"So Berisford, this control is suspect, and may have other modes of exploding the bomb than the immediate one we - you - have, shall we say temporarily interrupted. What are the possibilities?"
Taylor burst out in anger, "Captain you can't listen to him he's one of 'em. He's a terrorist, he's on our database."
"Shut up Mr Taylor. So far he has, at a minimum, given us a breathing space. You however, threatened us with a weapon. Berisford?"
"Look, I don't know what's in this unit. My knowledge of explosives is related to mining engineering ten years or more ago. We used electric cables and timed fuses and warning sirens to bring down thousands of tons of rock from a quarry face. All I know about this set up is that the six blocks of explosive strapped to the man's belt has a radio receiver each - the aerial was plain to see, and the terrorist had a control unit. What other fail safe or fail dangerous systems are built in I have no idea. It could be sensitive to cabin pressure, to temperature of the operator, to distance from the operator, to an internal clock or even a GPS location. All I know is the sooner you get some real experts on tap and the passengers off this plane the less death and destruction there will be."
The captain beckoned to the stewardess, and said,"Get Carlos here."
A Mexican looking steward, complete with thin moustache on an olive complexioned face, and black hair contoured to his round head, appeared. Somewhere in my mind the phrase 'Built like a brick shit house' insinuated.
"Captain?"
"Just make sure neither of these two makes a move. Bernard will fill you in. I have things to attend to."
Bernard and Carlos exchanged a quiet conversation, but I was aware that either or both of them were observing Taylor and me, and the night stick had been quietly shifted within reach of both stewards. This was an aspect of cabin staff training few were aware of.
The whine of the turbofans crept up a semi tone, and the patch of sunlight from the window crept forward on the table and winked out. A minute later it reappeared in the windows of the opposite side of the cabin.
The PA system tinked a bell and we heard,"This is the captain. First you may have noticed a course alteration. We are now diverting to Sydney Australia for which NZ Airlines apologise. The reason for this is that we have discovered a bomb is aboard. There is no reason to be afraid. It has been neutralised. However I deem it prudent to land as soon as possible to fully eliminate any possibility of an incident. I trust the cabin staff and I can rely on your co-operation. I shall keep you informed. Thank you."
"Get me the captain, immediately," shouted Taylor to the two stewards.
Bernard said in measured and reasonable tones, "Yes, Mr Taylor but I feel with urgent matters to decide and put in hand, surely your individual demands can wait until he is free."
"No they bloody can't. This is a matter for the security authorities of the United States of America, not some pissy New Zealand airline."
Carlos answered with an expression on his face of someone who saw a piece of muddy weed dragged from a stinking pond, "Mr Taylor, you'd best calm down. The captain is busy and has a billion dollar aircraft and 900 souls at stake, " at this point he took the night stick in one brown powerful hand, and quietly but firmly tapped it into the palm of other, "so perhaps Mr Taylor you will await answers to your needs until the captain has addressed his responsibilities."
The two men, young enough to be my sons had demonstrated superb training, but they reinforced my feeling of being old. Ellen had made me feel young again but she was gone. What was I doing?. Sitting on yet another airliner over the Pacific in pursuit of what? A dream? Did I really believe what I thought I knew, could influence events in a hundred years time? I wanted to sleep. To find oblivion and then wake up from this nightmare.
But that within me, the will, the life force, roused and said 'you can't let go - it's not the time - you didn't carelessly lose Ellen like a coin falling through a hole worn in a pocket or a purse, she died because powerful uncaring interests made you flee. You must go on. If nothing else to avenge her death'.
And I couldn't find oblivion for between my arms resting on the table was the terrorist's control unit, and the button was flashing red again.
"Oh Jesus - Oh shit," I growled, somehow conscious that if I had roared my terror the whole cabin would erupt into a maelstrom of frightened passengers.
Bernard asked,"What is it?"
"The bloody light's flashing again."
I heard as if in a dream Carlos praying.
"Call the bloody captain, Bernard," shouted Taylor, "Now!"
"Oh yes, let's ask everyone and have an election," I bellowed as I moved the toggle switch the other way.
The red light went out.
A white faced Bernard followed by the captain paced rapidly to the table.
"What happened?"
Taylor stammered and pointed at me,"He-he-he switched the th- thing again."
"Well, Berisford?" demanded the captain.
"There's just two controls on this. The button and the switch. Up to now I'd assumed it was on and off. When the red button first started flashing and I switched it, the unit wasn't off. It was just - um - resting - perhaps? So there's a timer of some sort in here. The switch just resets the timer, it's two way, not on off. If somebody doesn't switch it the timer will time out and that's it, curtains. The operator goes to his heaven, along with anyone else around him."
"How the hell do you know?"
"I don't. It's a guess. Get on to the bomb squad that's no doubt assembling in Sydney. Ask them. Here Bernard use your phone. Photo back, front and the edges."
I rotated the unit on the table, as he took the pictures.
"Get that to somebody and tell them what happened and say if the red light flashes we'll switch it again. Unless someone's got a better idea."
"Bernard. Take it to Jo up front, she'll talk to Sydney with you, and you can upload the pics from there," ordered the captain.
"Right Mr Berisford. Until I get advice from Sydney I need to understand who you are, and in particular why Mr Taylor here shows so much interest in you, so Taylor what's the story?"
"Well captain, he's on our CIA database of suspect persons."
"So what is he suspected of?"
"Well, er - there's no specific offence stated."
"So what is the CIA's problem?"
"Berisford's visa was cancelled on last leaving USA territory."
"For what reason?"
I intervened, "Look he doesn't know. There'll be little of significance in that database. At most it'll say 'reason for cancellation - un-American activities'."
"Yeah. Bastard's right there," said Taylor.
"The implication of the visa cancellation is that you were thrown out of the USA. So what were these un-American activities? Anyway that legislation must be approaching a century old. Somebody had to dig deep to find that one. Well, Berisford?"
"You're right in your assumptions. Unfortunately I can't say more about the - um - activities."
"Why not you cagey bastard?" erupted Taylor.
"Taylor, we'll get a lot further and faster if you quit shouting," snapped the captain.
"I'm sorry captain but I was made by some very high priced official help to sign a secrecy agreement, which prevents me being more specific."
"Bullshit," muttered Taylor with disgust.
Bernard paced to the table and said to the captain,"Cap, the bomb people want to talk to you and Mr Berisford."
"Allright Bernard. Come, Berisford. Bring that thing with you. Carlos look after Mr Taylor."
Carlos nodded impassively.
The three of us went through the doorway to the cockpit of the aircraft, led by the captain.
"I thought this was a locked doorway," I remarked in some surprise.
"Oh, but it is," the captain replied, "Jo and I have implants which the lock responds to. It's Ok Jo, I'm bringing Bernard and Mr Berisford to talk to groundside Sydney, we'll do that in the cabin. Everything serene?"
"Indeed Cap," the so precise words from the Asian looking pilot sitting relaxed in the right hand seat in front of a huge array of instruments, controls and screens, her clasped hands behind her head, seemed incongruous in the circumstances, but she continued, "Rolls Royce were a bit concerned about the deviation from the turbine exhaust temperature from our flight plan on their telemetry, until I told them we were diverting to Sydney at maximum speed because we had a patient with a heart attack on board. They've reset the parameters. Our touchdown ETA is 12.26. Sydney have scheduled us for the military runway. It's shortish."
"Ok Jo. Sounds good. Mention a bomb and half the world's press will be waiting for us. Bugger about the runway. Just hope it's not wet."
"Weather report is good and dry."
"Thanks Jo."
The three of us crammed into the tiny sleeping cabin that served the captain, and he used a remote to boot up a 40cm screen and dial up the Sydney bomb squad coordinator.
A police woman in khaki fatigues appeared on the screen, she removed a helmet and shook free a shock of black curls,"Hi there captain Braxton, thanks for getting back to me. We're all ready here. What's your current ETA?"
"Twelve thirty four."
"Right. let me speak to Berisford, and Bernard."
"I'm Charles Berisford, and this is Bernard," I said unnecessarily since he wore the steward's uniform.
"Ok guys. For the record I'm Superintendent Jade Martin, New South Wales Rescue and Bomb Disposal Unit. When did the bomber switch the unit on?"
"Eleven hundred hours as far as I can judge," answered Bernard.
"And when did you reverse the switch Mr Berisford"
"Call me Charles for chrissake, I was too busy shitting bricks to look at my watch, any clues Bernard?"
"About half eleven. But we were all rather rattled by it and that prick Taylor."
"Ok. Let's agree on a half hour from one event to the the next. So on that basis," she looked at a rather complicated wristwatch," you may expect to switch that device in twenty minutes at noon, and four minutes after touchdown So while everybody evacuates, - er - Charles you'll have to stay on board with the crew to look after the device."
I said, perhaps almost pleaded, "Look surely there's another way. Just throw the bomber and his bomb out of the plane. I know it's pressurised, but it can fly low, where it doesn't have to be pressurised, we open the door and toss the whole bloody thing out."
Jades blue gimlet eyes bored into me from the screen. "Believe me Charles but we've been there before you. The passenger doors are interlocked with the undercarriage, but not on the computer. It's hardwired, the undercart has to be down and compressed by the weight of the aircraft and the wheels stationary. I've got Airbus and BAE systems engineers here to tell me those things."
"OK. Push the bugger out of an emergency escape hatch."
"Sorry. Open one of those and a slide automatically deploys and Airbus can't guarantee the aerodynamic stability of the 'plane, and forget about an overwing exit, there isn't one, the wing's too far off from the ground to design one in".
The gimlet intensity of her eyes became those more serene of a middle aged woman dealing with another human situation.
"I'm sorry Charles, but I have to leave you with that switch until everyone's off the plane."
"Can't I hand it to your people when we get down?
"No, the timing's too tight."
"We could delay, and land after the switch," said the captain.
"No, I want your aircraft down as soon as possible, and the passengers out and on the buses and away. If Charles stays until we get to him that'll be better than him going down the emergency chute with that device, and possibly damaging it. Besides what if that red button doesn't show. How long do you wait circling the airport?"