Spitfire
,’ Michael continued. ‘
Cruz is the Messerschmitt. But there’s a difference, Zak. I think Cruz will risk a collision just to get a good shot at you. You need to be very, very careful
.’
‘There’s another difference,’ Zak said. ‘We’re not flying directly at him. We’re creeping up behind.’
Silence.
‘
No heroics, Zak. Cruz Martinez wants you dead. Make sure he doesn’t get what he wants. On this occasion, I want you to leave the fancy stuff to Raphael and Gabriella.
’
‘Roger that,’ Zak mumbled, but he didn’t know if his words reached Michael’s ears. The radio had cut out. There was just the hum of the aircraft and the chilly silence of its four passengers.
15.45 HRS
Malcolm looked green. He clearly hadn’t been joking about not liking flying, so Zak tried to chat with him to take his mind off things. And, also, to clear something up in his own mind.
‘Feel like telling me who that photograph was of?’ he asked. He sounded blunt, he knew, but there was no point tiptoeing around Malcolm.
‘Not really.’
‘You know,’ said Zak, ‘you’ve really got a way with words sometimes.’ He shrugged and looked out of the window.
A pause.
‘My cousin,’ Malcolm said. Zak turned to see that his companion was looking a little bit sheepish. He reminded himself that Malcolm didn’t really
mean
to be rude. It was just the way his brain worked. And there was something else. Zak was the closest thing this kid had to a friend. He owed Malcolm a bit of patience.
‘She looked older than you.’
Malcolm nodded. ‘Twenty-four years, six months and three days older,’ he said. His forehead creased. ‘Her name is Matilda. I miss her. She looked after me before . . .’ He waved one arm vigorously in the air. ‘Before all
this
.’
‘Where does she think you are now?’ Zak asked.
Malcolm shrugged. ‘Dead, I suppose.’
Zak felt a pang. He also had a cousin who he’d been close to, before ‘all this’. Her name was Ellie, and she too thought Zak was dead. It struck him that he and Malcolm were more alike than he’d previously thought.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and the two boys fell silent.
21.00 HRS
The African continent slipped away beneath them. Zak slept a while. He needed it. When he awoke, a quick time check told him he’d been in the air for five hours. They had flown right over Angola, where he had faced Cruz once before, and he had missed it. Malcolm still had his eyes closed. There was a vast expanse of shimmering sea to the west, and the setting sun had stained the sky a streaky salmon pink. And they were losing height.
‘Where are we now?’ Zak asked.
‘Cameroon,’ answered Raf.
‘Shouldn’t we be refuelling soon?’
A flicker of a smile crossed Raf’s lips. ‘Funny you should mention that,’ he said. As he spoke, Zak felt his stomach go as the plane lost more height. It was clear that Raf was planning to bring the aircraft in to land.
Zak peered at the terrain ahead, squinting through his shades. ‘I don’t see a runway,’ he said.
‘Who said anything about a runway?’ Raf asked.
‘I thought . . .’
‘There’s every chance,’ Gabs said, ‘that official landing strips will be policed. We’ve violated the airspace of about five countries so far, and we don’t have any kind of documentation. A bribe would probably get us out of any sticky situation, but let’snot risk a run-in with the Cameroonian authorities. After all, we’re just passing through, right?’
‘I still don’t understand. If we’re not going to get petrol at an airfield, where are we going to get some?’
‘Same place you normally go,’ Raf said. ‘A petrol station. We just need to find one.’
They couldn’t be higher than a thousand feet now. The terrain below was dry, withered brush. About 500 metres to the north there was a road of sorts, heading from east to west, but Zak couldn’t see any vehicles. Raf suddenly banked steeply and the Cessna
,’ Michael continued. ‘
Cruz is the Messerschmitt. But there’s a difference, Zak. I think Cruz will risk a collision just to get a good shot at you. You need to be very, very careful
.’
‘There’s another difference,’ Zak said. ‘We’re not flying directly at him. We’re creeping up behind.’
Silence.
‘
No heroics, Zak. Cruz Martinez wants you dead. Make sure he doesn’t get what he wants. On this occasion, I want you to leave the fancy stuff to Raphael and Gabriella.
’
‘Roger that,’ Zak mumbled, but he didn’t know if his words reached Michael’s ears. The radio had cut out. There was just the hum of the aircraft and the chilly silence of its four passengers.
15.45 HRS
Malcolm looked green. He clearly hadn’t been joking about not liking flying, so Zak tried to chat with him to take his mind off things. And, also, to clear something up in his own mind.
‘Feel like telling me who that photograph was of?’ he asked. He sounded blunt, he knew, but there was no point tiptoeing around Malcolm.
‘Not really.’
‘You know,’ said Zak, ‘you’ve really got a way with words sometimes.’ He shrugged and looked out of the window.
A pause.
‘My cousin,’ Malcolm said. Zak turned to see that his companion was looking a little bit sheepish. He reminded himself that Malcolm didn’t really
mean
to be rude. It was just the way his brain worked. And there was something else. Zak was the closest thing this kid had to a friend. He owed Malcolm a bit of patience.
‘She looked older than you.’
Malcolm nodded. ‘Twenty-four years, six months and three days older,’ he said. His forehead creased. ‘Her name is Matilda. I miss her. She looked after me before . . .’ He waved one arm vigorously in the air. ‘Before all
this
.’
‘Where does she think you are now?’ Zak asked.
Malcolm shrugged. ‘Dead, I suppose.’
Zak felt a pang. He also had a cousin who he’d been close to, before ‘all this’. Her name was Ellie, and she too thought Zak was dead. It struck him that he and Malcolm were more alike than he’d previously thought.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and the two boys fell silent.
21.00 HRS
The African continent slipped away beneath them. Zak slept a while. He needed it. When he awoke, a quick time check told him he’d been in the air for five hours. They had flown right over Angola, where he had faced Cruz once before, and he had missed it. Malcolm still had his eyes closed. There was a vast expanse of shimmering sea to the west, and the setting sun had stained the sky a streaky salmon pink. And they were losing height.
‘Where are we now?’ Zak asked.
‘Cameroon,’ answered Raf.
‘Shouldn’t we be refuelling soon?’
A flicker of a smile crossed Raf’s lips. ‘Funny you should mention that,’ he said. As he spoke, Zak felt his stomach go as the plane lost more height. It was clear that Raf was planning to bring the aircraft in to land.
Zak peered at the terrain ahead, squinting through his shades. ‘I don’t see a runway,’ he said.
‘Who said anything about a runway?’ Raf asked.
‘I thought . . .’
‘There’s every chance,’ Gabs said, ‘that official landing strips will be policed. We’ve violated the airspace of about five countries so far, and we don’t have any kind of documentation. A bribe would probably get us out of any sticky situation, but let’snot risk a run-in with the Cameroonian authorities. After all, we’re just passing through, right?’
‘I still don’t understand. If we’re not going to get petrol at an airfield, where are we going to get some?’
‘Same place you normally go,’ Raf said. ‘A petrol station. We just need to find one.’
They couldn’t be higher than a thousand feet now. The terrain below was dry, withered brush. About 500 metres to the north there was a road of sorts, heading from east to west, but Zak couldn’t see any vehicles. Raf suddenly banked steeply and the Cessna
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