The speaker in the cockpit buzzed and crackled. Phonetic letters tumbled out in urgent interrogation. Jerry wriggled his skinny bottom deeper into the pilot's seat and drummed his fingers on the throttle control.
'Turn that bloody thing off, Una. Please'
His co-pilot blinked and ran nervous fingers through her short chestnut hair. She reached up and killed the noise with a flick.
'There'
'Cheers', Jerry sighed and put the Concorde into a shallow bank over the Thames Estuary. A luminous grey haze melted the horizon in all directions, but the silver meandering of the river was an easy aid to navigation. He sniffed, rubbed his nose on his gold-ringed sleeve and levelled off, heading west.
'Not far now', he grinned happily.
Una Persson released her harness. She felt her body trembling, and had to admit that she was terrified. Standing up awkwardly in the cramped cockpit, she shuffled over to the armoured bulkhead door and pressed her ear against the cold metal. Frantic cries filtered through, and she could just sense the manic drumming and thumping as the door was kicked and punched by the trapped Celebrity passengers. Individual phrases penetrated the barrier; tinny words. Toy voices recited a cycle of mantric phrases.
'...Get me out of here!'
'Because I'm worth it!'
'Look at meeee!'
Una could distinguish one strident voice that sounded a bit like Janet Street-Porter, but the others were too muffled to identify. She shook her head sadly and moved over to the port window.
'They've not quietened down'
'They will soon!' laughed Jerry. He was obviously enjoying himself. He put the Concorde's stilleto nose into a shallow descent over the Thames Barrier.
'I'm not sure they all deserve this, Jerry', Una spoke with her back to him.
'That doesn't sound like you'
'Perhaps I don't feel like me'. She was hostile. She felt uncharacteristically self-pitying.
'All the more reason to do it, then. We won't get out any other way now', Jerry did a quick scan of the instruments. He was pleased to see they still had more than half their full fuel load aboard. 'You left it too late. As usual'
'So did you'
'Ah! I was dozing!'
'You're only doing this for show'
'I'm making a statement'
'A bloody mess'
'A bloody messy statement!' He was in high spirits. His pale face creased in mirth and his rather hurriedly-grown moustache twitched with excitement. He had not even bothered to remove his captain's peaked cap. It fell rakishly over one eye; he always liked to look the part.
'They're not all that bad. I've worked with some of them. They...' Una felt guilt rising like bilious indigestion. The personal equation. She hadn't expected it to affect her this much.
'It could be worse. At least BA decided to put this lot on the last flight. What if it had been terminally-ill orphans? Or deserving refugees? Huh? Bloody comic irony, that's what this is'
'I still...'
'Look. I gave Philip Pullman the last parachute...'. He was exasperated, then suddenly thoughtful. 'Hope he didn't get too wet', he mumbled.
'Jerry...
'Oh, give it a rest, will you?'
She sat down, sulkily. The airliner drew level with Greenwich. Their descent had brought the buildings lining the river into clear view. Una distractedly watched the Blair Mausoleum slip by under the port wing, its decaying dome like a mouldering Big Top. She found the sight infinitely depressing.
'Now then' Jerry became businesslike. The shadowy silhouette of Docklands and The City loomed, dead on the nose.
'No sign of interceptors' Una tried to smoothe the atmosphere. It was, after all, their last few minutes together. For a while, anyway.
'That'll be Channel 5', Jerry grinned again, 'You know they carry a lot of weight with the military these days. It'll make good telly'.
A million windows scintillated gently in the watery sun as the Concorde lined up with the mountainous cluster of skyscrapers. Una felt her heart beat faster and her body grew uncomfortably warm.
'Which one are you going for?' she murmured through drying lips.
Jerry bounced gently in his seat like an excited child. He bit his lip and considered the selection towering up ahead. He'd always hated the hideous, Lego-block lump of Canary Wharf, with its silly pinnacle light flashing; a stupid, cubist Christmas tree. Just as bad was the aquarium-like Nat West building. Blue glass and bent neon pipes. Bladerunner designed by auditors. Both were tempting.
But his eyes were drawn inexorably to the fusiform, organic spiral that now dominated the centre. It looked like a mighty Shutte-Lanz airship ploughing into the midst of the towers, shot-down over the city and held, vertical, in the frozen second before destruction. For the briefest moment, Jerry felt a surge of recognition. He blinked rapidly.
'Leefe...?'
'Leave?' Una frowned, 'Maybe...?'
'Mathy?'
'What?'
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The cityscape swam back into focus. He made up his mind.
'Sorry, Norman'
The whine of the Olympus engines rose to a scream as he opened the throttles.
Una, cold-knuckled, gripped the armrests of her seat. The gleaming cone expanded, filling her vision.
She closed her eyes.
'Turn that bloody thing off, Una. Please'
His co-pilot blinked and ran nervous fingers through her short chestnut hair. She reached up and killed the noise with a flick.
'There'
'Cheers', Jerry sighed and put the Concorde into a shallow bank over the Thames Estuary. A luminous grey haze melted the horizon in all directions, but the silver meandering of the river was an easy aid to navigation. He sniffed, rubbed his nose on his gold-ringed sleeve and levelled off, heading west.
'Not far now', he grinned happily.
Una Persson released her harness. She felt her body trembling, and had to admit that she was terrified. Standing up awkwardly in the cramped cockpit, she shuffled over to the armoured bulkhead door and pressed her ear against the cold metal. Frantic cries filtered through, and she could just sense the manic drumming and thumping as the door was kicked and punched by the trapped Celebrity passengers. Individual phrases penetrated the barrier; tinny words. Toy voices recited a cycle of mantric phrases.
'...Get me out of here!'
'Because I'm worth it!'
'Look at meeee!'
Una could distinguish one strident voice that sounded a bit like Janet Street-Porter, but the others were too muffled to identify. She shook her head sadly and moved over to the port window.
'They've not quietened down'
'They will soon!' laughed Jerry. He was obviously enjoying himself. He put the Concorde's stilleto nose into a shallow descent over the Thames Barrier.
'I'm not sure they all deserve this, Jerry', Una spoke with her back to him.
'That doesn't sound like you'
'Perhaps I don't feel like me'. She was hostile. She felt uncharacteristically self-pitying.
'All the more reason to do it, then. We won't get out any other way now', Jerry did a quick scan of the instruments. He was pleased to see they still had more than half their full fuel load aboard. 'You left it too late. As usual'
'So did you'
'Ah! I was dozing!'
'You're only doing this for show'
'I'm making a statement'
'A bloody mess'
'A bloody messy statement!' He was in high spirits. His pale face creased in mirth and his rather hurriedly-grown moustache twitched with excitement. He had not even bothered to remove his captain's peaked cap. It fell rakishly over one eye; he always liked to look the part.
'They're not all that bad. I've worked with some of them. They...' Una felt guilt rising like bilious indigestion. The personal equation. She hadn't expected it to affect her this much.
'It could be worse. At least BA decided to put this lot on the last flight. What if it had been terminally-ill orphans? Or deserving refugees? Huh? Bloody comic irony, that's what this is'
'I still...'
'Look. I gave Philip Pullman the last parachute...'. He was exasperated, then suddenly thoughtful. 'Hope he didn't get too wet', he mumbled.
'Jerry...
'Oh, give it a rest, will you?'
She sat down, sulkily. The airliner drew level with Greenwich. Their descent had brought the buildings lining the river into clear view. Una distractedly watched the Blair Mausoleum slip by under the port wing, its decaying dome like a mouldering Big Top. She found the sight infinitely depressing.
'Now then' Jerry became businesslike. The shadowy silhouette of Docklands and The City loomed, dead on the nose.
'No sign of interceptors' Una tried to smoothe the atmosphere. It was, after all, their last few minutes together. For a while, anyway.
'That'll be Channel 5', Jerry grinned again, 'You know they carry a lot of weight with the military these days. It'll make good telly'.
A million windows scintillated gently in the watery sun as the Concorde lined up with the mountainous cluster of skyscrapers. Una felt her heart beat faster and her body grew uncomfortably warm.
'Which one are you going for?' she murmured through drying lips.
Jerry bounced gently in his seat like an excited child. He bit his lip and considered the selection towering up ahead. He'd always hated the hideous, Lego-block lump of Canary Wharf, with its silly pinnacle light flashing; a stupid, cubist Christmas tree. Just as bad was the aquarium-like Nat West building. Blue glass and bent neon pipes. Bladerunner designed by auditors. Both were tempting.
But his eyes were drawn inexorably to the fusiform, organic spiral that now dominated the centre. It looked like a mighty Shutte-Lanz airship ploughing into the midst of the towers, shot-down over the city and held, vertical, in the frozen second before destruction. For the briefest moment, Jerry felt a surge of recognition. He blinked rapidly.
'Leefe...?'
'Leave?' Una frowned, 'Maybe...?'
'Mathy?'
'What?'
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The cityscape swam back into focus. He made up his mind.
'Sorry, Norman'
The whine of the Olympus engines rose to a scream as he opened the throttles.
Una, cold-knuckled, gripped the armrests of her seat. The gleaming cone expanded, filling her vision.
She closed her eyes.
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