Desert Fire

He stayed very calm, using the extra seconds to think. One slow inch at a time, he eased the Beretta out of its holster. Go for a double shot to the heart. The chest made an easier target than the head.

The intruder launched himself at Bellamy with the speed of a missile, knife extended, silver blade glinting. Bellamy unholstered his weapon, released the safety catch, and swung his arm upwards. Before he could fire his attacker smashed into him, knocked him down and punched him in the throat.

Johnston’s voice rang in Bellamy’s ears. “I’m putting it on autopilot and coming back there!”

“Hurry!”

The knife sliced Bellamy’s tether. Now there was nothing to keep him anchored to the plane. The wind howled. An unexpected fit of turbulence rocked the hold. Panicked, Bellamy rolled on top of his attacker and pinned down the arm that held the knife. The intruder brought one leg up and kicked Bellamy in the chest. Bellamy flew backward, the breath knocked out of him. He rolled twice and ended up by the cargo hold’s gaping door. Cold blasts of air sucked at him. His fingers closed over the tie-down straps on the second-last pallet. His feet dangled in empty air.

The intruder got up, rubbing his shoulder. The knife still clenched in his fist, he started to cut the straps holding down the crates.

“No!” Bellamy screamed. His feet couldn’t get a grip on the side of the door. He looked up as Johnston exited the cockpit, his Beretta drawn and ready. The muzzle flash burned brightly in the semi-dark hold. The intruder’s head snapped back, and he slumped against the wall. Making a desperate lunge forward, Bellamy hooked his right foot onto the doorframe.

Johnston clipped his harness to a hook in the ceiling and walked down the narrow cargo bay. He holstered his gun and pulled Bellamy further into the hold. They leaned over the dead man, examining the bullet hole in the helmet.

“Good shot,” Bellamy said. Clean entry wound.

Hold on a minute.

He didn’t see any blood. Bellamy looked closer. The bullet had only dented the helmet, which was reinforced with Kevlar.

The moment he realized the intruder was dazed and not dead, it was too late. The knife struck out, cutting the final strap on the third pallet. The shifting crates hooked Johnston’s tether and pulled him to the door. The boxes disappeared into the blackness, dragging Johnston with them. The wind swallowed his screams. Bellamy’s throat tightened and his pulse raced. For a second, he pictured Johnston falling through the air at terminal velocity.

He saw his reflection in the faceless man’s visor and backed toward the safety of the cockpit, clutching the railing for balance. The intruder advanced, raised his arm, and the blade’s deadly tip swung at Bellamy’s throat.

 

 

1

 

Desert Fire

 

 

Wednesday, September 5, 9:50 p.m.

 

At first, I thought it was a comet blazing through the skies over Abu Dhabi. As it plunged closer to the ground, I made out a shadow around the ball of flame. It’s a plane. The tail’s on fire. A heavy weight settled over my chest. The fiery ball rapidly lost altitude.

“Mom, come see this!” I stood so close to the window my breath fogged the glass.

“Later, Nick.” She scrunched up her face at the hairy-armed real estate agent showing us an apartment. The water and electricity had been cut off, so he was lighting her way with a candle. She followed him into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the master bedroom.