Authors: Alan Jacobson
64
V
ail, DeSantos, and Reid successfully navigated the surface streets without “drama,” as Reid had put it.
Now, with the lift unavailable until they turned on the power, Reid led them down the steps into the Royal Mail railway station. The pungent smell of long-undisturbed darkness irritated Vail’s nose as she descended the staircase.
They used their smartphones as flashlights until they reached the metal fire door, which they pushed through onto the platform. Reid told them to wait while he located the control room. A minute later, he lifted a large lever into position. It slammed home with a metallic clunk.
The lights flickered, lit up, and then switched off. Reid made some noise, clicking and clattering as he reset the circuits. The fixtures came on once again—and this time they burned brightly.
The station wasn’t in as much disrepair as Vail had feared. As she looked around at the rounded, gray-white metal walls, her concerns over being trapped underground, seventy feet below the surface, where no one traveled for perhaps months at a time, started to dissipate.
“Not many people know this place,” Reid said as he ducked back into the control room. “It’s been called ‘the secret railway,’ because unless you were one of the staff who worked down here moving mail, or a controller working the trains, the public rarely, if ever, heard about it. They just got their letters and parcels on time. I think it’s the only mail railway in the world.”
Large steel bins on wheels stood off to the side along the station’s wall. To her left, a train sat on the tracks, its red locomotive covered in a thick layer of dust. “Royal Mail” was lettered in yellow script across the bottom of the row of cars.
Reid threw a switch and the ventilation system started up with a roar. Air blew down onto Vail from a square duct above.
Vail walked into the control room and looked at the row of computers. The brand name “Vaughan” was molded into the side of the plastic housing. “Monochrome cathode ray tube monitors? These PCs are museum pieces.” She chuckled. “In fact, I think I
have
seen stuff like this in a museum somewhere.”
“Karen,” DeSantos said, “you’re not instilling a sense of confidence.”
“That’s okay. I’m not feeling it either.”
Reid hit “enter” and examined the lines of code. “System’s booting up. We should be ready to go in a few minutes.”
“And how sure are you,” Vail said, “that the computer’s gonna work?”
Reid lifted his hand off the keyboard. “I’m not sure at all.”
Lovely
.
“If I remember right,” Reid said, “each station has its own computer that’s connected to the relay system. The computer controls the progress of each train on the system automatically, but the line controller can take control of any part of the system, and reroute the trains if needed.”
“And you’ll stay at the controls till we get out?” Vail asked.
“I’ll be here. But I won’t know when you’re out because we don’t have cell service down here. A text might go through. Give it a shot.”
“If not,” DeSantos said, “six miles, forty miles an hour. Give us half an hour, then figure we’re out. You can leave. If we’re not out, we’ll be close enough.”
Reid examined the archaic monitors. “We’re booted up and functional.”
Vail looked over Reid’s shoulder at the text on the screen. “Do you actually know what all this means?”
Reid nodded. “Not a clue.”
Vail gave DeSantos a look.
“We’ll be fine.” He took her by the elbow and led her toward the tracks. “C’mon, the faster we get to the river, the faster we’ll be on our way out of England.”
She placed both hands on her hips as she surveyed the train. “Where do we sit?”
“The railway didn’t carry passengers,” Reid said. “It carried letters and small parcels. You two are somewhat…larger parcels. I guess we’ll call it steerage class.” He chuckled.
Vail looked over the mail cars. “You expect me to get in that tiny bin?”
“This is no time for a claustrophobic fit,” DeSantos said.
“Oh.” Vail slapped her forehead. “Silly me. What the hell was I thinking?” She realized he did not get it. “It’s not a conscious decision. I see a tight space and the anxiety builds in my chest.”
DeSantos placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re gonna have to do this. This is our best chance to get to the rendezvous point. I’ll be right behind you.”
The two stepped into their respective compartments and Reid started to pull the top over Vail’s car. She raised her arm to stop him. “I’ll pass.”
“I don’t know the condition of the tunnels,” Reid said. “You don’t want something falling from the ceiling and hitting you in the head, now, do you?”
“If it means not being trapped in some kind of tiny metal coffin, yeah. At least I’ll get some air movement over my face.”
“Suit yourself.”
He attempted to pull back the covering, but it was connected to a metal plank that bridged the gap on the side of the train where it met the platform. “Can’t do it, Karen. The train won’t move with the ramp open. You’re gonna have to deal with it.”
DeSantos pulled out his knife and sliced through the canvas. There were still bars above her, but it was an improvement.
“Thanks,” she said. “I think I can handle that.”
After DeSantos settled into his car, Reid secured the cover over him.
Cramped in the compartment, knees against her chest, Vail felt her chest tighten. She slowed her breathing by thinking of Robby. Of making love, going to dinner, listening to music at a local Washington blues club.
“All right, then,” Reid said as he walked over to a switch that hung by a thick wire suspended from the ceiling beside the tracks. “Talk to you on the other side.”
Vail was able to block her anxiety until Reid pressed the button-operated control and started the train.
They lurched forward and began a bumpy, swaying journey into darkness.
65
U
zi and Rodman leaned back in their seats, doing their best to appear calm—and bored: this was just another night reporting in for their shift. A moment passed as the driver spoke with the man on duty at the security checkpoint.
“He might come back here to inspect,” Trip said. “Just be cool, talk about sports stuff.”
“Nationals have a kickass team this year,” Uzi said.
“
British
sports, dumbshit. You’re stationed in England, remember?”
“So, soccer?”
Trip rolled his eyes. “The Brits call it football.
We
call it soccer.”
The rear canvas was peeled back and a flashlight combed the interior.
Uzi casually glanced at the roving beam. “So who do you like?”
“Man United,” Trip said. “Evra’s my guy.”
“True dat. He’s my guy, too.”
After two passes, including one underneath the metal bench seats, the cover closed.
“‘He’s my guy, too?’” Trip repeated. “That was pretty weak.”
“Hey, we made it through, didn’t we?”
After successfully passing challenges at the other access points, the transport pulled up along the flightline. Trip tapped Uzi’s knee, and they jumped down onto the tarmac.
A dense mist hovered over the light stanchions, a steady drizzle falling as they set off toward the Osprey that Trip had identified as the one they would procure.
Rodman went to work removing the chains tethering the wheels to the pavement. Uzi pulled out the red gear while keeping an eye on the maintainers, who moved freely about the flightline. The area was the antithesis of the rest of the base, which, other than security patrols, was quiet. Here, it was like a busy city in midday.
Moments later, they boarded the plane and climbed into the pilot and copilot seats. Ahead of them, below a rectangular split windshield, lay an array of screens, digital displays, levers, and switches.
They slipped on their flight helmets and seated them firmly.
“ICS check,” Uzi said.
“Roger. Loud and clear.”
Uzi patted down his pockets. “Crap. You get the key from maintenance to start her up?”
Rodman looked at him. “That’s not funny.”
“Just trying to lighten things up.”
“Okay, you want funny?” Rodman asked as his eyes roamed over the control panel. “I’ve never really flown one of these.”
Uzi swung his gaze over to Rodman. “But you said you—”
“Sorry, bro, it was all simulator work with the 8th Special Operations Squadron. You’ve just gotta trust me on this.”
“And how is that funny?”
“Here’s a quick and dirty flight lesson,” Rodman said. “The hover’s a lot of fly-by-wire. You’ve been there, done that, so no biggie. The catch comes in the transition to and from vertical flight. Only way to learn it is by doing it. It’s not too overwhelming. That small thumbwheel there,” Rodman said, pointing at the device, “slowly turn it to rotate the nacelles. Eight degrees a second. You just need a little finesse, is all—the right touch.
“Biggest difference from a helicopter is that the controls are kind of reversed. This thing’s designed to be flown like a plane, not a helicopter. In a helicopter, you pull up, or back, on the collective to increase lift. Right?”
“Right.”
“In the Osprey, you push the throttle
forward
, or away from you, to increase lift. For a jet guy this makes sense, but some of the early accidents in the Osprey were caused by helicopter pilots instinctively pulling
back
to increase power in a hover during a moment of distress.”
“Definitely want to avoid that.”
“Good,” Rodman said, with a wink. “Then we’re on the same page.” He turned his attention back to the panel, found what he was looking for, and threw a switch. “Rotor brake.”
Uzi examined the dashboard, a large rectangular control panel that contained two color screens in front of each seat, and a plethora of gauges and buttons. “Rotor brake. Off.”
“Nacelles. They should be at ninety degrees.”
“Nacelles? Sounds like I’m in some kind of starship.” He searched a second, but Rodman pointed and Uzi said, “Got it. Ninety.”
“Intakes?”
“Clear.”
“Okay, we’re in business. Ready to fire her up. Now we just need Trip to make some noise.”
As Rodman finished his sentence, they heard the low-pitched whine and roar of nearby engines turning over.
Uzi grinned. “Good to go.”
“Okay then. Number one ECL.”
Uzi’s hand hovered a bit, and then he pressed the button. “Start.”
The left engine came to life, the massive thirty-eight-foot propeller-like blades rotating slowly and increasing in speed as the seconds passed.
Rodman glanced out the window to his left. “Looking good. Number two EC—oh wait. Shit.”
“Shit?”
“I forgot something.” Rodman’s gaze roamed the panel. “Right, Ng, Np, Nr.” He pointed and Uzi followed his finger. “We want it stabilized.”
“Yeah, stabilized.”
“All right, let’s fire up the other engine. Number two ECL.”
“Start.”
“APU.”
“Holy crap—” Uzi leaned forward in his seat and peered out the side window. “The nacelle’s spewing white smoke!”
“That’s normal.”
“May be normal, but it’s gotta be visible for at least half a mile.”
“Forgot to mention that. Nothing we can do about it.”
Uzi peered into the side view mirror mounted just above the control panel. There might not be anything they could do about it, but it was disturbing, nonetheless.
The second engine spun up and the rotors gained speed as the first one had, reaching maximum power within twenty seconds.
As they continued with preflight checks and the minutes ticked by, Uzi grew increasingly anxious. He glanced in the mirror and then out the windows, craning his neck to get a view of as much of the tarmac as possible.
“Uzi,” Rodman said. “C’mon, man. It is what it is. We’re committed now. Ready to advance power for takeoff.”
“I’m good, let’s go.”
“Flaps.”
“Auto.”
“ECLs.”
“Fly.”
“Here we go. Increasing TCL and applying slight aft cyclic pressure, lifting the nosewheel off the ground.”
As the craft rose, Uzi thought the sensation felt like a normal helicopter takeoff.
“Landing gear,” Rodman said.
“Up. Lights out.”
“Interim power.”
“Um…okay. Selected.”
As the aircraft climbed, Rodman used the cyclic to maintain position and the directional pedals to preserve his heading.
“Keep her low,” Uzi said.
“Copy.”
“Shit—we’ve got company!” Uzi leaned toward the convex mirror mounted to the right of his windshield, then twisted in his seat, trying to get a better view of the tarmac beneath the massive nacelles. “Two or three chase vehicles, coming up fast. Get us out of here.”
“Rotating nacelles,” Rodman said, trying to keep his voice—and the craft—steady as he rotated the dial slowly. “We need twelve seconds.”
“How about five?”
“This is our most vulnerable time. We screw this up, this close to the ground, we crash and burn.”
As the vehicles neared, Uzi felt a distinctive shove against his torso and he was pressed into the seatback as the plane shot forward.
“Transponder’s off,” Rodman said. “Sure hope they don’t scramble anything. EAPS?”
“Closed,” Uzi said. “Showing above eighty knots.”
“Nacelles.”
Uzi leaned forward to check. “Clean and dry.” He threw a switch. “Extinguishing exterior running lights. You know, if they do scramble something, Trip would be the one they send because his engines are hot.”
“Not sure that’s good or bad. Puts him in a tough spot. Status.”
Uzi studied the screens. “So far so good.”
“Keep her steady,” Rodman said as he pulled out his cell phone.
“Seriously? Who the hell are you calling?”
“You can handle this. Once we’re airborne and in forward flight, it’s no different from anything else. Same with a stabilized hover. It’s the transitions that can get you.” Rodman pressed a button on his handset. “I’m calling the RAF guy again to see if I can catch him. Now that we’re airborne, we can give them an extra set of eyes.”
“I’d leave out the part about stealing an Osprey from the US Air Force.”
“Really? Dude, you’ve gotta give me more credit than that.”
Uzi’s face cracked a smile as he looked out over the English countryside.