Dark Moon Rising, page 3
‘I not finished yet.’ The uniformed official frowned, clearly surprised by Gena’s sudden and decisive action.
‘Yes, you are,’ she responded, her tone crisp. ‘You have examined everything but my teeth. We both know my papers are in perfect order. I have filed my flight plan. I’ve got the weather report, and now I want clearance to leave.’
‘Why so much hurry? You not like our city?’ The official raised his shoulders, spreading his hands as if Gena’s attitude and behaviour were incomprehensible.
‘It’s a wonderful city,’ Gena replied. ‘But I have a schedule to meet and you really are making it difficult for me.’
‘I?’ Limpid brown eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘Dear miss, I want only to make pleasure for you. First, I will buy you a delicious lunch. I know special place, very quiet, very clean. The food is –’
‘I don’t want lunch!’ Gena snapped, biting her lip as several heads turned. It took her no more than an instant to read their expressions. Those not speculating whether the official would get his way were openly hostile. She swallowed hard. ‘Thank you all the same,’ she added, her voice rigidly controlled, her smile fixed. ‘But what I want most is the clearance. I really would appreciate that.’
‘What’s the problem?’ David’s deep voice jerked her head round. To her chagrin she felt a wave of relief surge through her. She fought it furiously. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.
‘There’s no problem. Everything’s fine,’ she said quickly, determined he should not think her incapable of coping with such minor inconveniences as an awkward airport official.
‘Then what’s taking you so long? I finished loading twenty minutes ago.’
Helplessly, Gena shrugged. ‘For reasons best known to himself, Ghengis Khan here won’t stamp the form.’
David’s eyes narrowed, but his tone was polite as he addressed the official in Turkish.
Swelling with self-importance, the man shuffled papers on his desk, indicating Gena with a jerk of his head. Then in a coarse whisper he added a remark in a leery man-to-man tone, and winked.
Gena’s sharp intake of breath made a small hissing sound for, though she did not understand the words, their implication was all too plain.
Outraged, she started forward. But David clamped one steely arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides and effectively rooting her to the spot as he bent his head towards the official.
After such a long time any man’s arm around her would have felt strange. But to have this man holding her a virtual prisoner, such was his effortless strength, was a shock that set every nerve quivering with a distracting mixture of fear and delight.
His soft, scathing torrent of words had the same effect as a machine-gun.
Widening eyes darted from David to her and back again as the man flinched, then wilted, all colour visibly draining from his face.
Gena watched in awed amazement. What on earth had David Halman said?
Scrabbling for the permit, the official hastily stamped it, pushed it towards David, and backed away with such haste that he almost knocked over his chair.
David’s features were a mask of cold contempt. Releasing Gena, he picked up the flimsy paper and thrust it into her hand. ‘Come on.’ Taking her arm he hustled her towards the door. ‘Too much time has been wasted already.’
Gena had always taken pride in her ability to ignore provocative remarks and under normal circumstances would have bitten her tongue. It was the push that did it. That and the intense frustration of having him march blithely in and sort out the whole unpleasant situation in five seconds flat. What a fool he must think her.
She shook her arm free of his grasp and quickened her pace, anxious to get ahead of him. ‘Perhaps if the men in this country concentrated more on their jobs and less on trying to chat up every female they meet, there wouldn’t be so much time wasted.’
Effortlessly he caught up with her and she flushed under his quizzical gaze. ‘Why did you use that word?’
‘What?’ Thrown off balance, she looked up at him. ‘What word?’
‘You said “female”, every female they meet.’
‘So?’
‘Why did you not say “woman”?’
Suddenly wary, Gena shrugged, elaborately casual. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘A lot, I think.’ His gaze was intent. ‘Do you not think of yourself as a woman?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Gena erupted in exasperation. ‘I think of myself as a pilot. The fact that I am a woman has been – is – more of a liability than an asset.’
‘I see.’
No, you don’t, she thought, but did not say it aloud. During the lengthening pause, Gena had an unpleasant suspicion that she had told him far more than she realised or intended. She gave herself a mental shake. She was overreacting. What she had told him was the truth.
‘Then surely you must be used to situations like that?’ He gestured back at the airport building.
‘Are you trying to justify that man’s behaviour?’ she demanded.
‘No,’ he was perfectly calm, ‘merely explain it. Though I’d have thought explanations would be unnecessary.’
He was right, that was the infuriating thing. She was a woman in a man’s world. Of course that would excite comment and reaction, especially in countries where women’s roles were more defined and their freedom limited. It was up to her to learn how to handle that. Her father’s attitude had warned her. He had never shown the slightest sympathy. ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,’ had been his only response the first time she had complained of harassment. She had not made the mistake of mentioning her difficulties again.
‘I find it extremely irritating when my job is made twice as difficult by other people’s inability to move with the times,’ she retorted.
‘But that is always going to be an occupational hazard. You either have to accept it, or do something else. It would appear, as you are here, that you have decided to accept it.’ He was growing impatient. ‘I am not interested,’ he added firmly, cutting her off as she opened her mouth to reply, ‘in your hurt pride. My immediate concern, and your job, is to get us both to the research site as soon as possible.’
Lengthening his stride, he walked briskly towards the helicopter, leaving her with no choice but to follow, cheeks aflame, stomach knotted with fury at the implication that she, and not that horrible little official, was responsible for the delay.
Men ! she exploded silently. But her turn would come. Just let him wait. When they hit the turbulence over the mountains it would be interesting to see how arrogant he looked with his face in a sick-bag.
Drawing in a deep breath and putting the incident behind her, Gena cast a thoughtful look at the towering banks of cloud building up in the east, and hurried across the remaining stretch of oil-stained concrete. Just as she reached the Jet Ranger she was aware of a strange sensation in her legs. They felt weak and shaky. The feeling lasted only a few seconds, but was thoroughly unnerving. She put out a hand, blindly seeking support, and clutched at the cargo door handle.
About to climb into the passenger seat, David caught the movement. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘No,’ Gena shook her head, ‘it’s nothing. I thought – just for a minute –’ She shook her head again. ‘I’m fine.’
Comprehension lightened his features and his mouth quirked. ‘Did you feel the tremor?’
‘Is that what it was?’ She blew a sigh of relief and grinned. ‘I thought my legs were going.’ Then the significance of what he’d said sank in. ‘That was an earth tremor?’
He nodded. ‘They happen several times a day. Mostly they’re so mild that you don’t feel them at all.’ He climbed into the helicopter.
Gena stared after him. It was the first earth tremor she had ever experienced, and it hadn’t been pleasant. Still, if he could be so offhand about it, there couldn’t be much to worry about. On the other hand … Gena shook her head. This whole situation was assuming a terrifying resemblance to a runaway train.
She opened the cargo door. One quick glance told her his claim had been no idle boast. She could not have stacked the cases better herself.
After a quick visual check of the outside of the air-craft, she opened the pilot’s door, tucked the silver wallet into the pocket within easy reach, then slipped out of her bulky jacket and tossed it on top of the baggage. Climbing into her seat, she shut the door.
David Halman, also jacketless, was settled in the passenger seat, safety harness and lap-strap already fastened.
Gena tried to swallow the sudden constriction in her throat. The cockpit, which before had always been comfortably spacious, seemed suffocatingly small. It wasn’t that he was deliberately crowding her. The pilot’s seat was entirely separate from that of the front passenger. Concentrate, she told herself fiercely. Ignore him and concentrate.
Struggling into her harness, she fastened it quickly, her fingers becoming steadier, more sure, as she went through the familiar pattern of pre-flight activity.
Reaching behind her left shoulder, she took down the headset with its attached microphone, plugged the jack into its socket on the overhead instrument panel, and fitted the set comfortably over her ears.
David Halman laid his hand briefly on her thigh. Though his touch was light and fleeting it made her start and she had to force a smile of polite enquiry.
‘Do you have a spare set?’ His voice and expression were equally polite. But the mockery dancing at the back of his dark eyes told her that her reaction had been noted.
She pointed behind him. ‘Put the switch on intercom,’ she directed and continued her instrument check, acutely aware of his powerful body, one long, muscular thigh barely inches from hers. He smelled of soap and fresh air and that subtle, musky aftershave.
Concentrate . Gena switched on the electrical power and all the gauges jumped into life, needles flickering. With her left hand she pressed the starter button on the lever that ran between the two seats, then gradually twisted the top of the lever, opening the throttle. As the engine started to wind up, and the rotors began slowly to spin, Gena sensed David Halman’s eyes on her.
‘Miss Brady?’ His voice came through the headset, deep and clear.
Gena kept her eyes on the gauges. ‘Yes, Dr Halman?’
‘Would it cause you difficulty if I asked you to talk through the take-off?’
Gena eyed him swiftly, searching for tell-tale signs. But there were no creases of tension around the dark eyes, no whiteness at the nostrils. The corners of the wide mouth which could look so cold and forbidding were tilted ever so slightly upwards, and his hands rested, palm-down and perfectly relaxed, on his thighs. She felt a twinge of shame at her disappointment.
‘I’m not suffering from nerves, Miss Brady,’ he added drily, and Gena felt herself grow uncomfortably warm. Had she been that obvious? ‘As a scientist, I am permanently curious. This is a new experience for me.’
Join the club. Gena managed to restrain the bubble of hysterical laughter that rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, said, ‘It’s no trouble,’ but kept her gaze firmly on the instruments.
‘You’re sure it won’t distract you?’ he pressed.
‘That depends on what you want me to talk about,’ Gena replied, scanning the surrounding area to make sure no unwary airport employee was straying too close to the spinning blades.
‘I can think of a great many things.’ His deep voice contained a ripple of amusement, and something more, something that caused a peculiar lurching in her chest and brought her head round swiftly, involuntarily, to meet his gaze. ‘But for the moment,’ he added with a laconic smile, ‘perhaps we had better concentrate on the take-off procedure.’
‘What did you say to that man?’ Gena found herself asking.
David Halman lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. ‘I told him you were in Turkey at the government’s request, and that you were working for me on a vitally important project which could eventually save many thousands of lives.’
Gena was taken aback. She hadn’t thought of it in quite such heroic terms, yet basically, she supposed, it was the truth. Even so, the official’s reaction had been remarkably dramatic. ‘That was sufficient to change his attitude and make him give me the clearance?’
David Halman hesitated, then his mouth twitched in the barest suggestion of a smile. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Well? What did, then?’ Gena demanded, finding it hard to curb her impatience.
Dark eyes held hers. ‘I also told him you were my woman,’ he said calmly. ‘I said that by insulting you he had insulted me. For that I was sorely tempted to ensure he spent the rest of his unworthy life shovelling sheep droppings with his tongue, a position clearly more suited to his miserable talents than the one he had so grossly abused. But as Allah is merciful, so I would be: but once only.’
Gena gaped at him, speechless. Of all the patronising, conceited … Arrogant didn’t even begin to describe this imperious, egotistical, presumptuous, chauvinistic … Then, to her amazement and against her will she dissolved into helpless laughter. No wonder the official’s self-importance had collapsed like a pricked balloon.
‘Quite a threat,’ she giggled. It was only as he smiled and gave a self-deprecating shrug that she realised how intently he had been watching her, awaiting her reaction.
Gena tried to hang on to her anger. She had every right to be furious. It was bad enough that the official should consider propositioning her perfectly acceptable. But to use the withholding of her clearance as blackmail was utterly despicable. His retreat into grovelling apology only when she was claimed as the property of another, more powerful man reduced her to the status of a mere thing. So much for feminism, equal opportunities, and four years of intensive, brain-numbing study followed by constant practice and refining of technique.
‘So,’ David Halman murmured, ‘you do have a sense of humour, Miss Brady. I was beginning to wonder.’
Gena shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I’m laughing. It isn’t funny at all, really. But –’
‘Laughter is good for the soul,’ he interrupted. ‘When the alternative is tears,’ He spread his hands, palm up. ‘A lecture on the rights of women would have been a waste of breath. I spoke to the man in terms he would understand.’
Biting her lip to forestall both another giggle and a shudder at the all too vivid mental image of the punishment with which David had threatened the official, Gena nodded. ‘Mmm.’
You are my woman . She shivered in earnest and felt her skin tighten. Forget it. He didn’t mean it. There’s nothing to fear. It had been merely the means to an end. The quickest, most expedient way out of a time-wasting situation.
Clearing her throat, Gena moistened dry lips. ‘The engine is presently running at Ground-idle,’ she said, her voice gaining strength and confidence now she was back on familiar territory. ‘We use the minute or so it takes for the engine to warm up to write up the logs.’ She extracted two books from the wallet.
‘The technical log contains notes of any minor defects which are non-hazardous and can wait for the next service. The pilot’s log records every take-off and landing, the date, time, number of passengers, type of cargo, and total weight of the aircraft.’
‘How do you work that out?’ he enquired as Gena pulled a small calculator from the wallet.
‘From the weight of fuel, plus passengers and cargo.’ Entering the figures in the appropriate column, Gena added her signature and snapped the log shut. Slotting the wallet back into the pocket on the door she looked across at him. ‘All set?’
‘You mean we can actually go now?’
This time Gena did bite her tongue. Ignoring him, she snapped on the switches controlling the generator, radio, and lights. Winding the engine up to one hundred per cent rotor speed, she pressed the radio transmit button on the stick in her right hand.
‘Control, this is G-Brad-One. Request permission for take-off.’
As the affirmation came through the headphones in a crackle of static, with her left hand Gena raised the lever.
‘What does that do?’ David demanded.
‘It tilts the rotors so that they bite the air and lift the helicopter off the ground.’ He hadn’t been joking when he’d said he was curious. But, unlike some of the passengers she had carried, his interest was genuine and, for the moment at least, centred entirely on the machine.
‘What about that?’ He indicated the control in Gena’s right hand.
‘That’s the cyclic, commonly known as “the stick”. It controls the helicopter’s balance in the air. Hovering is actually the most difficult phase of flight. The pilot is operating in three dimensions at once, which requires continual adjustments with stick, lever, and both foot pedals. It’s a bit like rubbing your stomach and patting your head at the same time. It also requires the most power of any manoeuvre and so is very heavy on fuel. The problem is that whereas a plane wants to fly, a helicopter doesn’t.’
Gena raised the lever higher and pushed the stick forward. The Jet Ranger rose into the sharp sunlit air and, nose-down, climbed away in forward flight, curving into a sweeping turn to head south.
‘And that, as they say, is all there is to it.’ She could not keep the mild irony from her voice.
‘Quite.’ He was watching her every movement. Normally front-seat passengers were more interested in the view. But David Halman was very different from the kind of passenger she usually carried.
‘So, why did you do it?’ he demanded.
Stiffening, she shot him a sidelong glance. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why choose this as a career?’
‘Why not?’ The flippant reply was her stock response.
‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ he said evenly.
‘I wasn’t aware that answering your questions was obligatory,’ she retorted.
‘Miss Brady,’ impatience edged his tone, ‘I was not expecting to work with a woman. You, on the other hand, were fully aware that your passenger would be a man. So why in the name of all that’s holy did you accept the job?’
