Lockdown

Forty-four

A fierce crosswind buffeted the Gulfstream as it began its final approach towards the airstrip, visibility severely hampered by the fierce rain which slammed into the side of the aircraft. The ski masks worn by the pilot and co-pilot didn’t help either. Neither man knew the other’s name, or who he worked for. The same held for the other eight members of the crew.

In the cabin, the plush leather seats, usually used to cushion the already well-upholstered buttocks of senior executives, had been replaced with six gurneys. On each gurney lay a person. Six in total. Five men and a woman.

Their heads were hooded, a slit cut in the cloth two thirds of the way down to allow breathing. Their hands were cuffed, each cuff attached to a welded bracket either side of the gurney. Their feet were similarly secured. Their clothes consisted of bright red T-shirts and pants. Underneath their pants they wore adult diapers. None of them had been unshackled during the flight for a trip to the bathroom.

Not that they had much interest in moving anyway. Before departure they’d each been injected with an amount of Haldol, a powerful anti-psychotic. Pills could be slipped under the tongue or spat out, so intravenous delivery was deemed the most effective way to ensure that the drugs made it into their system.

Mareta Yuzik, thick-tongued and groggy, opened her eyes to darkness. For a moment she wondered if she’d been blinded. Then she remembered the hood. She could feel the fabric of it against her face. She smiled with relief.

There was a searing pain in her left side. She tried to reach a hand down to touch where it was tender but her hand wouldn’t move. The tightness around her wrists and ankles told her that she was shackled.

Not blind, only hooded. Not paralysed, merely shackled. And, miraculously, she could hear. Over the past few weeks, when she’d been moved from one location to another ear defenders had been placed on her head so she could only sense the loudest of noises, more through vibration than anything else. Being able to hear meant that she knew she was on an aircraft. It also meant she could hear the guards, even over the sound of the engines. She recognized their accents from the movies. They were American. She could hear two of them talking.

‘Man, it’s good to be home.’

‘How long of a layover you have?’

‘Week, maybe. Depends on how this goes. You?’

‘About the same. Let me tell you, I’ll be glad to get off this thing. These guys creep me out.’

‘Relax, they’ve got enough shit in their system to flatten an elephant.’

‘What’re they being moved back here for, anyway?’

‘Dunno. I heard something about a trial.’

‘Good. Hope they smoke ’em.’

‘I’d stick a bullet in them, save on the energy.’

The Gulfstream taxied to the end of the runway and turned right, heading for a remote hangar no more than five hundred yards away. The doors of the hangar were already open and more than a dozen men were inside, along with six SUVs. Like everyone onboard, all of the men were masked.

The aircraft inched its way inside the hangar and the vast metal doors were rolled closed behind it. A few seconds later the aircraft door opened and the steps were unfolded and lowered to the ground. One of the men walked up them and disappeared inside the aircraft.

Only one of the detainees had been unshackled. The woman. One of the guards unholstered his sidearm and passed it to his partner. He helped her off the gurney and on to her feet. She struggled to stand and it was as much as he could do to prevent her keeling over. They lumbered down the steps of the plane like lovers stumbling from a bar.

As she stepped on to the concrete, she sank down on to her knees.

‘She OK?’

‘Be careful, she might be faking it.’

‘Dude, you’ve got an overactive imagination.’

‘You read that bitch’s file? She’s snuffed more people than Bin Laden.’