The Trespass(104)

“You’re British,” Dracup said. He slid the pistol self-consciously down onto the cockpit floor.

“Yes. We’re part of the peacekeeping force here. You might have seen us on the news.” He gave Dracup a witheringly sarcastic look. “Make sure the safety’s on.” He glanced down at the pistol.

“Yes. Right.” Despite the clarity of the headset transmission Dracup had to resist the compulsion to shout above the vibration of the Chinook’s thundering engines. “I was expecting an American.”

“This isn’t a New York taxi. Perhaps you’d care to explain what on earth you’re playing at.”

Dracup risked a quick glance earthwards. The landscape was skittering past at an alarming speed. “We’re going down?”

“Yes. Best to be fast and low, unless you want to be fried by another rocket. It’s harder to get an accurate shot in. Ground fire is a possibility, but your seat is armoured so nothing to worry about. Just ignore it.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Well? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t chuck you out.”

“My name is Professor Simon Dracup,” Dracup yelled into the mike. “I flew into Baghdad this morning with James Potzner.” Dracup wondered how thorough the pilot’s briefing had been; he would be surprised if any more than map co-ordinates had been disclosed. “I believe you received instructions from his office for this drop.”

“Mike Bishop.” The gloved handshake was brief but firm. “US Intelligence, eh?” He appeared to consider for a moment. “Look, I’m going to take you to our flight airstrip and hand you over to my CO. He can decide what to do with you.”

Dracup thought frantically. He was so close. Potzner would not be far behind, rocket attacks or otherwise.

“I’d take you straight back to BIA if I could,” Bishop was saying, “but the security boys will have the place sewn up as tight as a duck’s bottom by now. It’ll be hours before they’ll let any air traffic back in.”

“Have you any idea why I’m here?”

Bishop was continually searching sky and ground with a repetitive, sweeping movement of his head. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said. “Makes no odds to me one way or the other.”

“I’m here to find my daughter.”

Bishop said nothing for a minute or so. He appeared to be concentrating on the minutiae of flight, first busying himself amongst the plethora of cockpit switches and buttons and then holding a terse, coded radio conversation with someone called Delta Five, presumably some anonymous airstrip controller.

Bishop finished his transmission with an unintelligible coded signoff and turned back to Dracup. “Your daughter?”

“Yes. She’s been kidnapped by terrorists.” It wasn’t far off the mark. He hoped his bluntness would get through.

“Really? I’m sorry, mate.” Bishop gave Dracup a longer look up and down. “And you’re working with the CIA to get her back?” Bishop searched the sky again and wiped the perspiration from his chin with the back of his hand. “I’ve heard about this Potzner guy. It’s not all good.”

“I’m watching my back.”

Bishop laughed dryly. “Yeah. You’d better.” There was another short exchange via the headset with Delta Five. Then Bishop said, “I have two boys. Eight and ten. It’s pretty tough leaving them behind.”

Dracup nodded. “It must be. But I imagine they like the idea of their dad being a pilot.” He hesitated, then plunged in. “Listen, if you drop me at the co-ordinates you’ve been given, you’re only doing your job. I’ll take the responsibility.”

Bishop said nothing for a minute or so then shook his head. “There’s nothing there, mate. It’s in the middle of nowhere.” He looked at Dracup’s clothing. “You have no provisions, you’re not dressed for the weather – night or day. It’d be irresponsible of me to drop you anywhere except safely back at the airport.”

“Which you can’t do. Security and all that.”

“Right. But that doesn’t mean I can dump you wherever it takes my fancy.” Bishop shook his head again.

Dracup pressed on. “Listen, if I get to her first there’s a chance I can save her. If not –” He paused, wondering how much to say. “Anything could happen.” It sounded weak but it was the best he could come up with.

Bishop made no reply. The Chinook flew on. Dracup prayed. His eyes lit on the machine pistol. He glanced at the pilot.