Tracer, page 26
Forty-Four
3 hours, 11 minutes and counting…
Yannick slipped the gearstick into second, accelerated again, and the Toyota bucked suddenly as the front wheels finally made their way over the tree root growing out of the uneven road. Or what passed for a road in these parts. Most weren’t much more than tiny dirt tracks, and that was being generous. Once they were over the root, Yannick stepped on the gas until they were moving at a steady thirty again, until the next obstruction.
They’d been travelling for over four hours, and had barely seen another living soul all day. The journey so far had been arduous, infuriating and monotonous, often at the same time. With just the GPS to guide them, Yannick would often get them onto a path, only to come across an impenetrable obstruction like a downed tree or huge root, and then be forced to backtrack and find some other way to get them through. Despite all the detours, Yannick had still made good time. Korso had to admit he was an excellent driver. Without him the entire journey would have been impossible.
He watched the clock display change to 14:50. Just three hours and ten minutes left.
As Yannick drove on, the surrounding trees and plant life became steadily denser again, their immediate environment became gloomier and darker, and the track they were on quickly became rockier, with fallen branches to negotiate every few yards. Yannick reduced their speed to ten kilometres per hour.
It had been like this from the start. Korso barely noticed anymore. Besides, he had no shortage of things to look at. No matter in which direction he turned he spotted movement of some kind as the jungle’s natural denizens busied themselves with their daily chores. So far he’d seen enough different species to fill a book. Giant anteaters, otters, skunks, fruit-eating bats, toucans, opossums, armadillos, tapirs, and just about every lizard species you could think of, and then some more you couldn’t. Most of them barely gave the vehicle a second look.
Yannick tapped the brakes, and the vehicle came to a gentle stop as a large jaguar emerged from the dense foliage to their right, maybe fifteen feet in front of them. It strolled casually across the dirt track, paused for a moment without looking at the vehicle, yawned, then carried on until it disappeared into the trees to their left.
Nobody spoke. By this point, the sight was almost commonplace. They’d already seen four just like it.
Yannick started off again.
A few minutes later, he said, ‘You guys don’t really talk much, do you?’
‘You’re driving,’ Korso said. ‘We don’t want to distract you.’
‘Impossible. Driving is a natural thing for me, like breathing. I hardly think about it at all. Besides, who can I possibly hit out here?’
‘I’m less concerned with whom than I am with what.’
‘Are we near our destination yet?’ Natasha said from the back.
‘According to the GPS, we’re close now,’ Korso said. ‘Another kilometre and we should be able to—’
‘Hey, look.’ Yannick pointed ahead. ‘Over there on the right. You see it? A glimmer of something. Looks like sun shining on metal.’
Korso looked where he was pointing. There was definitely a glint of something over there in the trees.
Natasha leaned forward for a better look. ‘Stop the vehicle.’
Yannick pressed the brakes and the vehicle came to a gentle halt.
Although they were no longer in deep rainforest country, the trees were still plentiful in all directions. They were particularly thick on the right-hand side, but Korso was sure he could make out something in there, on the forest floor. Something metallic.
‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll take a look.’
He got out of the vehicle and studied the ground as he shut the door, watching for bullet ants, or snakes. He saw none. Although it was late afternoon, the humidity was still high. All around him, bird calls, cricket whines and screeching mammals combined to produce an almost ear-splitting cacophony. He stepped off the path and passed between two fat tree trunks into the woods. Although there was plenty of sunlight shining through, the ground was still mulchy under his feet and he looked before stepping anywhere. He saw the object in question was maybe twenty feet in front of him, just lying there in the dirt. It glinted again as he got closer.
He recognised what it was immediately. A rotor blade from a helicopter.
It was about twenty-foot long and looked old. He crouched down for a better look. The steel of the shaft was discoloured and the grip end had signs of rust, but it was still in fairly good shape. He scanned the immediate area, but saw no other machine parts lying around. And no other visible tracks. He returned to the vehicle and got back in.
Yannick was munching on a star apple. Before they left, his wife had kindly assembled a hamper of food for their journey ahead, containing cassava bread, chicken foot, egg balls, a wide variety of fruits and numerous other snacks. And plenty of bottled water. Thanks to her, at least they wouldn’t go hungry.
‘So what was it?’ Yannick asked, finishing the fruit.
‘A rotor blade from a chopper,’ Korso said. ‘Looks like someone planned on taking it home for whatever reason, but finally just gave up and left it where it fell. Those things aren’t exactly light.’
‘Where there is one,’ Natasha said, ‘there will be others.’
‘Let’s continue down this path and see what’s at the end of it.’
‘You’re the boss,’ Yannick said. Lowering his side window, he threw out the apple remains, then started off again in the same direction.
Yannick kept the vehicle’s speed at a steady fifteen kilometres per hour. Soon, the track they were on began to curve round to the right and the going got a little rockier.
When the track finally straightened out again, Natasha said, ‘There. In the distance.’
Korso and Yannick had already spotted it. It was hard to miss. About five hundred yards ahead, the track opened out into a large area of flat land containing few trees. The savannah seemed completely out of place in comparison to its surroundings. Beyond the area, in the far distance, they could see a continuation of the woods and forest. Korso looked for signs of machines or anything else man-made over there, but saw nothing yet.
They kept on going, while Korso carefully scanned the woods on either side of them. They’d covered about two hundred yards when he said, ‘Stop here.’
Yannick immediately pressed the brakes.
‘What is it?’ Natasha asked.
‘Nothing concrete. I just don’t like the thought of leaving our only means of escape out in the open. Anything happens to it and we’re done for. To our immediate left there’s a fairly large opening leading into the woods. I think we should leave the pick-up in there, partially undercover, and go the rest of the way on foot.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Yannick said, frowning at them. ‘What is there to be afraid of?’
‘Probably nothing. But I’m a careful man, and the aircraft we’re searching for might be under surveillance.’
‘Surveillance? Out here? By who?’
‘By someone who doesn’t like us too much.’ Korso looked at Natasha. ‘At the very least, I’d say he deserves to know what we’re doing here.’
‘Agreed.’ She turned to Yannick, and gave him a capsule version of their mission to find the stolen shipment, and their belief that the plane that carried it might be up ahead.
Once she was finished, Yannick said, ‘And there are others who also want to find this shipment? Or who want to stop you from finding it?’
‘No to the first,’ she said. ‘Yes to the second.’
Yannick sighed. ‘This news does not make me happy, people. I’m a father now, with a family to provide for. What’s in this shipment? Drugs? Weapons?’
‘Caviar,’ Korso said. ‘Black market sturgeon caviar.’
He’d expected to have to explain what it was, but Yannick just nodded. ‘Ah, caviar. Now I understand. Back when I was a courier I had to deliver caviar to the Russian Embassy in Georgetown. The chef there told me they were always short of stock. Very expensive. Yes, Jack, I think we’ll do as you suggest.’
Yannick reversed, then carefully steered them into the woods to their left. He managed another twenty feet before coming to a stop before a pair of juvenile palm trees. Since the trees were barely ten feet high, the hanging palm leaves provided natural cover for the vehicle. That the Toyota was already dark green only helped. He manoeuvred the vehicle around them until it was completely screened from the dirt track.
‘Perfect,’ Natasha said.
‘Thank you,’ Yannick said, switching the engine off.
‘Before we go,’ Korso said, ‘I don’t suppose you happen to own a gun, by any chance?’
Yannick looked at him for a few seconds. ‘In this country,’ he said, ‘a man must be able to protect both himself and his family.’
‘So that’s a yes?’
Instead of answering, Yannick reached under his seat and pulled out a small revolver with a two-inch barrel. Yannick didn’t point it anywhere, just held it for them to see. It looked like an old Colt Cobra .22. It had clearly seen better days. One of the wooden grips had cracked badly, and both barrel and cylinder were covered in grime.
But a gun was a gun. Even a .22.
‘My associate here is holding a sizeable amount of money in her pack,’ Korso said in a light tone, as though discussing the weather. ‘You could kill us both right now, bury our bodies out here, then go back to your family and nobody would be any the wiser.’
‘True,’ Yannick said. ‘If I were a murderer and a thief.’
Korso nodded. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way. Is it in working condition?’
‘I don’t know. It’s mostly for show. I haven’t practised in years, or cleaned it even. My wife would kill me if she ever found it.’ Yannick passed the gun over to him. ‘Do you think we may need it?’
‘It never hurts to be prepared for the worst.’ Korso inspected the gun closely. Part of the front sight had been filed off at some point, but at least it was still in alignment with the rear sight. He pushed the release and flipped open the cylinder. It contained three .22 rounds. He showed the open cylinder to Yannick. ‘Only half full. Have you got any extra ammo?’
Yannick shook his head. ‘I always meant to buy more, but never got round to it.’
‘Of course.’ Natasha smiled. ‘That would have been too easy.’
‘But I have two machetes in the back, if you want. We should take them anyway. There are many snakes in these parts, and all of them deadly.’
Korso opened his door. ‘In that case, we’ll definitely take them.’
Forty-Five
2 hours, 53 minutes and counting…
It took them just a few minutes to get to the savannah by foot. As soon as they reached the end of the track, they had a clear panoramic view of the whole site. They each just stood there, staring in amazement at what lay before them.
The flat plain was about the size of two football fields joined together. The ground was a combination of dirt and clay, interspersed with large patches of thick grass every few feet. There were still clumps of trees here and there, just standing on their own, but the rest was open space. Or it would have been, had not parts of it been taken up by the numerous aircraft skeletons dotted around, in seemingly random locations. Korso estimated there were over thirty in total. Maybe forty. And not all crammed together like most boneyards, but spread out. Some were on their own, looking as though they had simply dropped out of the sky and landed where they fell, while others were grouped together. Some in pairs, others in groups of three or four. The obvious similarities to an elephant graveyard were hard to ignore.
Natasha tapped her machete lightly against a leg. ‘Incredible.’
That was the word, all right. Korso could imagine how the guy on the website had felt when he came upon this vision, ostensibly in the middle of nowhere.
Yannick, holding his equipment bag in one hand and the second machete in the other, just stood there, slowly shaking his head.
The nearest wreck was about thirty feet away. It was a small, single-prop plane, decayed and rusty, missing both wings along with the front propeller. It looked like it had been a Cessna Skyhawk in its past life. The tricycle undercarriage was also missing, giving it the appearance of something slowly sinking into the earth. To the right of that was the remains of a small, single-engine helicopter, possibly a Bell. He recognised the shape of the main body, which was about all that was left, along with part of the tail boom. It was lying on its side, with both landing skids visible. The main rotor blades were gone, as was the tail and tail rotor. Korso thought he knew where one of the main rotors had ended up.
To their left, situated close to the woods bordering the site, the remains of two larger planes had been placed alongside each other. One looked like a Learjet 45. It still had its wings, but both turbines and part of the tail were gone. The other one was a slightly larger turboprop, possibly a Beechcraft Super Air from the Eighties. Both wings were missing from this one, and it lay on its side like a beached whale. From what Korso could see, none of the remains in the boneyard approached the size of a standard commercial jet airliner. Although he did see several in the distance that could be classed as regional jets, meaning they contained a hundred seats or less.
Still holding the Colt in his right hand, Korso began walking toward the nearest aircraft, vaguely aware that Natasha and Yannick were both following.
Over to the east, Korso also noticed a sizeable gap in the bordering trees and forest, and he could make out a long, crooked, narrow strip of open land that could just about serve as a landing strip for a plane coming in. If the pilot was feeling particularly brave that day. It looked anything but safe during daylight, so he could only imagine how terrifying it would have been in the middle of the night. There had to have been someone already onsite waiting for the ATP, with makeshift landing lights ready and prepared. There was no other way.
‘What kind of plane are we looking for?’ Yannick said from behind him.
‘A British Aerospace ATP,’ Korso said. ‘It’s a turboprop cargo jet, about twenty-six metres long. At least, it was. It’ll probably be all dirtied up and missing a few essential parts, so as to blend in with the rest of these relics.’
‘And what colour is it?’
‘Good question. I never asked.’
‘White,’ Natasha said. ‘Or off-white. It was a private plane so there were no other markings, but I think the rear rudder was a navy-blue colour. It was dark, anyway.’
Korso scanned the area again. Most of the tail fins that he could see, at least those still attached to the main bodies, were painted a dark colour. So that wasn’t much help.
‘Let’s split up,’ he said. ‘I’ll continue down the middle. Jill, you check those planes on the left side. Yannick, you take the right.’
‘Keep to the clay and try to avoid the patches of thick grass,’ Yannick said. ‘Snakes like grass. And there are no hospitals and no doctors out here.’
‘Understood,’ Natasha said.
They each split off without another word while Korso carried on. Over the ever-present sounds of bird calls all around them, he could make out the faint whine of a jet somewhere off in the distance, although there was no sign of it in the clear azure sky.
Slowing as he neared the Skyhawk remains, Korso sniffed at the unmistakable aroma of animal faeces coming from somewhere close by. He thought he heard a dry, raspy sound coming from inside the plane, too. He knew from experience that it was the noise made when a large snake rubbed its scales together. Very few things put him on edge, but there were some animals you steered clear of at all costs. Like poisonous snakes in dark, confined spaces. He moved on quickly, passing the hull of the chopper with barely a second glance.
Thirty feet further on, there were two small crabwood trees nestled together, on either side of which lay two more aircraft in varying states of ruin. One was another Learjet type in two pieces, as though it had been cut through with a giant scythe. The other was a larger turboprop aircraft. It was still in one piece, although a wing was missing, as was the tail fin, the nose and the second propeller. Like many of the aircraft here, both could be classed as off-white, although it was hard to tell under all the grime. Once he reached the shade of the trees, Korso ignored the Learjet and inspected the larger turboprop plane.
Close up, the thing looked as though it had been there for years. Decades, even. Standing on tiptoe, Korso checked the cockpit. It was missing its windshield, and the remaining bits of glass at the edges had been smoothed over through exposure to the elements. Crouching down, he peered under the machine and noticed layers of thick rust around parts of the undercarriage. Things like that couldn’t be faked. It wasn’t the one.
A high-pitched whistle brought him instantly to his feet. Then another right after, longer this time.
Korso came out from the cover of the plane and saw Natasha about two hundred feet away to his left, standing in the shade of a nearby clump of trees. Behind her were three aircraft arranged in a loose group: the remains of an old military-grey helicopter lying on its side, another business jet, and a much larger turboprop.
Once she spotted Korso, she waved broadly with one arm, while pointing at the turboprop with the other.
Korso ran over, reaching her seconds later. He noticed she wasn’t smiling, which gave him pause.
‘Good news or bad?’ he asked.
‘Both,’ Natasha said, leading him past the other aircraft.
The chopper was a twin-engine model lying on its side, and looked about thirty or forty years old. All that was left was the main cockpit and part of the tail boom. The main rotors, the tail rotor, the engine, the doors, the windows had all been salvaged long ago. Even the landing skids were gone. The business jet was a model Korso didn’t recognise. It’s nose, windshield and undercarriage were all missing, and both of its wings had been sawed away, while the main cabin door had been torn from its hinges.
