The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

He spoke with his eyes closed, managing to only move his mouth, “Standard fee is four-fifty—
American.
Out of country's a thousand. Cash only. Up-front.”

“You're American?” Maggie asked. The pilot grunted. “How'd you—”

“Only a damn foreigner makes that much noise coming up the side of the mountain, and only an American walks that loud around here.” He pivoted his feet downward, produced a cigarette. He lit it with a forward lean, “That accent's not enough to fool me either—may've been born English, but that went the way of your virginity in high-school.”

Maggie pursed her lips, “You ought'a be nicer to someone you're demanding money from.”

“You'd think that,” he said without missing a beat. “But then again, there ain't another pilot within a thousand miles can get you into China without clearance.”

Maggie scowled, reached into her pocket. He examined her with a squint. “Just get us there.” He extended his hand to grasp the money. She held it back, “Quietly.”

He gave a smart grin, “Anything for a lady.”

He plucked the money from her hand, stood to close his folding chair. With it and the box, he led the way to the far-side of the plane. He shoved his things inside and held the door open.

“Boyfriend's kinda' quiet.” He took a long drag of his cigarette. “But I suppose that's the way you like 'em.”

“It is,” Maggie replied without batting an eye. She followed Russell into the cramped plane.

The pilot snorted, flicked his cigarette away, and climbed in after them. He clambered through the tiny tail-compartment toward the pilot's seat and ignited the engine. It spit, struggled to gain momentum, but soon idled in loud buzz.

“You sure this hunk of shit's worth my money?”

“She don't look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts.” He taxied to the far end of the strip. “Out of curiosity, what other choices you got?”

Maggie ignored him, unfolded the map to show their destination, “Here.”

He looked at it, eyed her with a squint, “You sure 'bout that?”

“Why?”

He laughed. “I been outta' the loop a while, but even
I
know Tibet when I see it.”

“Tibet?” Maggie asked, looking closer at the map.

“If you say so, kid, but if we get forced down, you're not gonna' be makin' your party.”

“An extra thousand says you'll make sure that doesn't happen.” She watched him wet his lips with his tongue. “Deal?”

He nodded with a wild eye, extended his hand, “I need incentive.”

“Make due with half,” Maggie said, counting out twenties. “You the get rest when we land.”

He smiled at Russell, “Smart girl.”

“Insurance is a good policy,” she countered.

He full-on laughed, started down the strip to gain speed and altitude. In a few moments they were rising with the mountains, the engine's incessant buzz threatening to lull Maggie to sleep. Russell nudged her to exchange spots so she might lie down in the tail compartment.

Her head hit her bag and she was out. Russell glanced back, smiled, then turned to watch the mountains disappear beneath the clouds.

16.

Tibet

October 4
th
 

12:08 AM

Disputed airspace over Tibet

Maggie was shaken from a deep sleep by violent turbulence. On instinct she sat up, rifle clasped in her hands.

The pilot glanced back with a laugh, “Bit jumpy.”

“You blame 'er?”

“Nah.” He turned back. “S'pose not.”

Maggie relaxed her grip, set the rifle aside. She scrunched up to shift in the small compartment and edged toward them.

“What's going on?”

“Storm in the foot-hills,” the pilot said.

She wiped sleep from her eyes, “Shouldn't we be above it?”

“Gotta' stay below Chinese radar,” he corrected, eyes peeled ahead.

Thick clouds encompassed them, bucked the plane and splattered heavy droplets against the windscreen. Lightning splintered through the dark sky with thunder that shook Maggie's chest.

“And if we don't?”

“Won't be long before they're combing the wreckage.”

She rolled her eyes, “That's reassuring.”

Russell soothed her, “We'll be alright.”

She scowled at the pilot, “How much further?”

“'nother couple hours.”

“I'm gonna try and get some rest before we land,” Russell said, offering her his seat.

They made awkward moves to exchange places. Russell laid onto his back as Maggie settled in the seat. He called up at her, “Don't have too much fun without me.”

Maggie glared back at him, turned back with an exasperated breath.  “Are you sure you can get us there?”

“Won't lie; 'tween the storm and the Chinese, we're looking at a doozy,” he said with a sarcastic bend. Maggie shot him the same dirty look she'd given Russell, though less forgiving. “I fly this route a couple times a month, just not as deep into Tibet. There's added risk, but the storm's a good thing. It'll mask our approach from ground-based sighting stations. Even
if
they spot us on radar, the Chinese won't launch a fighter into this.”

“Why?”

“Electronics,” he replied, gesturing around the cockpit. “A singe-engine plane's not worth the cash. If
we
take a hit from lightning, so long as the engine doesn't give out, we'll make it through. But we don't have millions worth of electronics flowing through the cockpit. If a Chinese MiG takes a hit —” His hand made a downward motion with a whistle.

“So you're not just a smart ass then?”

“Usually,” he smiled. “Not always.”

Maggie huffed, remained silent. She stared into the darkness that intermittently flashed to daylight. How he could see anything was beyond her. Thankfully, her reservations disappeared the more she watched the storm. An eerie beauty shined through beneath its fury. Lightning splintered. Veinous, blue and violet paths sparked and  disintegrated in mid-air. Thunder boomed around and through her.

On the ground, a storm could be both beautiful and frightening, but here it had seemed terrifying. With the revelation of this hidden beauty, she extended the peculiar insight to everything going on.

While her battle with Omega was terrifying, she was grateful in a way. Presently, she sat in a single-engine plane flying over Tibet after leaving Nepal, Nevada, and LAX where she'd met a woman she idolized. During her short time with She-La, her fascination had faded to companionship and she'd learned intimately of her life.

Even in Oakton she'd seen a literal underbelly she'd never considered. Her daily walks from the train to the shop, through a condemned ghetto, had never manifested things as they were. So many questions and answers had and still eluded her, but most from simply never fathoming to be conjured, let alone asked.

The mixed blessing roved through her mind for the next two hours while the storm grew to full-force. Beautiful or not, it became a plague just in time for their landing. Russell was awoken by  more violent turbulence that refused to relent.

The pilot maneuvered them nearer the ground. Rain pelted the windscreen in sheets of nails, blurred the airstrip ahead and beneath them. Maggie's peripheral vision locked on the pilot as he fought wind to keep the plane straight, level.

Silent determination had overtaken his face. Sweat beaded on his brow. Challenged by unseen Gods, his eyes fixed stubbornly on a single strip of lights that winked through the blur. Intermittent flashes of blue and violet burned a large forest's images in their retinas. It surrounded the strip with little room for error.

Cracks of thunder overpowered the engine's oscillations as Maggie's heart raced. The turbulence was overwhelming. Russell watched the strip close with breath bated. The pilot's arms were locked, senses attuned to the stick.

The plane sank. Its front wheels hit; metal groaned, rubber barked. The plane bounced. Its nose pitched. It set down on three wheels and the tail immediately began to slide.

Their speed was too high. Russell felt it. He held his breath, clutched the side of Maggie's seat.

The tree-line approached at a sprint. The pilot threw back the throttle, reversed the props' direction. The plane jerked with a growl, began to slow. It slid forward unhindered. He attempted to maneuver. Another groan. The engine sputtered, died. The pilot lost what little control he'd had.

“Shit!” Maggie yelled. The tree-line came within reach. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Hold on!” The pilot yelled.

The plane ramped off the strip's edge. It caught air, arced down, landed in grass, slid faster. Maggie braced against the forward panel. The pilot cringed sideways. Russell threw himself backward, grabbed hold of a cargo strap.

There was an almost sudden silence. The plane bit the tree-line. The left wing snapped like a twig underfoot. The fuselage ricocheted sideways, slammed a heavy trunk. Its rear panel bulged inward.

Russell tumbled through the plane's rear. A second trunk depressed the cockpit toward Maggie. She squeaked a cry. Glass shattered over her. Shards sliced her face and arms as she cringed.

All at once, the plane was still.

Rain beat a steady rhythm on the aluminum air-frame, poured in from the broken windows to soak Maggie's side. Her arms and face stung from blood that oozed and mixed with freezing water. She pushed sideways with a grunt, fell awkwardly between the seats for Russell, motionless at the rear of the plane.

“Are you alright?” He rubbed his side and groaned as he angled up. She slowed him with her hand, “Careful. Anything broken?” He thought for a minute, then shook his head. She turned for the pilot, shook him, “We're alright. What about—”

He slumped sideways and his mouth fell open. Blood poured along his chin and neck. Maggie recoiled; a large shard of glass was impaled near his jugular. She fought her reflexes to close his eyes, then retrieved her money from his pocket.

“Sorry. We'll need it more.” She turned away, crawled back to Russell. “The pilot's dead. There's glass in his throat.”

Russell pushed to his knees, “We need to get out.” Maggie looked to the deformed door, then back at the intact windscreen.

Russell watched her eyes, “It's the only way.”

Maggie sighed, crawled for it. Her body ached with trembling adrenaline to raise her rifle-butt and slam the windscreen. It cracked in a splintering orb. She mustered her strength again, smashed the window out. Russell positioned their bags on the edge of the cockpit. Maggie shattered the final pieces of glass and crawled into the downpour.

Russell passed their things through. She cast them to the ground below the decimated nose, slipped off from the force. She caught herself on all fours in mud, gave a pained moan. Russell slid down to a crouch beside her.

Thunder cracked. Lightning struck nearby. She managed to stand and shoulder her bag. Her limbs wobbled as something rustled nearby. A light blinded them through the darkness. It sank to reveal an old, hunched, Chinese man. His speech confounded Russell, but Maggie seemed to understand.

“
Nǐ hái hǎo ma
?”
 

Maggie fought to stand and uttered a phrase in Mandarin.
The man squinted with wily eyes. Lightning cracked. He nodded, hobbled away. Maggie followed in a limp. Russell shook off his puzzled look to shuffle along. The old man sloshed across the muddy airstrip toward a shack, reached it to gesture them in. The central room was lit by a roaring fire-pit that emitted welcomed warmth.

The old man offered them a seat on pillows atop a creaky, wooden floor, then disappeared through a small doorway. He returned with a stack of towels.

Maggie took them with a trembling word, “
Xièxiè.
” The old man bowed, disappeared to clanging metal.
 

Russell looked to Maggie as she wrapped the towel around herself, “Guess that Mandarin class was worth it after all.”

“I t-took it for four years,” Maggie shivered. “I never thought I'd use it. Mom…  said I should t-take Spanish. Seemed too easy.”

“Good thing to know.”

A brow rose in agreement, “All th-things c-considered.”

Russell put another towel over her. She thanked, felt her face with a ginger finger and winced. She grit her teeth to yank out glass. The old man shuffled in to hang a metal pot over the fire.

He spoke to Maggie, “
Nǐ shì shìbīng
?”

Maggie eyes glazed with confusion. He nodded to the weapons beside Russell. She replied with bouncing syllables. The old man's eyes narrowed.

“What's going on?”

“He's worried we're soldiers sent to give him a hard time over the airstrip.”

He said something as he tended to the fire, his back to them. Maggie responded astutely.

“Uh, Maggie?”

“He's asking if we want to destroy the temple. I told him we're running from soldiers.”

“Oh. You're not worried about telling him this?”

Maggie shrugged, “If he were in league with Omega, I doubt he'd be helping us.”

The old man seemed to perk up and spoke at an alarming rate. His face was drawn into a deathly seriousness that made Russell tense up. Maggie listened carefully. His face grew more intense. She replied hurriedly, hoping to calm him.

She caught Russell before he could speak, “He's worried
we're
in league with Omega. I told him we're running from them—that we're looking for the Protectorate.”

The old man examined them with a skeptical lean before speaking. Maggie replied with a bowed head. Russell watched at a total loss. The old man considered her words with a stare, then softened and  responded.

“
Xièxiè
,” Maggie said finally, relieved.

The old man turned back to the fire. Russell sighed, “Guess I'll never know.”

Maggie pulled the towels tighter around her, “He'll help us, and he's warned us if we're lying.”

Russell watched the man shuffle back and forth to produce cups and teabags. He ladled water into the cups, steeped the bags, then passed them over. He rambled while Russell's mind wandered elsewhere.

Maggie drew him back, “The map.”