task more achievable. It was bad news also however, as it didn’t give him long to accomplish this task — climbing out of the plane, moving over the length of the aircraft’s fuselage, before smashing through one of the cockpit windows from the outside, and then climbing back in to subdue the flight crew and take control of the plane.