Velocity Read online

  Was 9/11 a false-flag operation to clear a path for the war on terror? Would someone, could someone, knowingly inflict that kind of pain on their country? These are not the questions Rhonda asks the Frenchman.

  ‘What’s any of this have to do with your hijacking my shuttle?’

  He doesn’t turn to her. ‘All will become apparent in the fullness of time.’

  **

  20

  It’s like he’s landed on Mars.

  Judd stands outside the small Alice Springs Airport and waits to be picked up. He takes in the jagged, red landscape, punctuated by the occasional nub of weatherbeaten spinifex. To the left a mountain range looms in the middle distance. To the right there’s nothing but red flatness as far as the eye can see.

  He checks messages on his iPhone, finds an email from Thompkins’ assistant. There’s been no change in the recovery mission’s status while he was airborne: Atlantis is still missing.

  He glances at his Omega PloProf 600. His ride is fifteen minutes late. The vintage dive watch had been Rhonda’s present to him before his shuttle flight. He’d admired its chunky design so she had tracked one down for him. She always thought it funny that a man who wanted to be as far above sea level as possible wore a watch designed to work 2000 feet below it.

  It’s Africa-hot out here and Judd’s not dressed for it. Long, dark-grey pants, a white polo shirt, navy-blue sports jacket. He’s even wearing a singlet for Chrissake, absolutely too much clothing for ‘the Alice’, as the pilot called it before they landed. He pulls off the jacket, lies it across his single bag, then polishes his Ray-Ban Aviators with his shirt to remove the red dust.

  A car engine strains. He looks up, follows the roadway that snakes away from the airport to a dust cloud that rolls towards him. In front of the dust cloud is a day-glo-yellow ute, the words Blades of Corey roughly handpainted on its door.

  It skids to a halt in front of Judd. It is, to be kind, a dented rust bucket. A suntanned man leans out the driver’s window, shoots Judd a crooked grin. ‘You the bloke going to Kinabara?’

  ‘Judd Bell. Yes.’

  ‘G’day, Corey Purchase. I’m taking you there. Nice to meet you. Hop in.’

  Judd picks up his bag, pulls the door open. It creaks then judders to a stop, half-open.

  ‘Sorry. It’s a little sticky. Let me send the boys from maintenance over.’ The Australian swivels in his seat, jams both boots onto the door and pushes hard. It grinds open. ‘There you go. No worries.’

  Judd slides in with his bag. The ute doesn’t look any better on the inside. It’s a sea of rust and old food containers, the road visible through a sizeable hole in the passenger foot well. He shifts and realises he’s sitting on something.

  ‘Sorry!’ Corey pulls a flattened sandwich from underneath Judd. ‘Lunch.’ Then he notices Judd’s jacket, draped over his bag. ‘Lovin’ that.’

  Judd looks at it. ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  A dog pops up in the rear tray and barks loudly, startles Judd. ‘Christ almighty!’

  ‘That’s Spike. Don’t worry, he’s all mouth and trousers.’

  Spike barks again.

  ‘Well, you are.’

  Another bark.

  ‘Quiet from the peanut gallery.’

  Judd studies the Australian for a moment. ‘So, I just, I need to get to the dish asap.’

  ‘Yep. Got it. Sorry I’m late. You won’t believe the day I’ve had. I ran into this nasty black chopper —’

  ‘Your chopper’s here, at the airport?’

  ‘God, no. Can’t afford that. Keep it at my place.’

  ‘Right. And where’s that?’

  ‘Not far.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay!’ Corey floors it. The ute shudders as it pulls away. ‘Anyway, this black chopper, man, it was horrible —’

  **

  Judd’s eyes are shut as the breeze from the open passenger window washes over him. It’s like standing in front of an open pizza oven on full flame but he doesn’t care. The air might be hotter than July but it’s dry and curiously refreshing. Even better, as it roars past it does an excellent job of drowning out the Australian’s voice. In the ten minutes they’ve been driving the guy has not shut up. Then something he says cuts through the hot, loud air and forces Judd to respond. ‘You what?’

  ‘Pulled a loop.’

  ‘In a helicopter?’

  ‘They’re a bit hard to do in a car.’

  Judd looks at him. Pulling a loop in a chopper is the rarest of feats, the sole domain of experienced test pilots in advanced military hardware. ‘Right.’

  Corey picks up his sceptical tone. ‘It’s true. And the black chopper did one too, followed me right over.’

  Judd nods politely.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘Will it get me where I’m going any faster?’

  ‘It might.’

  ‘Okay, I believe you.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘I said I believe you.’

  ‘But you don’t mean it.’

  ‘Please, I just want to get to where I’m going.’ Judd turns back to the window, pushes his head back into the hot breeze and closes his eyes, hopes that ends the conversation.

  Corey grips the steering wheel in frustration. No one believes him, including the coppers at the Alice Springs police station. The officer on duty that morning had listened patiently to his story about the nasty black chopper and the men with assault rifles, jotted down a few details then told him he’d look into it.

  He will never look into it, of that Corey is certain. It’s like an outback version of the boy who cried wolf. It’s the bloke who talked dog. Corey’s the crazy guy who has conversations with the dog, so no one believes anything he says, even when it’s true.

  Judd cocks open one eye and looks at the Australian. He feels bad. Just because he’s unhappy there’s no reason to take it out on some poor schmuck who’s only here to help. He decides to be pleasant from now on.

  ‘How much further is it?’

  ‘Is what?’

  Judd drags a hand across his chin, remembers to be pleasant. ‘Where we’re going. Your chopper?’

  ‘Oh. We’re here.’ Corey turns off the rutted tarmac and thumps onto a dirt track. At its far end sits a small house, on its own, miles from anything. It looks more like a shack than a house and appears to be constructed from rusty corrugated iron.

  The ute pulls up outside. Judd shoulders the door open, clambers out and sees the day-glo-yellow Loach parked behind the place. He takes it in.

  It’s a dented, corroded hulk, peppered with bullet holes and black scorch marks. Incredibly, it looks even worse than the ute.

  ‘This is it?’ Judd turns to the Australian, dumbfounded. ‘This is your chopper? Are you - is this a joke?’ Any idea of being pleasant is now forgotten. ‘You fly around in this thing?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a Hughes OH-6A Cayuse. A classic. Backbone of the US Army. TC flew one in Magnum PI.’ Corey places Judd’s bag and jacket in the cockpit then rubs at a scorch mark with the heel of his hand. ‘I realise it might not look that flash at the moment but I’ve made a lot of unique modifications.’

  ‘What? Painted over the rust?’

  ‘Among other things.’

  Judd leans closer, inspects the fuselage, astonished. ‘Did you use house paint?’

  ‘It’s an underrated aerospace coating. Look, obviously you’re not seeing it at its best but I guarantee it’s mechanically funky-dory.’

  ‘Funky-dory? Well that puts my mind at ease —’

  ‘The aircraft is airworthy.’

  ‘Is that hydraulic fluid?’ Judd points at a puddle of liquid congealed in the dust under the fuselage.

  Corey bends, takes it in, surprised. ‘Oh, that’s from before. Don’t worry about it.’ He grins his crooked grin.

  ‘Sorry, but I’m going to organise other transportation.’
Judd pulls out his iPhone, studies the screen. It tells him it is SEARCHING, which means no signal. He strangles a groan in his throat.

  ‘Mate, you’re in the middle of a desert. You’d have better luck catching a great white out here than getting phone service.’

  Judd turns and strides towards the ute. ‘Then you need to drive me back to the airport.’

  Corey follows him. ‘If you’d just hold your horses —’

  Spike barks.

  ‘Shhh, dog!’ Corey turns back to Judd. ‘I’m sure I can set your mind at ease if you —’

  Spike barks again.

  Corey turns to him. ‘What is your problem?’

  Spike isn’t barking at Corey, he’s barking at something on the heat-soaked horizon.

  Corey follows the dog’s gaze, sees a glint in the distance. ‘Oh damn.’ Suddenly he’s very miserable.

  Judd notices the glint too. ‘What? What’s “oh damn”?’ Then, in front of the glint he sees a shape that quickly grows larger and trails grey smoke. ‘What’s that?’

  Corey turns to Judd. ‘Sorry about this.’

  ‘Sorry about what?’

  The Australian sprints towards Judd.

  ‘What are you doing —?’ Corey hits the American around the thighs in a perfect rugby tackle, knocks him flat to the ground as a missile skims the desert and slams into the house.

  The explosion rocks the world. Jagged chunks of corrugated iron fly in every direction. A large piece of burning metal slices across the spot where Judd just stood and smashes through the ute’s windscreen. Instantly the vehicle catches fire.

  Stunned, Judd lies in the dust, face to face with the Australian, the dog crouched nearby. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Remember the story about the black chopper you didn’t believe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you believe it now?’ Corey rolls to his feet and pulls Judd up. He unhappily takes in his burning house and his burning ute, then gestures for Judd and Spike to follow. ‘This way.’

  They move quickly. Judd’s eyes are locked on the distant glint. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Why are they doing this?’

  ‘If you find out I’d like to know.’ Corey kicks away a chunk of smouldering iron that lies against the Loach. ‘Everyone in.’

  Judd stops. ‘I’m not getting in that thing.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  Corey climbs into the pilot’s seat as Spike hops in the back.

  Judd looks from the Loach to the distant glint then back at the Loach. ‘Christ!’ He scrambles into the chopper.

  ‘Belt, headset on.’ Corey cranks the Loach to life. The turbine coughs - and dies.

  Judd pulls on an old headset and buckles up while keeping his eyes locked on the glint. It grows larger quickly and he can see it is, indeed, a black chopper. ‘It’s coming!’

  ‘I know!’ Corey tries again. The turbine coughs - and dies.

  Judd’s eyes are glued to the black chopper. A puff of grey smoke appears in front of it. ‘Grey smoke! I see grey smoke! Another missile!’

  Spike barks.

  ‘I’m tryin’!’ The turbine coughs - and dies. ‘Please-baby-please-baby-please.’

  ‘You said it’d fly!’

  ‘It will fly!’

  The missile closes in.

  The Loach screams to life. Corey grins his crooked grin and throttles up. Blades roar, dust blasts and the Loach lifts off and swings over to the burning ute. The flames engulf the chopper on all sides. The missile alters course, follows them.

  Judd looks at Corey, dumbfounded. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Corey wrenches the controls and the Loach shoots upwards.

  The missile slams into the burning ute and detonates. The shock wave punches the underside of the Loach, drives it up and forward, pitches it over the approaching black chopper.

  Corey’s ecstatic. ‘See what I did? The missile was a heat-seeker!’

  ‘How’d you know that?’

  ‘I guessed.’

  ‘Guessed?’ Judd is horrified.

  ‘Correctly! Guessed correctly.’ The Australian taps his temple. ‘I’m always thinking!’ He glances in the side-view mirror and his euphoria instantly transforms to disappointment as the black chopper completes a steep U-turn then pursues them. ‘Damn.’

  Judd sees it too. ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I was hoping they’d be discouraged.’

  Judd notices the telescope in the pouch beside Corey’s seat. He grabs it, aims it out the open door and pans it across the sky until he locates the black chopper. He focuses on its occupants.

  ‘No!’ He yanks the telescope from his eye. ‘Can’t be.’

  **

  Dirk Popanken sits in the Tiger’s weapon officer’s seat behind and above the pilot. His left hand triggers the binocular lens system built into the fuselage below the rotor blades. The lens zooms, focuses on the guy leaning out the doorway of the Loach helicopter and the image is projected onto the perspex visor of the German’s Top Hawk helmet.

  He lets out a sharp laugh. It’s the astronaut, Judd Bell, alive and well and in Central Australia. If Dirk wasn’t looking at him he wouldn’t believe it. He’s got to hand it to the guy, he’s hard to kill.

  Dirk’s earpiece crackles. ‘Are we close enough yet?’ It’s the other German, Big Bird, the pilot who sits in front of Dirk. He’s being his usual blunt self. Dirk hadn’t managed to destroy the little yellow chopper with the missiles he’d already fired and Big Bird is unimpressed. The Top Hawk helmet is tricky to operate and it’s taking Dirk a while to get the hang of its ‘look to aim, blink to shoot’ targeting system.

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Can you get it right this time?’

  ‘Consider it practice.’

  ‘It’s only practice if you improve. We only have so many missiles, you know.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

  **

  ‘Tango in Berlin.’ Judd can’t believe it, realises he should have googled the guy’s real name back in Florida.

  Corey glances at Judd. “‘Tango in Berlin?” I love that song.’

  ‘Well, the guy who sang it is trying to kill you.’

  ‘What? But I bought his album. Are you sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’

  Streaks of light erupt from the black chopper’s cannons and slice towards the Loach. Corey sees them in the side-view mirror and jolts the Loach into a steep, curling dive. ‘Hold on!’

  ‘Sweet Jesus!’ Judd grabs the doorframe, watches the red desert race up to met him as the bullets slide past.

  ‘Whoa!’ The Loach lurches left and all Judd can see is blue sky. They’re barely 10 metres off the deck. Judd can’t help but be impressed. This guy can fly.

  The astronaut tries to process what’s going on. Why is Tango in Berlin here? He goes straight to Ockham’s Razor and the simplest answer: they’re going to land Atlantis out here.

  The black chopper’s cannons blaze. Corey tips the Loach hard right but this time he’s not quick enough. A bullet slams into its fuselage. The turbine coughs.

  ‘Damn it!’ Corey focuses on the gauges. A buzzer sounds. A light blinks. ‘Losing fuel pressure.’

  Judd looks back. Smoke pours from the Loach’s rear hatch. ‘We got smoke! Lots of it!’

  ‘I know.’ Corey can see it in his side-view mirror. He turns to Judd. ‘In the side hatch is the fuel line. It’s red. I think there’s a hole in it. You need to plug it.’ He holds up a stick of chewing gum. ‘With this.’

  Judd looks at the gum, then Corey, then the gum. ‘What?’

  ‘Climb along the skid, open the hatch and cover the hole with the gum.’

  ‘Are you joking?’