Chapter Twenty Nine
John Wolfgang had acquired some degree of confidence with the controls of the Magdalena by the time he reached his destination. His view of the desert oasis seemed so different from the air than it had a month earlier, now that he was at the controls.
That seemed like such a long time ago.
He lined up the airship with the runway. And it struck him as strange that the airship should even require a runway to land. Sam had explained the basic aeronautics of the airship before leaving Italy. In general, it was simple enough that even a child could keep it in the air, but it required some serious thinking to ensure that it landed safely without self-destructing.
John started to sweat as he began to make his descent.
It was the Middle East after all, and he couldn't deny he’d been sweltering in the heat for the past two days, but somehow, it seemed that he was sweating even more so now. He wasn’t sure what he was more frightened of, landing the Magdalena, or meeting Abdulla in person, under the terrorist's terms. The man was powerful and used to getting his way in life. It would be a rare day indeed when someone bested him.
John just hoped today would be that day.
He followed the instructions, and slowly guided the airship to the ground.
Next to him stood a man wearing civilian clothes. The man was clean shaven, and had short red hair. He wore loose clothing and helped manage the buoyancy system on board.
The man looked at him confidently, and said, “You can do this, Mr. Wolfgang.”
“I’m not worried about landing,” Wolfgang told him, “I’ll do my part, you just make sure that you do yours.”
“It’s a deal,” Lieutenant Commander Ryan Walker replied.
John gripped the mahogany steering wheel so hard that the whites of his knuckles had become clearly visible.
They had dropped to an altitude of two hundred feet.
He would soon be on the ground, and then it would finally all be over — one way or the other. It was the not knowing that frightened him the most.
“How will you do it?” Wolfgang asked.
“It’s better that you don’t know until it’s already been done.”
“You mean — you’d rather I didn’t give you away?”
“Yes. Look, Mr. Wolfgang. We train for this every day. During the few minutes when the action takes place, we’re not conscious of what we’re doing. It’s only muscle memory we’ve built up over years of repetitive scenario training that guides us. We have no idea how you will respond, but I guarantee my men will successfully complete this mission,” Walker said.
“I understand.”
“Good. Now, let’s land this relic and get this over and done with.”
John Wolfgang noted the three armored Bentleys parked along one side of the runway.
“That’ll be Abdulla there, I suppose,” he said.
“Let’s hope so,” Walker replied.
“It’s him. I’m sure he’ll come today. This is too important for him to ignore.”
“We’ve been closely following this man’s movements for more than ten years. He’s had a price tag of more than 10 million U.S. dollars on his head for most of that time. It takes a very cautious man to stay alive despite that kind of surveillance. His own men are extremely protective of him, with a religious fanaticism. I would be very surprised if he simply came in on his own.”
“What should I do if his men want me to leave with him?”
“Then I suggest you do so,” Walker said.
“Then what?”
“Then, you’ll have to convince him to return to the Magdalena. I don’t care how you do it, but it’s the only chance we have.”
“And if I can’t?” John asked.
“We both know the answer to that question, don’t we?”
John nodded his head, and said, “I suppose we do.”
“Okay, we’re now at fifty feet. I’ve slowed our rate of descent to ten feet per minute. I’ll count you in for the last ten feet. Brett is ready at the rear of the gondola with the anchor ropes. I’m sure Abdulla’s men will want to secure us to the ground as soon as possible.”
“Copy that.”
The Magdalena sank slowly toward the tarmac.
“Ten feet.”
“Five feet.”
Next to him, Ryan Walker gave three small bursts of flame to terminate their descent.
John flicked the directional switch, and the propellers swung into reverse.
The Magdalena slowed its forward and downward momentum until it rested just two feet off the ground, directly across from the armored Bentleys.
Several men ran up to the Magdalena, and took all four of the anchor ropes, tying two of them to the cars and the other two around large wooden stakes, which were rapidly being hammered into the sandy ground by two other men.
Then, between the twenty or more men, the Magdalena was pulled out of the sky until it was held firmly on the ground.
“Well, here goes…” John said, walking to the door of the pilot house.
“Good luck,” Walker said. “You’ll be fine.”
John opened the pilot house door and stepped out onto the open-air gangway. He held his hands up and apart to show that he wasn’t carrying a weapon.
He noted that there were now more than a hundred men on the ground surrounding the Magdalena.
All of them were armed with rifles.
Several men then quickly came to meet him, one of whom told him, “We would like to come on board and make certain that the ship is safe before our master enters.” The man spoke in broken English, but with a confidence that more than made up for it.
“Understood. Help yourself. I have two of my men on board, and they will show you around.”
“Very good, please tell them to come out here, too.”
“Okay,” John agreed. “Ryan, Brett. Come on out here so that they can see you.”
I really hope this isn’t the part where they machine gun us all to death.
John fervently hoped that Lieutenant Commander Walker was correct when he told him that the virus was too valuable for them to risk hurting him.
After several minutes each of the men returned after searching the ship.
“My apologies, but it was a necessary task. As you know, my master has been threatened from time to time.”
“That’s okay. I understand,” John said. “Would you like to invite your master into the passenger gondola where we can discuss the final arrangements for the transfer of the virus?”
“Yes, of course. He will come with his guards.”
“Of course.”
The man then signaled someone near the car, and a confident Abdulla Ashama exited the vehicle and walked out to greet him.
Abdulla entered the Magdalena, escorted by five heavily armed men wearing balaclavas.
“My apologies, Mr. Wolfgang. These are members of my elite personal guard. I hope you do not take offense to them being present.”
“No, I understand,” John replied. “This is my co-pilot, Ryan and his assistant, Brett.”
The man nodded his acceptance, but otherwise took no notice of John’s two crewmen.
“How is your daughter, Aliana?” Abdulla asked.
“She is well. And your family, how are they?”
“Good,” Abdulla commented. “Last time we spoke of the other contents on board… please, humor me, what were they?”
John thought seriously about where this question was going. Abdulla had previously stated that he cared little about the artifacts aboard the Magdalena, and then said, “There was more than ten million dollars in gold bullion on board, a diamond which has yet to be appraised, but which must be worth several million dollars, and there was a multitude of other precious gems as well. Their value is entirely irrelevant when compared to the agreed-upon price for the virus and its vaccine. Like the A-bomb dropped on Hiroshima, this virus will alter the position of the world’s superpowers so greatly that they will have no choice but to cower and comply with your demands.”