Sea of Fire

Chapter Seventy-One

The sun was beginning to brighten the charcoal gray tarmac at the tiny airfield. Inside the sleek Learjet, Jervis Darling sat in a deep, cushioned seat over the wing. The gentle hum of the engines comforted him, as always. He loved the feeling of bridled power. Especially when he controlled the reins. Bundled in his overcoat, his daughter was asleep in the seat beside him. Once they had reached cruising altitude, Darling would carry the young girl to the small bedroom in the back of the aircraft.

As the jet continued to idle, Darling became impatient. He punched a button on top of the armrest. That activated the intercom to the cockpit.

"Shawn, what's the delay?"

"Mr. Darling, the tower has put us on temporary hold," pilot Shawn Daniels replied.

"Find out what it's about," Darling snapped. "I want to be airborne as quickly as possible."

"Sir, that may not be possible," Daniels told him.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's activity on the tarmac," he replied.

"What kind of activity?" Darling demanded.

"The tower has not given me that information, sir," Daniels replied.

"Damn the tower," Darling said as he unbuckled his seat belt. He moved through the narrow cabin, ducking his head slightly under the low ceiling. He opened the cockpit door. Pilot Daniels and copilot Kristin Bedard moved slightly to either side so he could see out the windshield.

A helicopter was parked at the end of the runway. The rotor was still churning, and a side door was open.

"Do you know who that is?" Darling asked.

"No, sir," Daniels told him. "It's a Bell helicopter, but I can't see the identification number."

Darling squinted into the darkness. Something was being off-loaded. He could not tell what it was.

"Mr. Darling," the pilot said. "I could be mistaken, but that looks like a wheelchair."

"He wouldn't dare," Darling muttered.

"Sir?"

Darling ignored the pilot. He continued to look out the window. After a moment, the helicopter rose slowly from behind the object. Darling could see clearly now. It was a wheelchair. The wheelchair of R. Clayton Herbert. And it was coming toward him.

"Can you take off around him?" Darling asked.

"Sir?"

"Can you go around him, over him, through him?" Darling yelled.

"No, sir," the pilot said. He seemed surprised.

"Ask the tower why no one is coming to take him off the field," Darling demanded.

"Sir, they've plugged me into the cross talk between themselves and the helicopter," the pilot said. "Apparently, Warrant Officer George Jelbart of the Maritime Intelligence Centre has just commandeered the landing strip for a military action."

This cannot be happening, Darling thought.

"The tower is asking the helicopter for a reason," the pilot went on. "The warrant officer is saying there is a question about the cargo of the jet." The pilot seemed surprised. He glanced back at Darling. "I can cut in if you like, sir. Do we have a response for them?"

"Yes," Darling said. "Tell the tower I am going out to remove the impediment. If they have a problem with that, they can take it up with the prime minister, whom I intend to wake once we are airborne."

"I will tell them, sir," the pilot said.

Darling backed into the cabin. He motioned to copilot Bedard, who jumped from her seat and opened the door. She lowered the retractable stairs.

"Sit with my daughter in case she wakes," Darling told her as he swept onto the tarmac.

The night seemed endless, but Darling's patience was not. The new world power structure was inevitable.

It might as well begin here and now.