The Nemesis Program

Chapter Forty-Five

Just over three hours after taking off from the airfield at Jäkkwik, the ST-1 was touching down at the Flugakademie Freihof near Berlin. Ben had radioed in some time before their arrival, and was expected by the ground crew who shepherded the taxiing aircraft towards the refuelling station. The reference number Ruth had given them was like a magic wand that breezed them through the formalities, allowed them to fill up on fuel with no questions asked and secured them their own private hangar space for the night. If the dishevelled and slightly battered appearance of the pilot made any impression on the airfield staff, they didn’t show it — they must already be familiar with Steiner Industries’ informal new ways, Ben supposed — and they even organised a car to take them to the nearest town, Luckenwalde.

Leaving Daniel to his own devices for a couple of hours, Ben and Roberta raided a local Edeka supermarket for fresh clothing, food and bottled water for the rest of the long journey ahead. It was in the car heading back to the airfield that Ben turned to her with his idea.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘You can travel anywhere from here without anyone knowing where you are.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you to Indonesia.’

‘We don’t know what we’re going into. I’d be a lot happier if you stayed behind. I can give you enough money to lie low for as long as you need.’

‘Lie low. You mean hide.’

‘Call it what you like. You’d be safe.’

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Shook her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely no way. It was me who got you into this, and a whole lot more besides. You think I’d bow out now and let you carry the can? Forget it, Ben. I’m seeing this through, no matter what.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I tried.’

Then it was back to the plane, to illegally spend the night on board. It was hot and airless inside the hangar, but Ben didn’t let it bother him. He was intent on grabbing as much rest as he could, ahead of the sleep deprivation he was going to suffer over the coming forty-eight or so hours.

Shortly after dawn the following morning, the Steiner ST-1 was back in the air and rapidly leaving Germany behind as they headed eastwards towards the Polish border on the first five-hour leg of the journey. Poland; Ukraine: the landscape unrolled beneath them, green pasture-land and small towns and villages, hilltop churches, lakes and forests. Skirting the northern coastline of the Black Sea, the sunlight dappling the waters; into Georgia, the landscape harsher, rockier. Soon afterwards, the plane was buffeted by high winds and a violent rainstorm that lashed the windows and shook the plane like a toy. Roberta joined Ben in the cockpit and sat anxiously by him as he wrestled with the controls.

They arrived in Tbilisi, just after 11 a.m. local time and only minutes behind schedule despite the heavy weather. The clouds had vanished and the sun shone brightly as they completed their second refuel on the Steiner Industries tab. It felt a little parasitical, like a mosquito drawing blood from its unsuspecting host. Ben consoled his pang of guilt by thinking of the billions the corporation pulled in from its activities all over the world. It would take more than a few drops of aviation fuel to bring his sister’s company down. ‘Anyway,’ he said to himself more than once as the high-pressure pumps filled his tanks, ‘I’ll pay her back.’

Just ninety minutes after touchdown, they were off again, this time setting their course southwards. Roberta stayed up front with Ben while Daniel slouched and slumbered in the back, never once offering to make himself useful.

Flying, flying. The constant hum of the engines and the hypnotic vibration through the floor and the seats would have lulled Ben to sleep if he hadn’t been so on edge about this long leg of the journey. Something else was on his mind, too.

‘What’s wrong?’ Roberta asked, seeing his expression as he stared fixedly ahead.

‘It’s not important.’

‘Tell me. Something’s bothering y—’ She broke off, suddenly remembering what day it was. ‘I get it. You and Brooke would’ve been getting married this afternoon.’

Ben said nothing.

‘You can still fix it with her,’ she said, affecting a cheery look. ‘You know that, right? It’s going to be okay. Really.’

Ben said nothing.

Armenia came and went; then it was into Iranian airspace where his personal concerns were overshadowed by the very real worry of crossing paths with trigger-happy military fighter jets. Just as troubling was the significant potential threat from the ground. It was a restless and perpetually inflamed situation down there, and with a thousand disparate militia groups going about armed to the nines and a good deal of illicit training of Syrian and other rebel forces going on in hidden camps across the country, it would only take a single sniper to object to their presence and a well-aimed .50-calibre anti-materiel round tearing through their flimsy unarmoured fuselage to bring them down.

But Ben’s anxiety proved unfounded. The long hours passed and they weren’t shot down or pursued, and he settled a little in the pilot’s seat as the vastness of the rocky landscape skimmed endlessly by beneath them. Roberta gazed out and marvelled at the rugged splendour of the Alpine-Himalayan mountain system that fringed the vast Iranian central plateau. ‘Wow, I’ve never seen anything like this before,’ she breathed.

‘It looks pretty from up here,’ he said. ‘But you wouldn’t want to be down there. It’s not the most hospitable of environments.’

‘I guess you’d know all about that kind of thing. Don’t crash the plane, huh?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Just as the craggy landscape seemed as if it might go on forever, the terrain began to turn into a flattening desert as they headed further south. Flying, flying: the burning sun casting a perfect shadow of the plane on the ground below them; the monotone of the engines taking on something of eternity. Ben was feeling the fatigue hit him acutely now after so many hours in the air. He kept having to blink. Only his frequent checks of their fuel readout were keeping him awake.

‘Talk to me,’ he said at last. It seemed a long time since he’d heard the sound of his own voice. It came out as a dry croak.

Roberta looked almost as worn out as he felt. ‘Okay,’ she said numbly. ‘What shall we talk about?’

‘Anything you like except Tesla and physics,’ he replied.

‘You want to hear a joke?’

‘You actually know any?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised. Check this one out. What does a dyslexic insomniac agnostic do in bed at night?’

‘I have absolutely no idea.’

‘Lie there worrying about whether or not there’s a dog.’

A weak smile was all he could manage.

‘One to entertain your future congregation with,’ she said.

‘I’ll be sure to remember. Got any more?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Okay. Another religious one for you. Why did the scientist take a Higgs Boson into church? Because you can’t have Mass without it.’

Ben looked at her. ‘I thought we said no physics.’

She shrugged. ‘Those are all the jokes I know.’

‘Remind me to say a prayer for your sense of humour.’

‘Hey. That’s the thanks I get for keeping you awake?’

‘Speaking of barrels of laughs,’ Ben said, ‘what’s His Nibs up to back there?’

Roberta craned her neck and peered through the Perspex window in the bulkhead that separated the cabin from the passenger section. Daniel was slouched deep in a window seat with his head lolling on his shoulder. On the seat next to him were an empty crisp packet, two crushed drinks cans and several crumpled sandwich containers. ‘Well, it looks like he’s eaten his way through most of our provisions and now he’s asleep again.’

Ben shook his head and had a vision of Daniel freefalling from the plane, a tiny cartwheeling figure getting rapidly smaller.

‘Never mind him,’ Roberta said. ‘Whereabouts are we, anyway?’

Ben pointed to the right. ‘About a hundred miles thataway is Kuwait.’ He pointed left. ‘About five hundred miles thataway is Afghanistan.’

‘All I can see is sand and more sand,’ she replied.

Sand and more sand was all they did see for a long time. But eventually, the arid monotony came to an end and they were greeted by the welcome sight of the Persian Gulf. Just gazing across the clear, flat waters, as pure and blue as the unbroken sky, was enough to make them feel quenched and refreshed after the unremitting wilderness. As Ben hugged the coastline, they roared above little towns and ports of whitewashed stone that glittered like pearls against the blue. Yachts and fishing boats dotted the crystal-clear ocean. Onwards south: Qatar; Abu Dhabi; then over the Strait of Hormuz, through which giant supertankers carried more than a fifth of the world’s petroleum. From the air the busy shipping route looked choked with traffic and military convoys. Soon afterwards the plane was skirting the Gulf of Oman, overflying ancient coastal forts and palm-fringed beaches.

Every mile that separated Ben further from what should have been his home and his new life added to the dull, leaden pain that wouldn’t leave his heart. Today, of all days, Brooke had never felt so hopelessly out of reach.