Payback by James Barrington

Author:James Barrington [Barrington, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780330532969
Publisher: Pan Books

Gulfstream G450, callsign November Two Six

Well under an hour later, the Gulfstream was already two hundred miles from Barcelona, cruising at 0.78 Mach, and holding level at forty-one thousand feet on upper air route UM601 heading east. The aircraft had just passed beacon Balen, about midway between Barcelona and the island of Sardinia.

‘Time we sent our passengers to sleep,’ Sutter decided. ‘You ready?’

Haig nodded, and pulled his seat belt a little tighter. Sutter checked the navigation radar to ensure no other aircraft were in their vicinity, then disengaged the autopilot, throttled back, and pushed the control column forward. The Gulfstream reacted immediately, pitching sharply nose-down, and the two men felt the increasing tension as their bodies pushed against their belts. Sutter eased the column back gently, still keeping the G450 in a fairly steep dive, and adjusted the throttles.

‘Drop the rubber jungle,’ he ordered and, as Haig released the cabin’s oxygen masks, Sutter selected passenger address.

‘We’ve a slight problem. A possible cabin pressurization failure, and we’ve just started a rapid descent as a precaution. Place an oxygen mask over your face, pull the tube to start the flow of gas, and then just breathe normally. There’s no immediate cause for alarm.’ Sutter left the P.A. enabled as he called across to Haig: ‘Make a Pan call and tell them we’re in an emergency descent requesting fifteen thousand or lower.’ Then he deselected the switch. ‘That should make sure our passengers do what they’re told.’

Haig was already talking to the en-route controlling authority.

The reply came swiftly. ‘November Two Six is cleared initial descent to Flight Level two zero zero against opposite direction traffic range twenty-eight level one eight zero. Call approaching two four zero. Expect further descent clearance shortly. Squawk emergency.’

Haig keyed in 7700 on the SSR transponder. ‘Roger, Marseille. November Two Six is squawking emergency, in descent to two zero zero to call approaching two four zero.’

In the cabin, the four CIA officers adjusted the oxygen masks over their faces and pulled on the hoses, as they’d been instructed. Grant Hutchings was slower to react than the other three and, just a few moments after he’d tugged on the hose, he pulled the mask off his face and sniffed suspiciously. He’d breathed pure oxygen before, and knew it was effectively odourless, but the gas coming out of the mask had a definite smell. Very faint, but unmistakably there.

Hutchings took a deep breath and looked round with a puzzled expression. He was having no trouble at all in breathing but, if there had been a depressurization, that should be impossible because the aircraft was still far too high. Normal breathing would not be possible until the Gulfstream had descended to about twelve thousand feet. And the cabin should be getting colder – a lot colder – which it wasn’t. Then there was the strange odour. Something wasn’t right.

Hutchings released his seat belt and stood up. John Baxter was sitting directly opposite him and, as Hutchings looked across the cabin, he suddenly fell forward limply against the restraint of the belt.

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