Martie steps back onto the flight deck and addresses Henri. ‘What should we do with her?’
‘She stays here. You watch her.’
Rhonda glares at the Frenchman as he stands. She tries her hardest not to look at the pistol jammed into his belt, pressed against his protruding belly. She’s going to need that gun or one just like it. That’s all it will take to end this, or at least put a big cat among the Frenchman’s pigeons. .
Mountain biking!
And just like that she has an escape plan. Good old subconscious to the rescue again. And Judd, who made her think about how much she loved exercise.
Rhonda loved mountain biking, as in biking on mountains, but it was frowned upon by the NASA hierarchy because it was stupid-dangerous. She did it anyway, until the day she hit a tree at 50 k’s an hour and, luckily, dislocated her right shoulder instead of snapping her neck. Not only did this bring her mountain-biking career to an abrupt conclusion, but also, as she was in training for a mission at the time, she had to keep using her injured arm as if everything were just fine and dandy. As a result, it never healed correctly. Her shoulder has only popped out once since, when she was pulling herself out of a bath, of all things, and it hurt like a bastard until she worked out that if she jammed it into the bathroom wall at a very specific angle it would pop back in. It was three minutes of agony she hoped never to relive.
The plastic ties that hold her wrists to the chair are strapped before her gloves. She’ll never be able to pull those through the ties because they’re too bulky, but if she can flex her forearm and stretch the tie she might be able to get a wrist free inside the suit, then pull it down the sleeve, then dislocate her shoulder and slip her arm out of the sleeve and move it to a position where she can unzip the suit and get out of it, and the chair. Just thinking about it is exhausting but it’s the only option going so she must give it a try.
Martie slides into the pilot’s chair, her back to Rhonda. The Frenchman nods to the Italian and they exit the flight deck, move down the ladder. As soon as they’re gone Rhonda starts flexing her forearm against the plastic tie while making sure it doesn’t look like she’s doing that.
She’s pleased the dislocated shoulder prompted her to give up mountain biking for Pilates, something she was doing long before it became fashionable, because it had greatly increased her arm’s strength.
Henri and Nico climb down the aluminium ladder from the shuttle’s hatch. The Frenchman steps onto the desert like he owns it and, in a way, he does, at least for the next few hours.
Henri triggers his walkie, the message broadcast to the whole crew. ‘Atlantis will be loaded and ready for wheels up by sunrise.’
On cue, a diesel engine barks to life. The enormous yellow Kato mobile crane belches a cloud of black exhaust from its stack then rolls from behind the Galaxy towards Atlantis.
Two hundred metres to the left, Dirk and Big Bird’s Tiger lifts off in a blizzard of dust. The Frenchman turns and watches it skim the desert until it outruns the glow of the runway lights and disappears.
29
Judd lies at the top of the ravine and focuses the telescope on the black chopper. He really hopes it doesn’t fly towards him.
It flies directly towards him — then breaks left. Relieved, he pans the telescope, focuses on the yellow mobile crane as it trundles towards Atlantis. He pans the telescope again, focuses on the circus tent. It’s being lowered. Behind it the tarps are being removed from the big jet, which he can now confirm is a Galaxy.
Blue-white sparks arc from two positions high on the big jet’s fuselage, one at the front, one at the rear. He immediately knows they’re welding connection points for Atlantis to lock onto.
The jet will be gone before the cavalry arrives, he’s sure of it. He’ll need to go over and retrieve Rhonda himself. There’s no choice. She’s just there, just over there. The idea of sitting here and watching the jet leave is not an option. Of course he doesn’t know if they’ll even take her with them but then he knows nothing at this point.
Actually, he knows this: Deke Slayton would go and get his wife. Gordo Cooper would go and get his wife. Neil Armstrong would go and get his wife. Those astronauts would work out a plan and execute it, no matter the situation, no matter the odds, because they were steely-eyed missile men.
‘I’m going over there.’
‘Are you crazy?’
Ten metres away Corey works under the Loach’s instrument panel. The yellow chopper looks awful, pockmarked by gunfire and blackened by oil smoke. The Australian looks almost as bad. Pale and drawn, his clothes dirty and burnt. The evening has taken its toll.
‘They’re leaving.’
‘And so are we. Come on, dog.’ He clicks his fingers and Spike hops inside.
Judd stands, moves to the chopper. ‘I want you to stay. I’m going to get Rhonda and I need you to fly us out of here.’
‘Sorry, but no way. It won’t be long before they come looking for that.’ Corey nods at the remains of the black chopper still smouldering in the ravine below. ‘And I’m not going to be here when they turn up.’
‘I need to get her before the shuttle leaves.’
‘The guy on the phone told you to wait for the cavalry.’
‘They won’t be here in time. Please, I need your help.’
‘Mate, that runway is lit up like New Year’s Eve. They’ll see you coming a mile off. Literally a mile off. Trust me, you don’t want to die here. I was born here and even I don’t wanna die here. It’s a flat, dusty, lonely place. Now come on, get in.’
‘I can’t.’
Corey exhales and hits a switch. The Loach’s turbine whines. He whispers: ‘Please-baby-please-baby-please —’
The turbine screams to life and blades turn. Corey looks at Judd, shouts over the noise: ‘Last call, Mandy.’
‘I can’t leave.’
‘And I can’t stay. I’m sorry.’
Judd believes him. Even though the Australian’s face is only lit by the dull glow of the instrument panel he can read his conflicted expression.
The dog barks.
‘I know he didn’t teach me how to tie the knot!’ Corey works the controls and the Loach lifts off, pivots 180 degrees then thunders away, its running lights blinking softly against the night.
Judd watches it vanish into the darkness as the thump of rotor blades fades. Left alone in the darkness he realises he has to do it all on his own. He rubs his face, takes a breath. ‘Christ.’
The thump of rotor blades returns. ‘He’s coming back.’ Judd’s elated. Relief floods over him. He won’t have to do it on his own after all.
The thump of rotor blades draws closer but the sound is different: deeper, fatter. Judd looks up. A shape appears in the sky before him, silhouetted against the radiant star field. It’s not the Loach.
‘Damn.’ He turns and runs as hard as he can. It’s pitch black and he can’t see a damn thing. Then a bright light splashes across the desert and he can see everything. He’s at the edge of an incline. It’s only five metres high but it’s steep. Momentum carries him over and he falls, hits the ground, rolls.