Chapter 10
Above the Arctic Circle
Neither of them had ever seen such a bizarre directive.
The pilot plotted the latitude/longitude pairing on a map and saw no significance in the place whatsoever.
It was simply a random point in the sky above an ice-blanketed sea.
They had also been instructed to verify the operability of one particular piece of equipment.
Further orders would be issued en route.
And most astonishing of all: the Chinese Minister of Commerce and his entourage, who they had been hauling around the world on an economic junket for the last week, were to be left stranded in Calgary.
“Five minutes to target,” said the copilot.
The senior pilot, a colonel, said, “I have us on track. Altitude five hundred feet, speed one hundred sixty knots. I will go prep the package. You have the aircraft.”
The major in the right seat took control of the jet, and the colonel unbuckled. He stood cautiously and used his hands to brace himself as he moved aft. The weather was shit and turbulence was pummeling the little jet.
As promised, follow-on instructions had been received on the secure datalink twenty minutes earlier.
Both pilots had read that directive twice, and they were struck by two peculiarities.
First was the level of detail, including the unusually low speed and altitude to be flown.
Second was the task they were to perform when they reached the turn point.
They both understood the significance of what they were about to do, but how it could be a vital national priority escaped them.
Worse yet, flying low and slow in these conditions bordered on suicidal.
Still, colonels did not become colonels in the Chinese Air Force by exercising good judgment and initiative. They did it by blindly following orders.
The aircraft was already depressurized—this too had been in the directive—and the colonel hauled open the main entry door.
A vortex of Arctic air rushed into the cabin.
The temperature dropped fifty degrees. He briefly looked outside, and in the dim light he saw nothing but furrowed patches of sea ice all the way to the horizon.
“Thirty seconds!” the copilot called out, shouting to be heard over the wind noise.
The colonel reached down and picked up the device. It was standard equipment on all their aircraft. Roughly the size of a basketball, it had a hardened metal shell and a handle at the top. With his free hand he toggled the lone switch to ON. A green light began blinking.
“Mark!” the copilot shouted.
The colonel hauled back and threw the device out into space. He took one look down but didn’t see the device. He shrugged once, secured the door, and returned to the flight deck.
Moments later, the Challenger was clawing back up to altitude in a sweeping left-hand turn.