The Perils of Eileen . . .

Series © 2001 - 2007 Carole Moore

Chapter 15

We arrived at Madya's main airport and checked out the tarmac where the private planes were parked. Each head of state and his delegation had flown in on a government-owned aircraft. Those were parked in a separate part of the airport, which was heavily patrolled.

We were inside the main terminal, looking out at the private jets from a huge viewing window. From our vantage point, it looked like a hopeless quest.

"We'll never get inside that part of the terminal," I said.

"Never say never," my partner replied. "There has to be a way in. We just need to find it."

We found it. The maintenance crews working aboard the planes, doing the cleaning and that sort of stuff, were all wearing deep burgundy shirts. A little nosing around soon led us to a supply room where we found a nice selection of disinfectants, clean pillows, blankets and burgundy shirts. We put them on.

"You know you're going to look really out of place with that blonde hair," Blake told me. I smiled. I'd already anticipated my dyed hair to be a detriment. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a heavy black scarf I wound around my head.

"You look like a funky Aunt Jemima," Blake said. "But I guess it's better than those Marilyn Monroe tresses you had."

We donned sunglasses, grabbed some supplies and headed toward the gate where the private planes were being serviced.

"Let me do the talking," Blake told me. There was no argument there. I didn't speak the language.

The guard was remarkably easy to get past. He bought a line from Blake that we were late showing up for work and were afraid of attracting too much attention and getting fired. They did some good old boy yukking around and then he let us pass. I trotted to keep up with Blake, who was moving like a halfback with the ball toward the goal line. Nothing was getting in his way at that moment.

We found the planes: Over a dozen of them.

"How do we know which ones they're sabotaging?" I asked, pushing the sunglasses back on my nose. Blake looked thoughtful.

"I don't know. First I suppose we need to think like the bad guys. Who would we want to kill if we were terrorists and wanted to start things going downhill for Madya? Their enemies"

"No, their allies," I said. Blake looked at me.

"It makes sense, Blake. They'd take out their allies and turn them against Madya so there's no one out there to come to Madya's defense when things start going wrong."

"I guess it does makes sense, in a strange sort of way. Let's see. Madya's main allies are…"

"The two countries to their north: Halasad and Dubadi."

"You're right. And look over there," Blake pointed to a plane with the Dubadi flag painted on the side.

No one challenged us as we climbed aboard the Dubadi aircraft. There was one fellow inside, wiping down the window interiors. Blake said something to him and I nodded, and we went to work, cleaning the bathrooms. After a few moments, the fellow left and Blake and I began to quickly search the jet. I took the rear half and Blake the front – we would meet in the center.

We came up empty-handed.

"Nothing on your end?" Blake asked. I shook my head.

"Nothing that looks like it's wrong or out of place. Maybe the sabotage is in the engines or something we can't detect. I don't know about you, Blake, but I'm pretty dense in the jet engine department."

Blake shook his head. "Can't go there. Each plane's cockpit and engines are serviced by their own crews. It has to be the cleaning crews." He snapped his fingers. "I know it's the cleaning crew, Eileen. Look at the pockets on our shirts." I did as I was told and saw a jumble of Arabic letters.

"OK. What's that supposed to be?"

"It's Assad's company logo and name. The cleaning crews work for Assad!" He was excited and so was I. That meant the sabotage was taking place in the interior of the jets, but we were stumped. Nothing seemed out of place. We climbed down and made our way over to the Halasad aircraft, searching it and, once again, finding nothing.

"Maybe I was wrong…" I started to say as the two of us were preparing to leave the second plane. But I stopped dead in my tracks as I spied a figure walking across the tarmac. I squinted.

"Oh no! It's Assad, Blake. He's headed this way! What'll we do?"

"Get back inside, quickly. Hide," Blake pulled me back into the jet and we both took off, running to the rear. He pulled open a small closet and we jammed ourselves inside. It was pretty uncomfortable, not to mention hot, but we remained as still as possible. We heard people coming aboard.

"Have you put them in place yet?" That was Assad talking. Someone mumbled something else and then Assad said, "Good. I don't want this thing triggering until they're over the desert. What about the others?"

The other voice mumbled and Assad laughed.

"Very good. Let's check the other ones," he said. Then he left. Blake and I waited for a moment and cautiously cracked open the closet. I slipped out.

"Boy am I glad to get out of there," I said, stretching a bit. "What do you think they've done?"

"I don't know, but we need to search this place again. Obviously we missed something." I sighed and started to go through the plane again. I'd only searched a few feet when I heard the front hatch close. I turned and saw my partner heading up toward the front of the plane.

"Hey Blake, what…" I started to ask, but quickly shut up. I could feel the plane trembling under my feet.

"Uh, Blake, we're moving."

He stopped. "That's impossible, unless someone else is aboard. He moved to the front of the cabin and pulled at the door, trying to open it. It didn't budge. Blake turned around and gave me a shrug and, at that moment the cockpit door burst open, sending him flying down the aisle. I reached for my gun as I dove behind one of the seats.

"Don't bother," a voice rang out. "If you succeed, we'll just kill your partner. You have until the count of three. One, two…" The voice was bored and British and very familiar. I stood up, my gun held limply in one hand, the other hand in the air.

"Toss the gun gently to the floor where I can see it."

"You!" I said. Blake, who was on the floor being frisked by a man I recognized as one of Razzack's men, piped up.

"I'm sure he's just here to give this op his personal touch. Isn't that right, Nine?"

The man we knew as Nine glowered. He certainly had no sense of humor. "Shut up." He nodded to the other man. "Get her gun, then tie them both up."

"Just one question, Nine," I said. "Just tell me why are you doing this?"

"Elementary, my nosy American. Money. The spy game doesn't pay the way the double-agent game does. And I have a fondness for beautiful things." The other man finished securing Blake and moved to me.

"So – Egypt Air. That was your job, too?" I asked. He yanked my arms behind my back.

"Of course. Do you really think Razzack and his brain-dead followers could come up with something as complicated as a deadly gas that deploys in the air handling system, kills so fast no one can call for help, and leaves no trace behind?"

"Is that what you used in Chandler's tomb?"

"Excellent reasoning on your part. I'm impressed." The man shoved me down and tied my feet together.

"So, you were working with Assad and Razzack on the inside, keeping information flowing one way, and trying to discredit Madya and it's government."

"You win a gold star."

"Just one more question: Chandler. Was he in on it?"

"Chandler?" Nine laughed. "I personally recruited him, my dear. Tut, tut, is our idealism slipping a bit?" He didn't wait for my answer, just had the other man drag my partner back to where I was and drop him in the aisle.

"You'll excuse me for a moment. Phillip!" He called to someone outside the plane. We heard footsteps bounding up the steps. It was Phil the Pill. He refused to meet our eyes.

"Take them for a ride and lose them," Nine said. He waggled good-bye with his fingers and left. The other fellow and Phil stayed behind.

"Secure the hatch," Phil said as he stepped into the cockpit. A moment later, the plane began to move slowly across the tarmac, as though preparing to take off. The second fellow followed Phil.

"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning," I said to Blake.

"Don't worry, Eileen. It's always darkest before the dawn, as they say."

Great. I was going to spend my last moments listening to moldy cliches. I tuned him out. Instead my thoughts went back home. I thought about my kids – kissing those sweet little faces – and my husband, holding hands as we took a walk around the block, dancing cheek to cheek, talking about what we would do when he retired.

Retired? That's a laugh. I was retiring permanently from the human race and the pension plan was nothing to write home about. I sighed and one small tear of self-pity slid down my cheek.

No – I wouldn't cry. And I wouldn't give those you-know-whats the satisfaction of reducing me to tears. I threw my head back and looked over at Blake, who was lost in his own thoughts.

"Hey Blake…it's been a trip," I said.

"Shhh. I'm thinking."

"Leave it to you to turn a tender moment into dust," I said. He glared at me.

"I'm trying to think of a way out of this," he said, tossing me an exasperated look. I perked up. Maybe there was hope, after all.

"See if you can move around a bit so we're back to back," he said. It took some doing, but we managed it.

"OK, I've got a little knife in my ring here. I'm going to pop it out and we'll try to cut your rope. Be careful." I nodded, and of course he couldn't see it because we were back to back.

It took a lot longer than it does in the movies to cut my ropes, but with hard work, we did it. By that time we were airborne. Quickly I loosened Blake's bonds and we each untied our own feet.

They still had our guns, so our only recourse was to overpower them and make the pilot take us to another airport so we could call in the reinforcements.

Rushing the cockpit didn't seem like a good idea to me, but we had no alternative. Time was rapidly catching up with us. I was on one side of the cockpit door and he was on the other when the door opened and out stepped the swarthy guy, followed by Phil. I could see the pilot inside. There was no co-pilot.

Blake jumped the man and they began to fight. I punched Phil in the nose and he grabbed me by the hair.

"Stop it, stop it, Eileen," Phil said, trying to keep me from punching him again. "I'm on your side!"

Blake punched the other fellow hard enough to send him flying into the wall, then grabbed the man's gun. He turned it on Phil.

"Let go of her and put your hands up." Phil paused, then let go of my hair.

"You're making a mistake, Blake. I'm working as a double," he said.

"Nine was a double, too." I rubbed my hair.

"Not that way. I…" Phil began, but suddenly the pilot materialized behind him. He had a gun in his hand and was bringing it up, pointed straight at me. I dove and a shot rang out. Phil grabbed his shoulder and went down and Blake returned the fire, plugging the pilot right between the eyes.

"I sure hope you know how to fly a jet," I told Blake, then dropped to my knees to check on Phil. It wasn't a serious wound.

"He'll live," I said. Blake handed me his gun and moved up into the cockpit. "Do you really know how to fly this thing?"

He nodded and hit a few switches. Phil struggled to sit up, holding his shoulder. The other fellow was still out.

"Don't let it climb past 20,000 feet," he said. "That's when the poison dumps into the air handlers." I passed the message on to Blake, who nodded.

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

"We're going to have to return to Jilil-ayah." I nodded.

"Don't go to the main airport," Phil said. "Land at the old airport, Blake. The one on the south side of town."

"I'd almost forgotten about that one," Blake said.

"How do you know it's not a trap?" I asked.

"I don't, but we have no choice, Eileen," Blake said. "This thing hasn't been refueled and we have just about enough to get us there. No more."

Would we land without incident? Was Phil leading us into a trap? Would we be able to stop Nine before he finished carrying out Assad's plans? And could Blake land this bird without turning us all into runway road kill?

Inquiring minds wanted to know.

Planes and guards everywhere . . . looked like mission impossible to me.

"You look like a funky Aunt Jemima," said Blake.

It was hot and crowded -- we couldn't wait to get out of that closet.

I couldn't believe my eyes -- it was Nine!

More surprises . . . it was Phil the Pill!

All I could think of, was my family.

Blake took over in the cockpit . . . what in the world had we gotten ourselves into