Such a task seemed impossible, but Cole knew it could be done — or at any rate, would have to be done.
The answer lay in the electromagnets that had been used to restrain him. Cole knew the special chair was not a regular part of the Hercules’ equipment, and although it was now plugged into the aircraft’s main electricity supply, it would have had to be wheeled on board whilst magnetised under its own power.
Cole found a set of tools strapped to the side of the fuselage interior, and then once he had located the heavy battery pack at the rear of the chair, he wasted no time in detaching the unit. He then pulled the wires free from the chair, before breaking off the top part of the cuffs.
He then stripped the control panel from the head of the chair, removing the switches and connecting them back up directly to the cuffs, before testing to make sure it was all still operational. He held one of the ankle cuffs against the chair and flicked the switch, and the electromagnet pulled the top manacle in tight. The bond was nearly unbreakable once the current was passing through the magnet, and despite pulling for all he was worth, Cole couldn’t move it one iota.
Satisfied, Cole emptied the German guard’s backpack and placed the battery pack inside, leaving the wires trailing out from between the closed zip. He then focussed on strapping one ankle bracelet and one wrist bracelet to the front of each leg, cinching them tight.
Although the fact that there had been two switches on the chair — one to control the wrist shackles and the other to control the ankle shackles — had made his earlier escape a little harder, it was now going to play to his advantage.
He was going to use the electromagnetic manacles as climbing clamps, which would hold him securely to the metal fuselage, even with a 250 mile per hour wind trying its hardest to rip him free. He had used such aides before in the SEALS, when climbing up the slippery hulls of ships — although those clamps had of course been professionally custom-made. His home-made version would have to do though, and the same principles still applied.
Because one switch activated the ankle clamps and the other the wrist clamps, he strapped one of each to his legs, and he would have the corresponding opposite clamp in each hand. When he pressed the switch, one side of his body would therefore be securely fastened to the side of the plane, leaving his other side free to move; and then once in position, he would magnetise the other side, before freeing the first side and moving again.
It would be a slow process, Cole reflected as he made his way to the rear parachute door. He would have gone out of the front crew access door, but unfortunately it was on the other side of the now locked interior door, just opposite the stairs leading to the flight deck. It meant that he would have to exit via the rear of the plane, and traverse almost the entire length of the vehicle.
Cole reached for the door lever, the guard’s Glock pistol wedged securely into his belt, and pulled down hard. The door slid back and sideward, and Cole was immediately buffeted by the streaming, biting cold wind.
He took a deep breath and moved forward, hoping that the battery would last long enough for the dangerous climb. If it didn’t, it was one hell of a long way down.
13
‘What?’ Hansard asked, startled by the report that he had just received from a member of the security detail he had posted to Andrews Air Force Base.
‘According to the flight engineer, Cole escaped from the chair and subdued the guard,’ Hansard heard repeated on the other end of the line. ‘The guy managed to close the door aft to the flight deck, so Cole couldn’t get through. They’re starting their descent now, but it looks like the rear starboard parachute door has been opened.’
Hansard considered the situation for a few moments. Cole never ceased to amaze him, he really didn’t. Those electromagnets were supposed to be unbreakable! And where was Cole now? ‘Did he jump?’ Hansard asked next.
‘We don’t know, sir. The crew say there weren’t any parachutes stored in the cargo hold, so if he did, he’s dead, simple as that.’
Hansard was silent for a long time. What was Cole up to? What was he doing? What did he hope to achieve?
But there was simply nothing Cole could do, Hansard decided at last. If he was still aboard, he would be killed upon landing; if he had jumped, he would be dead already. Trapped in the cargo hold, there was nothing he could do.
And even if he did land, and even if he did then manage to escape from the Air Force base, what then? Who would believe his story anyway? It would be too late to make any sort of difference now anyway.
Still, it never hurt to be sure. ‘Get the tactical team ready,’ Hansard ordered. ‘When the plane lands, send them in hard. Try and keep the crew safe, of course, but make sure that if Cole is there, he’s dead.’
14
The wind that tore at his body was even worse than Cole had feared. The electromagnets did their job, keeping him clamped tight to the aluminium fuselage, but the slipstream threatened to pull the skin from his body. Breathing was exceptionally difficult, and Cole had to get air into his lungs in tiny, shallow, staccato breaths. It was a trial of strength and determination just to flick the switches that powered each pair of magnets on and off; moving his limbs when freed was near impossible.
But move he did, first out of the parachute door, clamping himself to the side of the doorway; and then up and over the fuselage, to the top of the plane. It would have been more direct to travel straight down the side of the aircraft, but the air displacement from the huge propellers would have made progress simply unachievable.
And so Cole had gone steadily upwards, and now found himself on the top of the plane, the top of his head taking the brunt of the wind, down onto his shoulders, threatening — always threatening — to rip him off completely, sending him hurling towards the frozen earth fifteen thousand feet below.
The plane was descending now, slowing its air speed and reducing altitude, the inverted attitude of the aircraft giving Cole a vague view of the world beyond; there was land — frozen, snow-covered, and decidedly urban. They were close.
And so Cole marched steadily onwards towards the segmented windows of the cockpit — just fifteen metres away, but it could have been fifteen miles. Right hand switch — click — right hand and leg released — move both limbs in synchronisation, fighting against the tearing, icy wind — touch down again, magnets in contact once more with the airframe — right hand switch — click — right hand and leg re-secured against the fuselage, several all-important inches nearer the cockpit — a few shaking, ragged breaths — and then the whole slow, painful process again on the opposite side.
He was running out of time, and realization dawned on him of what the consequences would be if he failed — Hansard’s plan would work and the America that Cole knew and loved would be entirely destroyed.
He increased his pace, moving forwards faster, with renewed effort and determination. Hansard would not win.
15
Finally, after what seemed like hours upon hours of painful effort, Cole was there, at the cockpit, just inches away from the chosen window.