Old School Ties

A short story following a chat with some pilot friends about how much it would cost for them to smuggle drugs (they will remain anonymous but believe me, none of them were cheap!)

“The Bastards” Private Social Media Group, The Internet

March 14 2021

Chris: Looks like lockdown is finally over. See you guys soon IRL

Matt: Later, bawbags

Dave: That’s not very nice.

Hugh: Git

#

January 26 2023

Matt: Anybody want to buy a few K’s? I’m in a bit of trouble.

#

January 27 2023

Hugh: ffs, go dark if you’re serious.

Matt: Group chat? Like the lockdown days

Dave: OK

Andrew: I though you lot were dead

Rich: I thought I was. What’s the rdv?

Matt: Half an hour? The old place?

Rich: Roger!

#

“The Bastards”. Private Voice Chat, The Dark Web

“Testing, testing, one, two, three. Can you hear me at the back?” Hugh’s voice crackled into the silent voice chat.

“Give it a rest Hugh, it’s a chat not Carnegie Hall,” Andrew said, laughing.

“I’ve got a new mic set up, want to make sure it works. Look at Dave, he’s muted.

“Dave! Dave, you fucking boomer. You’re muted!”

“…calling Danny Boy,” Dave replied, unmuting himself mid-sentence.

“Looks like we’re all here. What the fuck, Matt?” Hugh demanded.

“Sorry about posting out of the blue, but I’m in a bit of trouble. I need cash, real quick. I was hoping one of you guys could stand me. I’ll pay it back, promise.” His voice sounded strained.

“I told you not to move to Ecuador. You pissed off the cartels already?” Rich asked.

There was a short silence before Matt answered. “It’s Venezuela, and yes, I have.”

“Jesus Christ, I was joking.” Rich said, anxiously. “What happened?”

“Do you remember Mariana?”

“Yoko Gómez, the girl who broke up the band? How could we forget?” Hugh said.

“Save the, ‘I told you so’s’ for later. You were right. She’s fucked off with my crypto keys and five kilos of cocaine I was selling on for some rather angry fellows. Needless to say, I’m screwed,” Matt confessed.

“If you want money, you just have to ask,” Rich offered. “How much?”

“They want a million, they’re charging me street prices.”

“Oof! That’s steep. I’ll send you some bitcoins.”

“They want cash.”

“I’ll wire it. Send me your bank details.”

“I don’t have a bank account,” Matt admitted. “I’m pretty much off-grid.”

“Jesus Christ Matt. Western Union won’t touch that amount and I can’t trust a courier. I’ll have to fly it over myself.”

“I don’t have much time. They’re threatening to cut my ears off, and that’s just the start,” Matt’s voice trembled.

“If we can get a plane, I can fly Rich over and get you out of there,” Dave offered.

“Cheers, but it’ll cost you as much to bring it here.”

“I’ll take the hit,” Rich said. “I’ll write it off against expenses. I’m sure I can find some business I need to take care of in Venezuela.”

“You could airlift him out and save the money,” Hugh suggested.

“They’ve got connections everywhere. I don’t think I can out run them.”

“Even Scotland?” Andrew asked.

“Scotland too,” Matt replied.

“Fuck.”

“We’ll get you out of this. Send us the deets of where to pick you up,” Hugh promised.

“You guys are real friends. I can’t believe I’ve fucked everything up again.”

“Don’t stress. Where are you?” Hugh asked.

“I’ve got a beach bar just West of Cumaná, called El Niño’s. I’m living here, at least until the cartel claims it as part of my debt.”

“I don’t know about you lot but I’m excited,’ Hugh said, trying to inject some optimism. “We haven’t done anything like this for, what? Five, six years?”

“Has it been that long?” Rich asked. “It feels like I’ve been in prison.”

“Lockdown does that,” Dave said. “It changed a lot of things.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hugh said. “It feels like I’ve been in a rut for a lot longer than that, writing pointless code for pointless projects for pointless clients, just for money, and for what?”

“You’ve had plenty of holidays if your insta is anything to go by. All that rock climbing and whatever,” Rich said.

“It fills a void but even that gets boring,” Hugh replied.

“BASE jumping is boring? What kind of adrenaline junkie are you?”

“A burned out one?” Hugh admitted.

“So what’s the plan?” Dave asked, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Meet at Gatwick Saturday morning. I’ll supply the transport,” Rich replied.

“I’ll have to phone in sick, but I’ll be there,” Dave promised.

“I’ll come along for shits and giggles,” Hugh added.

“No way I can get the time off, we’re short staffed but if you need any help from ATC, I’ll be on the line,” Andrew offered.

Suddenly, gun shots rang out through the chat.

“Matt? What’s happening!” Rich demanded.

The space was filled with shouting and sounds of a scuffle before Matt’s line went silent.

“Matt, say something. You’d better not be shitting us. Matt?” Hugh pleaded.

After a short pause, Rich announced, “Take off is moved up to tomorrow. Everybody still onboard?”

“Roger!”

“I’ve just got a text from Matt,” Rich said.

“What does it say? Is he OK?” Dave asked.

“It’s just a random string of numbers, I’ll share it. I’m off to pack. See you all in the morning. Six am. Sharp,” Rich announced.

#

Dave walked across the hanger to where Rich was waiting at the bottom of the stairway leading to a brand new Gulfstream jet.

“A G700? Nice,” Dave exclaimed, clearly impressed.

“First off the production line. Think you can handle her?”

“Just show me to the cockpit, I’ll take it from there.” Dave grinned, pleased at the prospect.

“And don’t you dare put a scratch on her. I’ll be leasing her out when we get back,” Rich warned, half-jokingly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

“Like you were with that Cessna?”

“It was my first solo, and how was I to know the carburettor would freeze up?”

“It was my first crash landing, I’ll never forget it. You scared the shit out of me.”

“It was a forced landing, and you walked away without a scratch, didn’t you? That’s a good landing in anybody’s book,” Dave said.

“I suppose so, but I wouldn’t fly for months after.”

A few minutes later, Hugh came running to join them, burdened by an oversized rucksack.

“Sorry I’m late. Security was a nightmare,” he said, dropping the sack. “They gave me all kinds of shit to get my gun through. I’ve got a licence and followed the rules.”

“What do you need a gun for?” Rich asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Drugs. Cartels. Why do you think?”

“What else have you got there?” Rich asked him, pointing at the rucksack. You pack like a woman going on a weekend city break.”

“It’s my climbing gear. I was thinking of a trip to Gran Sabana since I’m getting a free ride over there. I haven’t had a proper climb since before lock down.”

“Is that a parachute?”

“There’s some great BASE jumping out there,”

“Aren’t you getting a bit old for extreme sports, Hugh?”

“You’re only as old as the dreams you hold,” Hugh retorted.

“Sounds like some ‘Live, Laugh, Love’” shit that Matt would say. Stick it in the hold, I’ll see you inside,” Rich chuckled, heading up the stairs.

#

Hugh waved to Dave who was going through his pre-flight checklist. Rich waved to him from the cabin, ushering him in.

“This is fancy. I thought we might take a P-51, or something a bit more vintage,” Hugh remarked.

“They’re a bit small. I’ve just got a Junkers ‘88 we could all fit in but it hasn’t got the range for a transatlantic flight without a few modifications, then you’d be climbing over fuel tanks trying to find a seat,” Rich said.

“I was just joking. I’ve never been in a Gulfstream either. I think I prefer it.”

“Come to Scotland and I’ll take you for a flight when we get back. I could even arrange for a parachute jump from the Junkers,” Rich suggested.

“Deal.” Hugh shook Rich's hand.

The sound of engines starting up interrupted their conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…” Dave’s voice came over the intercom.

“Ladies? Have you got a couple of hosties stashed somewhere?” Hugh joked.

“Unfortunately not. This is a boys’ only adventure,” Rich replied with a shrug.

“So who’s going to serve the drinks?”

“You’ll just have to help yourself.”

“No problem, I’ll forage. I’m nothing if not adaptable.” Hugh walked over to a wine fridge and contemplated the contents. “Côte Rotie or Condrieu, that’s one hell of a choice,” he mused.

“Have both if you want, it’s a long flight. Just don’t spill any,” Rich said.

“I’ll start with white, isn’t that what the French do?” Hugh uncorked a bottle of Condrieu and filled two glasses, passing one to Rich, sitting in one of the plush, leather armchairs that lined the cabin. “Sorry, Dave,” he called to the cockpit. “Nothing for you, you’re the designated driver.”

Hugh brought the bottle over to the table and sprawled in the seat opposite Hugh, dangling one leg over the armrest.

“Careful of the leather!”

“Soreee. Are you going to be a houseproud housewife all the way or are you going to relax. He refilled their glasses. “You can pay for a cleaner with all your crypto gains, can’t you?”

“That’s not the point. It’s about respect.”

“Now that sounds like some ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ shit that Matt would say.”

They sat for a while in quiet contemplation, sipping their wine.

“How’s the writing going? Did you ever finish that novel you were working on?” Rich inquired.

“I need to do a bit more research on Septimus Severus, but I should be handing off the final version to my editor soon.”

“Soon. You said that last year…” Rich teased. Hugh shoved him playfully.

“Don’t spill your wine on the seats,” Hugh quipped.

#

The seat belt light went off. Hugh finished his glass, stood and stretched. He saw Rich was asleep. He made a cup of coffee which he carried forward and knocked at the open cockpit door.

“Coffee, captain?” Hugh proposed.

“Perfect,” Dave said, accepting the proffered cup. “So what have you two been talking about?”

“Just catching up. It’s been a while,” Hugh replied, taking a seat on the copilot's chair.

“I know, lockdown messed everything up. It’s hard to get back into the swing of things.”

“Tell me about it, this is my first trip in years. Couldn’t go anywhere because I wouldn’t get jabbed.”

“I had to, to keep my job,” Dave sighed

“It was Orwellian. Anyway, that’s, how’s Sheila and kids?” Hugh asked.

“They’re fine. Sheila’s busy and the kids are doing well at school.” Dave didn’t elaborate any further. “What about you? You and Eve still together?” he asked.

“Nah, not for a while now.”

“What happened?”

“We just kind of drifted apart. We wanted different things.”

“It happens.”

“It does.”

They fell into a morose silence.

“Can I have a go?” Hugh asked, perking up.

“Nothing to do but watch the sky,” Dave replied with a shrug.

“OK, I’ll go and see how our benefactor is doing, later, captain.” Hugh said, throwing an exaggerated salute.

Hugh found Rich looking intently at tablet which showed their course on the screen.

“What’s that?” he asked, peering over Rich’s shoulder.

It’s new, does the same as an onboard flight computer but it’s portable. I can plot courses, landing trajectories, whatever.”

“Sounds fancy. Time for the Côtes Roti, I think.”

#

The afternoon sun bore down upon Cumaná airport as Dave landed the Gulfstream. Rich had planned ahead and by the time they had taxied to the terminal and disembarked, a bright yellow Lamborghini Urus awaited them on the tarmac.

Hugh shook his head as he squeezed into the back seat. "You and your flashy tastes. Next time, get a Roller. At least then I'll have some legroom. And that colour is atrocious," he said.

“Rent it yourself next time if you’re so picky,” Rich replied. “I had to pass up an Aventador so I could fit you in.”

Their journey to the coast past swiftly, the Lamborghini cutting through the winding roads like a bullet. As they pulled up at Matt's bar, a sense of unease settled over them.

Unlike the bustling neighbouring bars, El Niño's terrace was deserted. The sight of the door hanging off its hinges and a shattered window only added to their concern.

Hugh's brow furrowed. “This doesn’t look right,” he muttered, instinctively reaching for the pistol tucked into his waistband.

Entering cautiously, they were met with a scene of chaos— tables overturned, chairs broken, glasses and bottles were smashed and papers lay strewn across the floor like confetti. Rich scanned the wreckage. "This doesn’t look like a robbery," he said. "There are plenty of valuables still here. And where's Matt?"

"We need to find him," Rich said.

Dave nodded. "But where do we start?”

Hugh spotted a photo of the four of them behind the bar. “This was definitively his place. Remember this trip?” he asked the others.

“Yeah, that was one hell of a ride. Thought I’d given myself cirrhosis, turns out it was a ruptured spleen,” Rich joked, though it did little to dispel the sense of worry.

Hugh picked up the photo for a closer look and saw a telephone hidden behind it. “Look, he’s left his phone,” he said.

“How do you know it’s his?”

“It’s got a sticker with his name and number on it. He could never remember his own phone number.”

“Yeah, and he was always losing his keys and his wallet. He had those AirTag things on everything so he could find them,” Dave said, smiling at the recollection.

“We can see if he’s carrying something we can locate,” Hugh suggested.

Rich nodded in agreement. "Good idea. But we'll need his passcode to access the app."

“The last message he sent was a string of numbers. That could be it. Maybe he knew what was happening so he hid his phone for us to find and sent the code.”

“Sound a bit too James Bond for Matt but it’s worth a try.” He handed the phone to Rich.

#

“Bingo!” Rich exclaimed triumphantly.

“So, where is he?” Dave asked anxiously.

“Well, his keys and his wallet are together so lets hope he’s still hanging on to them. However, they’re not close. It’s about a five hour drive southeast of here. The closest town is somewhere called Temblador,” Rich replied, studying the map on Matt's phone.

“Five hours in that cage?” Hugh exclaimed in exasperation. “Can’t we take the plane?”

Rich shook his head. “There aren’t any airports nearby and there’s no way Dave can land the Gulfstream in a field. It’s not a Cessna. Besides, it won’t take five hours in a Lambo.”

“He can’t land those in a field either, I seem to remember,” Hugh muttered.

“We’d better get some supplies for the journey. There’s no telling what we might find out there. I didn’t even see a McDonalds on the map,” Dave said.

They pulled up outside of a small, roadside mercato. Rich stayed in the car, which drew a crowd of admirers, while the others grabbed essentials.

The pair soon came back carrying bags of shopping.

“Look, I got one with a worm in it,” Hugh said, waving a bottle of Mescal in front of Rich. “And nachos for the road trip!”

“Did you get any actual food?” Rich asked.

“I’ve got salad, some arepas and some cachitos, whatever they are, but they’re cold,” Dave replied.

“I suppose that’ll have to do. Get in.”

As they drove off, followed by a gaggle of waving kids, Hugh took a swig from the bottle of Mescal and passed it to Dave.

He declined. “No thanks, Sheila doesn’t like me drinking.”

“What’s she going to know? She’s five thousand miles away,” Hugh retorted.

“Four and a half, but it’s not about her, it’s about me.”

“Why haven’t you called her? Let her know we’ve arrived safely.”

“She’s busy and the time difference would mean waking her up in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t you want to speak to the kids?” Hugh pressed.

“I said they’re busy!” Dave snapped.

“OK dude. Let’s chill with some music.” Hugh connected his phone and played some Iron Maiden.

“I’m not listening to that for five hours, put something good on or switch it off,” Dave grumbled.

“OK, grumpy. I forgot that you only like obscure b-sides and bootleg seventies albums . How’s this?”

The tones of Dirty Honey’s “Rolling Sevens” oozed out of the speakers.

“Hmm, that sounds acceptable,” Dave said, nodding along to the beat while Hugh took another swig of Mescal.

Hours passed in a blur, the landscape transitioning from bustling towns to empty countryside, with only the occasional shack breaking the monotony. Finally, Rich pulled over atop a hill overlooking a sprawling hacienda nestled in the middle of nowhere, just as the sun was beginning to set.

“He’s here?” Hugh asked, peering at the villa below.

“According to the app,” Rich said, squinting at Matt’s phone.

“I thought you said there were no airfields,” Hugh said, pointing to an airstrip with an old fashioned aircraft parked at the end.

“Those aren’t public,” Dave explained. “A DC-3, nice bird,” he remarked.

“Or C-47,” Rich added. “Hard to tell if it’s been refitted from up here.”

“What do we do now?” Hugh asked.

“We need to get Matt out of there,” Rich replied.

“I know that, but how?”

“I’m thinking.”

#

Rich drove the Lamborghini down the winding driveway towards the hacienda alone. He honked the horn but two men were already marching to meet him with guns strapped over their shoulders.

“Hola!” Rich called out as they approached. “Can you help me? I think I’m lost.”

“This is private property,” one of the guards replied in broken English. “You go now!”

Rich pulled a hundred dollar bill from his wallet.

“Help a poor gringo, por favor. I’m looking for a property in the area. My agent said it was around here.”

A third man appeared in the doorway, watching intently. He didn’t appear to be armed.

“Not for sale. You go now, vamos!” the first guard insisted.

Rich handed him the bill and showed him his phone. “Casa Blanca, it’s supposed to be around here somewhere, can you help me find it?”

The third man approached, smiling. “There’s no Casa Blanca around here, señor. I’m sorry but you have the wrong address,” he said in impeccable English.

“Damn. Is there a hotel nearby? I’ll have to sort this mess out tomorrow.” Rich sighed.

“You need to go to Temblador for a hotel. About thirty miles, but I don’t think you will enjoy. They are not very, how you say, classy. We do not get many tourists around here.”

“That’s a shame. It seems like a lovely area. Very remote. Do you live here?”

“It is my boss’ holiday home. He is in town on business.”

“So you get the place to yourself, just you and your two colleagues? How wonderful.”

“Yes, just us for now.”

Rich noticed the guard eyeing the car with admiration.

“You like the car?” Rich asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“It is Lamborghini, yes? Very nice. Very, very nice,” the man replied, nodding in appreciation.

“Would you like a ride?” Rich offered.

While Rich distracted the guards, Hugh and Dave sneaked around the back of the house.

“The signal’s definitively coming from inside. Lets hope he’s with it. Here, take it,” Dave said, handing Hugh Matt’s phone. “Go find him while I fire up the bird. It might take me a while.”

Hugh heard the car revving up and driving away as he pushed open the unlocked door and crept inside.

The signal was coming from a room off the main corridor. The key was in the door. Hugh opened it quietly. “Matt?” he whispered.

“Hugh? Is that you? Thank God!” a familiar voice whispered back.

“Lets get you out of here.”

Hugh’s phoned buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from Dave:

>Expedited pre-flight inspection complete. Ready to go. Let me know when to start the engine run-up.

>And hurry up. I need three hands to start this properly

#

Rich came screaming back down the driveway. The guard was slumped unconscious in the passenger seat next to him. A red patch stained the dashboard. “You should’ve worn a seat belt,” Rich said. “The acceleration on these things is a beast. Didn’t I mention it?”

He screeched the car to a halt outside of the house.

>Now would be a good time, Hugh texted Dave.

“Quick, your boss is injured, he needs help!” he shouted as he dragged the unconscious man out of the car. Both men came running to answer his call.

Hugh and Matt appeared from the house behind them. Hugh had his pistol drawn and pushed it into the back of one of the guards and cocked it. He instinctively raised his hands. Hugh unslung his gun, Matt took the second’s.

“Get in,” Rich shouted. Hugh and Matt did so and Chris sped them off towards the plane.

“Go! Go! Go!” Rich shouted as he climbed on board over the wing.

“Wait a second while I get my bag,” Matt insisted.

“I’ve only just got one engine up! I haven't even pumped the second,” Dave shouted down the fuselage.

“Just get her up!” Rich shouted back.

“On your head be it.” The second engine spluttered to life and they sped off down the runway. They lifted off just in time as bullets whizzed past them from the guards who had rearmed themselves.

#

All four squeezed into the cockpit. Matt, Hugh and Rich exchanged excited hugs while Dave complained quietly to himself.

“Head to Cumaná, it can’t be that far. We can fly back on the Gulfstream tomorrow,” Rich suggested.

A message in Spanish crackled over the radio.

“What was that?”

“That was the plane’s owner putting out an APB on us. I don’t think Cumaná will be safe, or anywhere else for that matter. We’ve just hijacked a plane belonging to the Cartel of the Suns,” Rich announced.

“Next stop Blighty then. This is going to take some explaining to ATC. We’re going to need Andrew’s help. See if you can get in touch.”

Hugh came hurrying back from the hold. “Guys, I’ve just had a look in those cases in the back and I think we might have another problem,” he said, breathing heavily.

“What is it?” Matt asked.

“There’s what looks like several tonnes of cocaine back there.”

“We can chuck it once we get over the ocean, there’s a sliding cargo door. Just don’t go sampling it,” Dave said.

Matt stood for a moment in thought. “OK, guys, hear me out.”

“No!” Dave and Rich replied in unison.

“But guys, just think about it. This is a game changer. It could set us up for life.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Rich said.

“I’m not talking about you, Daddy Warbucks, but this could change the rest of our lives for ever.”

“I make a good enough living,” Dave said.

“But you’re not living, are you? You told me yourself that you were bored of flying,” Matt said.

“I still love flying, it’s just the treadmill that gets me down, but I’ve got used to it. Besides, I need it. I’d go off the rails if I didn’t have some kind of routine,” Dave said.

“You could become a helicopter pilot, you’ve always wanted to do that. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound better than endless early shifts and four sector days.”

Dave appeared to consider the suggestion for a moment.

“No, it’s just extra weight. It’s slowing us down and costing us fuel. We jettison it at the first opportunity.” Rich nodded his agreement but Hugh was not convinced.

“The flight plan is to the coast of Spain. They must have prepared enough fuel for that, with the cargo.”

“We could make it for sure but there’s no flight plan filed, and no squawk. We’re going to be challenged as soon as we leave international airspace, probably long before. If we turn up with this cargo we’re all going straight to jail.”

“If they spot us,” Hugh said.

“What do you mean?” Matt asked excitedly.

“We could fly under the radar?”

“That’s only about twenty five feet,” Dave said. “It’s too risky.”

“In a commercial airliner full of families and kids, it would be, but there’s just us and we’re above the ocean with nothing in the way. How risky could it be?”

“You’re seriously not buying into this madness too, are you, Hugh? Dave, don’t listen to him.” Rich said. “Look, if you need money that bad, I can help you.”

“I’m sure you would but I couldn’t take it. It wouldn’t be the same. You earned your money your way, let me make mine. Besides, I don’t need it, but I want it if I can get it.”

“As a drug smuggler? I’m sure the careers guidance officer never suggested that. Besides, how are you going to shift it?”

“I can help out there,” Matt interjected. “I told you the cartel had contacts in UK, well they don’t work for them directly. If they found another supplier, cheaper and more convenient, they’re not going to turn their noses up at it. Nobody needs to know where it came from. I’ll keep you guys out of it altogether.”

“No!” Dave insisted. “I’m not putting everything on the line for a couple of million.”

“It’s more than that, Dave,” Hugh said. “A lot more. I estimate there’s at least two tonnes. At wholesale prices, that’s around fifty million, two or three times that on the street. At least ten mil’ each, even if we give Matt a hefty fee for moving it on.”

“Dump it off the coast, just before we land, somewhere I can get to it in a boat,” Matt insisted. “That way the plane will be clean when you land, no problems.”

“The answer is, no!” Rich reiterated. “We’re not smuggling cocaine to England just so this hippy doesn’t have to get a job. I’ve already bailed him out for a million, a Lambo and a fucking jet. I’m not going to prison for him too!”

“This way, I can pay you back,” Matt pleaded.

“I don’t want your drug money,” Rich spat.

“Oh, and how did you make your fortune, mister holier than thou?”

“I got lucky.”

“Yeah, you got lucky buying thousands of bitcoin for two cents each so you could buy and sell drugs on Silk Road. Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Matt scowled.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve invested most of it now. I’m a legitimate businessman.”

Matt laughed mockingly.

“Then give us the same chance,” Hugh chimed in. “We’ve never resented you for your success, you’ve always been just one of the gang even though you’re a feckless millionaire, but now you want to stop us getting rich because you’re alright Jack. That’s not fair.”

“For God’s sake, think about what you’re saying, Hugh. You’re talking about smuggling vast quantities of drugs, risking years of jail time, Dave would loose his licence. Some of us have families to worry about.”

“And some of us don’t anymore,” Dave stated flatly.

The squabbling stopped and everyone looked at Dave. He stared straight ahead through the windshield. “She’s left me, taken the kids and the house. Even got a court order to stop me seeing them. She says I was ‘mentally abusing’ her because I spent so much time at work. The courts were one hundred percent behind her.”

“Man, that’s rough. Some real longhouse shit. Why didn’t you say anything before?” Matt asked.

Before Dave could answer, lights started flashing red on the control panel.

“What the fuck now?” Rich said. “Can’t we get a break?”

“Ice building up on the wings,” Dave announced. “This old thing doesn’t have any deicers so I’m going to have to take her lower, below the clouds.”

“Under the radar?” Matt asked.

“Not that low.”

“But you could do?”

“I could, but I won’t.”

#

“Ten thousand feet,” Dave announced. “She’s wallowing less. We should be OK at this altitude.”

As the hours passed, the vast expanse of the sea stretched out below them, seeming almost in reach. Matt started humming, “Da da-da daah da, da da-da daaaah da. We’re the damn busters, yeah!” he exclaimed.

“What was the code word again? Named after his dog, wasn’t it?” Hugh asked.

“It’s a word we don’t say in polite company,” Dave replied.

“Oh yeah, N…”

The plane lurched violently, sending everyone scrambling to stay upright. All hell broke loose in the cockpit. Alarms blared, lights flashed as Dave gripped the yoke, fighting to keep it steady.

“We’re loosing number two,” he announced through gritted teeth. “Hang on, this is going to get rough.”

After a tense moment, the plane gradually stabilised but the right engine spewed clouds of black smoke.

“That doesn’t look good. What’s happening?” Hugh asked.

“Oil leak,” Dave replied. “We need to stop it. I’d put her down but we’re still miles away from anywhere. Anyway, we need to jettison the cargo before we land. Rich, can you find me the nearest landing strip?”

“Sure thing, captain.” Rich replied and turned to his tablet.

“Is there nothing else we can do? We’ve made it this far. It seems a shame to give up now,” Matt said.

“Can’t you just switch the engine off?” Hugh asked.

“I’m going to have to but it’s the intake line that’s on fire. It could keep burning even with the engine off. There’s nothing to do until we land, unless you want to walk out on to the wing at 160 knots and shut off the valve.”

“And how do I shut off the valve?” Hugh asked.

“You can’t be serious,” Dave said, shocked at the suggestion. “We’re going nearly two hundred knots above the Atlantic Ocean and you want to go for a wing walk. You’re mad! You’ll be blown off as soon as you open the door at this speed.”

“So how slow can we go without stalling?” Hugh asked.

“I’m not doing it.” Dave was adamant.

“I’m the one taking the risk, and we all get rich if it works,” Hugh insisted. “How slow can you go and how do I stop the leak?”

“Theoretically, just theoretically, there’s a panel on the wing behind the engine. If you can get it off it, there’s a valve underneath. Turn it anticlockwise to shut off the oil. I’ll have to stop the engine but at least we wont end up burning all of our oil. We can still make it home on one engine. Theoretically.”

“Dave, I want to do this. Switch off the engine and slow us down as much as you can.”

Dave shook his head. “It’s suicide.”

“It’s my choice.”

After a moment’s reflection, Dave inched the throttle backwards, slowing the engines to a low hum and flicked some switches which caused the right engine to splutter to a stop.

Hugh was already putting on his climbing harness over his cold weather gear, climbing gloves and goggles. “I knew this would come in handy,” he said, smiling before he zipped his anorak shut.

“Crampons? Aren’t they going to tear up the wing and make us crash anyway?” Matt asked, watching Hugh attach the spikes to his boots.

“Haven’t you seen any war films? These things can take salvos of flak and still make it home.”

“Those are movies!” Rich exclaimed.

Matt and Rich moved to the door while Hugh stood and looked for somewhere to attach his carabiners. He found a solid metal rail welded to the fuselage roof leading to the door. “It’s still got the rail for paratroopers’ static lines, just like in the movies,” he said, grinning with bravado. “You two should probably strap yourselves in too, it’s going to get blustery in here. There’s extra rope in my rucksack,” he told them.

Once Matt and Rich were securely attached, Hugh handed them each a rope connected to his harness. “Keep these tight, I don’t want any slack. But don’t pull on them either, just let it out as I advance. And if I fall, pull like hell. Got that?”

The pair nodded.

“OK, lets go, Geronimo!” and he slid the door open.

The wind hit like a hurricane.

#

The deafening roar of the wind pounded against his eardrums as he knelt down and eased himself flat against the wing. The wind whipped at his clothes, rattling them like a buzz saw, threatening to tear them away and send them streaming into the sky. He felt the full force of nature challenging his perilous balance.

Hugh's heart raced as he surveyed his precarious situation. The vast expanse of the sky stretched out endlessly, while the sea below raced past like a horizontal waterfall. Hugh couldn't shake the feeling of dread gnawing at the pit of his stomach. What had possessed him to undertake such a reckless endeavour? Somewhere in his mind, he realised the futility of his obsession with seeking out extreme situations. They had always been controlled, safe simulacra of true danger to drive out ennui for a while with dopamine and adrenaline. Now that he faced the real threat of death, he felt no thrill at all, just fear.

But there was no turning back. He was committed to this perilous path, and he had to see it through. His muscles strained against gravity and the wind as he inched his way forward, his fingertips searching for any purchase on the cold metal surface beneath him. Three points of contact, he reminded himself, as he felt his way along the wing, digging his spiked toecaps through the metal and pushing himself forward. Each movement was deliberate, calculated, as he battled the powerful forces threatening to hurl him into the abyss at any moment.

As he reached the panel housing the oil valve, Hugh was engulfed in a plume of acrid black smoke that blinded him and sent him into a paroxysm of coughing. His heart pounded and each cough felt like a hammer blow against his ribs as he blindly prised the panel off, revealing the vital component he needed to deactivate. The noise of the wind seemed to intensify, drowning out all other sound as he reached for the valve.

Gripping tightly, he twisted the valve shut, cutting off the flow of oil to the engine and thinning the smoke almost immediately. Relief flooded through him as he strained to give a triumphant thumbs up to his companions inside the aircraft. Now, he only had to make it back.

Summoning every ounce of determination, Hugh began the treacherous return journey. The wind howled, threatening to tear him from his precarious perch. But he pressed on, his focus unwavering. The two taught, guide ropes like Ariadne's thread, provided handholds and beckoned him back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the safety of the aircraft's fuselage. Matt and Rich dragged him over the threshold and slammed the door shut.

“I’m never doing that again,” Hugh gasped. Exhausted but victorious, he collapsed onto the floor, his body shaking involuntarily with the intensity of the experience. Matt and Rich rushed to his side, their laughter mingling with relief as they congratulated him.

#

“OK, that’s one problem taken care of. I’ve plotted a course to Málaga. We still need to ditch the cargo before we land,” Dave announced.

“What? After risking my life, we still don’t get to keep it? That’s way out of order, Dave!” Hugh protested.

“He’s the captain, Hugh. It’s his duty to make sure that we land safely. We’re down to one engine, remember?”

“We only need one bloody engine, remember?”

“We land in Málaga, I’ll hire us a plane, with a pilot, I think Dave’s had enough flying for a while. We’ll be back home this evening, everything back to normal. How does that sound?”

“To be frank, it sounds bloody awful.” Dave said.

“It does,” said Hugh.

“Couldn’t agree more. And he’s the captain,” Matt added.

The trio looked at Rich.

“Descending to twenty-five feet. Plot me a course to Bara and get Andrew on the line,” Dave announced.

#

“Broadsword calling Danny Boy, over.” Dave called over the radio.

“This is Danny Boy,” Andrew’s unmistakable Aberdeen accent replied. “Where have you guys been?”

“Get us down safely and we’ll fill you in.”

“No problem. It’s dead here, come on in.”

“Roger that.”

“Damn, were loosing number two,” Dave announced coldly.

“You can bring her in on one engine," Andrew reassured him.

“That’s the thing, one’s already gone.”

“Oh, shit. I’ll have emergency services on standby, over.”

“I’d rather we kept this to ourselves. They can’t help us anyway, over.”

“Where’s the runway?” Hugh asked. “Is it near the beach?”

“That is the runway.”

Clouds came down as they glided through the air, engines silent. Dave's hands moved with practised precision over the controls as he manoeuvred the rattling plane towards the narrow strip of sand. Sweat glistened on his brow, but his expression remained calm and determined. Rich sat strapped into the copilot’s seat ready to help.

Andrew's voice crackled over the radio, guiding Dave with steady reassurance. "You're doing great, Dave. Keep her steady. You've got this."

“Releasing landing gear.” Dave frantically flicked at a switch. “Right landing gear’s out. The fire must have fried it.”

“You don’t need it Dave, the ground looks soft enough. Retract the left one.”

Dave flicked another switch but there was no response.

“You’re going to have to wind it up manually,” he told Rich. “There’s a winch back there.”

“Roger.” Rich unbuckled himself and hurried away.

“You’re coming in too fast!” Andrew radioed. “Slow down or you’ll hit the rocks!”

Matt and Hugh worked frantically, tossing suitcases out of the side door to lighten the load. Matt sighed at the thuds of each discarded suitcase hitting the sand below, echoing his desperation.

As the plane hurtled towards the beach, the wind picked up, buffeting the aircraft and threatening to throw off its trajectory. Dave's hands tightened on the controls as he fought to maintain stability, as Rich frantically inched the landing gear back up, they were only a few feet above the ground. It would be disastrous if it hit the ground before the rest of the plane.

On the beach below, a group sitting around a campfire scattered at their approach.

“Keep her up for a few more seconds! I’m almost there!” Rich screamed.

“I can’t, we won’t have enough distance to slow down before we hit those rocks if I don’t contact now!”

Dave pushed the yoke forward. Metal groaned and buckled under the force of the impact, as the plane bounced along the beach, tearing trenches through the sand as it hurtled towards the rock face.

Hugh grabbed his parachute pack and clipped it to the rail. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he pulled the ripcord, sending the silk bundle flying out of the door where it ballooned into a mushroom canopy.

The plane skidded violently to the left as the lopsided drag of the parachute hit, turning them parallel to the rock face. The wing tip crumpled as it hit stone, absorbing the last of their momentum as it screeched and buckled under the strain.

“I knew that would come in handy,” Hugh said, collapsing to the floor next to Matt and Rich.

Dave staggered out of the cockpit and lay down next to them. The silence was only broken by the sound of their heavy breathing until Matt chuckled then all four of them burst out into hysterical laughter.

As they stumbled out of the wreckage, they were greeted by a group of bemused onlookers who were carrying the jettisoned suitcases.

“You dropped these,” a long haired, bearded man in colourful baggy clothes said. “That was cool, are you making a movie?”

Andrew came running over. “Thank God you guys are OK!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Matt said.

“Any landing you can walk away from…” Dave reminded them.

“I need a drink,” Hugh exclaimed.

“We’ve got plenty of booze at the campsite,” the bearded man said, introducing himself into their conversation as if nothing was more natural. “Bill runs a still and Maggie makes mead. Hey, that sounds like a poem. Anyway, you’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s James,” Andrew explained. “They’re my neighbours. It’s an off-grid commune. They’re friendly enough.”

“Lead on McDuff,” Matt said.

“It’s, ‘Lay on…’” Dave corrected him.

#

“The Bastards” Private Social Media Group, The Internet.

March 7 2024

Rich: GM

Dave: It’s “good morning”.

Hugh: Only @Dave could care about proppa gramma in chat lol

Rich: lol

Hugh: You still coming 2 rome @Rich

Rich: at the airport. rdv later, piazza navona?

Hugh: It’s your round

Rich: Funny that. btw, I saw shelves full of your books at the airport

Hugh: I’ll sign your copy when you get here

Rich: I didn’t buy one lol

Dave: While you’re here, I’ve had some good news. I’ve won joint custody. The lawyers Rich recommended did a great job.

Hugh: Fantastic. Come Roma celebrate

Rich: Congrats man

Dave: Sorry, I can’t make it. I’ve got the kids this weekend. And now that I’m self-employed, I can schedule work so that I’m always off when I have them.

Hugh: *thumbs up*

Rich: *OK*

Hugh: Any news from @Matt?

Rich: Saw him last week. They’ve made him head guru or something. He’s loving it but no internet allowed

Hugh: His very own Jonestown. Let’s hope he keeps out of trouble

Rich: Aye

#

March 9 2024

Matt: Guys, I think I might have a problem…

Matt: Guys?