Blind School (4 page)

‘Just going into the roll now.’

The sky and clouds tilted, and twelve hundred feet below practically every eye in the spectator stand was fixed on the manoeuvre. 

   Each aircraft manufacturer at the show had their own visual co-ordinator in the control tower to guide their pilots. The voice of the
Aquila
co-ordinator came through the pilot’s earpiece:

‘Lock on just beyond the apex.’

   ‘Affirmative.’ But with the G-force, the pilot could barely move now; it took all his effort to manipulate the controls.

Before the
Aquila
had fully straightened from its roll, one of its missiles fired. It streaked across the sky, and the spectators below observed it consume one of the turbo-props in a fireball.

A ripple of applause ran through the audience, including Senator Finley. He turned to John Culverton at his side.

‘Impressive.’

‘We like to think so. The
Aquila
is one of the only jet fighters that can lock-on and fire coming out of a Mach one-point-five roll.’

Alex smiled tightly at the two locked in conversation. He leant closer to John's other ear to be heard above the jet roar.

   ‘Got something to see to. I'll leave you two to it.’

Inside the marquee, a flurry of waiters were busily putting the final touches to its buffet.

Alex headed towards the bar in the corner and his assistant, Coby, who also doubled as a bodyguard and chauffeur. Coby wasn’t that tall, otherwise Alex might have felt inadequate alongside. But he was broad and bull-necked with the usual De rigueur bodyguard fashion-accessory: a shaved head. Coby handed Alex his drink as he approached.

‘Thanks.’ 

Alex perched on a bar-stool and looked thoughtfully towards the marquee entrance and activity outside.

John Culverton and Senator Finley tilted their heads up as another jet fighter completed an impressive spinning dive and straightened out.

‘Nice to see our competitors raising their game.’ John smiled tightly. ‘
A bit
.’

   ‘Still doesn't seem appear to have the manoeuvrability of the
Aquila
, though.’

John's cell phone started ringing in his pocket. ‘No, I daresay it doesn't. Excuse me.’

But John appeared to have trouble hearing with the increased roar as the jet made another approach. He held his cell-phone out for a moment, pressing  a button on it before bringing it back to his ear.

At that moment in an SUV parked in a side street three miles away, its equipment inside suddenly came to life. Lights flashed urgently as its mass of circuits started speaking to each; but with its windows blacked out, an activity totally unseen by any passers-by.

John Culverton had moved to the end of the spectator stand, still struggling to be heard above the roar of the jet. He nodded and gave a last glance towards the
Aquila
above, then headed towards the marquee.

The
Aquila
pilot swept in low, centring on screen for the final missile lock-on – when suddenly the plane jolted and swept in lower still.

He wrestled with the joystick, flicked some switches – but still no response.

   ‘I... I don't know what's happened. I don't seem to have control any more.’

   ‘Try manual re-set,’ the co-ordinator said.

‘Already tried’

‘Try again!’

The pilot frantically flicked more switches, but still nothing. And now the plane was dangerously low and appeared to be veering towards the crowd stand.

Muted gasps rose from the stand and those close to its edge started to shift.

Inside the SUV,  its monitor lights flickered wildly.

‘Okay – bail out.
Eject
!’ The co-ordinator shouted.

The pilot tried one last manual override, nothing – then hit his eject button.

He flew into the sky above the jet as it careened towards the stand, more people now spilling out from either side.

As John Culverton walked into the marquee, he scanned the five or six people already there as if looking for somebody specific. Then shrugged and started his way towards Alex at the bar. But halfway across, the urgent voice booming over the PA system made his head turn.

‘Clear the stand...
Clear the stand
! Aircraft incoming!’

Gasps, more urgent shouts and some screams now from the spectator stand as people desperately tried to get clear – but only the people at its edge managed to escape as the jet scythed into it.

The blast from the explosion ripped through the marquee, knocking John flat and taking out half the glass on the bar, some of it striking Alex and Coby.

Alex quickly righted himself and walked out. Through what was left of the tattered ribbons of marquee canvass. Three fire trucks were already moving in, sirens blazing.

He struck a lonely figure on the edge of the smouldering carnage, a few blood flecks on his face from glass cuts – so stunned that he looked almost impassive.

FIVE

Jessica Werner had just finished shutting the door after signing for the package from the
UPS
messenger when she heard the pad of small footsteps from above.

   She went into the kitchen and mixed two teaspoons of white powder in a glass of orange juice, stirred vigorously, and took the glass in to her mother in the front room.

Early morning, Mrs Werner was still in her dressing gown and looked tired. But Jessica knew that it wasn’t just from shaking off sleep: her mother would look tired and worn and would stay in her dressing gown for most of the day. Barely fifty, but Jessica had watched her mother age ten years in the last three.

   ‘Ben’s up. I’d better get him ready,’ Jessica said.

‘It's okay. I'll do it. You've got to get yourself ready for school.’

Jessica shook her head. ‘I've got the time. Besides, you're too tired. Now drink up!’

Her mother grimaced after the first couple of swallows ‘This meant to be good for me?’

‘Good for your bones, so they say.’

‘How you ever found this stuff, I don't know.’ Pausing to catch her breath a couple of times, she finally finished it and handed the glass back. ‘You're a wonder, Jessica.’

At times, though, Jessica felt the strain of being the main carer in her family, coping with both her mum and Ben at the same time.

She smiled tightly. ‘Yeah. I'm a wonder, mom.’

Ryan Lorimar spotted the front-page news story about the Mocha-Bocha shooting as he passed the news-stand on the way to school. For a town like
Cedar Falls
, at last count 28,615 inhabitants, it was big news.

He scanned the first part of the story and picked up a copy, but didn’t get a chance to read the rest until after the first class break. As he finished, he handed the paper to Tommy to read.

‘You know what I said to that cop about what I saw just before the girl started blasting?’

‘What – you mean the bit about the angels and goblins?’

‘Half angel, half monster,’ Ryan corrected, smiling crookedly. ‘Well, do you think I'm going mad?’

They were sat on a side bench in the school corridor, the usual mad flurry of Cedar High students heading to their next lessons milling past them. Tommy looked up from the paper as he considered the question more deeply.

‘No, I don't as it happens.’  Tommy waited for the look of relief to touch Ryan’s face, then hit him with the teaser punch-line: ‘I just think you've been smoking too much Jamaican Gold, Ryie.’

‘You know it's over a year since I touched that stuff.’ Ryan feigned offence, but Tommy’s brow simply knitted deeper.

‘Have you read any of the medical reports on just how long-lasting the effects of that are?’

Smiling, Ryan shook his head and gave Tommy a mock shoulder-punch. Nobody was ever going to buy the story.

They left the newspaper on the bench and headed into their next class.

The room operations room was buzzing, all but two of its forty-seven screens manned with agents surveying security cam feeds.

   Ellis Kendell leant closer over Aaron Green’s screen as three pictures came up.   ‘Okay. Is that all the cam hook-ins for Thomas Edison school?’

‘Yeah. Main entrance corridor, schoolyard and main gate. Oh...’ Aaron pulled up another inset. ‘And one on the street corner fifty yards along.’

Ellis nodded. ‘Pull up just the main gate and street corner cams.’

Aaron clicked and tapped on his keyboard and just the two views appeared in a split screen: parents grouping outside waiting to pick up their kids.

Ellis studied them closer, checking his watch.

The wait seemed interminable, though it was only two minutes before a familiar face came into view on the street corner cam: the man he’d seen staring at his son
Santos
  the other day. Ellis pointed.

‘There...
there
. That man. Zoom in and get as many still frames as you can.’

Ellis was distracted by Josh Eskovitz waving to get his attention across the room, but he held him off with a staying hand.

Aaron zoomed and juggled, and within seconds had filled the screen with a succession of frame-shots. Ellis pointed to the closest to a front-facial view.

‘Okay. That one. Run him through the system and let me know what comes up.’

Ellis hustled over to Josh Eskovitz.

‘Possible Culverton-related problem,’ Josh announced, leaning back in his swivel chair. ‘Jet ploughed into a stand at Andrews Air Force base. High body count.’

Ellis rubbed his forehead as if suddenly in pain.

‘I'd better go down there.’

‘And looks like we got another one too. This time in
Pittsfield
,
Massachusetts
.’

Ellis nodded ruefully. Josh released the on-screen freeze-frame and a video rolled of a 17 year-old blonde girl. After a moment they both observed an opaque light refraction in her eyes.

‘Are you sure that it's not just reflections or an odd light at that angle?’ Ellis pressed. ‘We've had that happen before.’

‘No. We've run it through others on that same cam. There's no doubt.’ Josh sighed. ‘Wanna fast-track this one, given recent activity in that area?’

No, just standard surveillance for now. We put ourselves and the target as much at risk by not getting full background first.’

But Ellis found his gaze drawn back to the girl on screen, wondering whether he'd made the right decision.

The blonde girl was on a different street this time: quiet suburbia, no shops or street cams in sight. Dusk light, the last sunlight fast fading, she seemed disturbed as she glanced behind her.

What had unsettled her was out of sight at first, but as it turned the corner forty yards behind her she could see it clearly again: a black van, its windows tinted. She couldn’t see inside it, but little doubt remained that it was following her.