Going Out With A Bang

It’s funny the kind of thoughts that fly through a person’s brain when they’re faced with impending death, and how vivid they seem. The biting smell of toilet cleaner. The strained warble of two blackbirds fighting for space at a birdbath. The punch of too much paprika in a curry. The moment where sunlight drops into a downstairs window in the late afternoon.

And the feeling of shaky fingers poking into steaming salmon flesh, probing for a space.

Not that death isn’t pending for all of us mind you. It’s just that for Brian Robson, death was coming a lot quicker than he’d like.

All of these thoughts and more flashed through his mind faster than the bullets whizzing past his ears, digging into the cold asphalt with wasted venom. His leg was on fire, useless and unable to help him now.

Not yet. He wasn’t down yet. He could still buy a little time.

Brian rolled left on the tarmac, ducking behind a baggage-carrier to catch his breath. Scanning his surroundings, he knew this was the end.

He had nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. At least the information would be safe he thought, reaching for the small ball-bearings attached to the bracelet on his wrist. A charm bracelet, completely out of place for a man like him. But not without its purpose. His fingers rolled over the first empty slot before settling on the next, twisting it off in one fluid motion. His eyes stayed locked on the approaching armada, his right hand moving without conscious thought. Ten years in the game teaches you a few things.

“Idiots” he muttered, tearing the tiny pin off with his teeth and spitting it out. One more left.

Walking in a large group towards your target- genius tactics. They almost deserved it. Lobbing the miniature grenade over his head, he cast his mind back to the plane, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. If he was going to die here, then it damn well better be worth it.

Thirty minutes ago

“Flight ZQ618 to Los Angeles is now inviting passengers to board. Please have your boarding pass ready”. The attendant’s voice sang out in a cheery tone, contradicting her dull expression and uninterested eyes. Her fellow attendants wore the same vacant expressions; the result of a seventeen-hour shift that hadn’t been smooth.

It was about to get a lot worse.

Brian ambled up to the desk and flashed his priority boarding ticket, employing a sympathetic smile to the attendant as he did so, and nodding in thanks as he walked down the tunnel.

The trick was to be completely unmemorable. Nothing to draw attention, nothing to stick out. A dark-blue business suit, black briefcase that was worn at the edges just enough to look used, brown shoes with the appropriate amount of scuff, two-day old stubble, and a smartly parted head of greying hair. Nothing worth remembering.

Turning left into Business Class, Brian casually removed his jacket and tie before checking his phone, inwardly aware that he was being watched the whole time.

So they had found him then. This complicated things a bit.

“Eagle compromised. Two magenta in BC. Cannot hand over in person. Proceed with backup”.

Two sets of eyes down the cabin swiveled from behind carefully placed magazines as Brian adjusted his watch and opened the briefcase beside him. The phone check had shown him their vantage points, and careful positioning of his body meant that he could slip the tiny parcel into a compartment in his sleeve without being detected.

His arms reached for the ceiling, making a big pretense of stretching while his mind faced furiously. How was he supposed to get the microchip to the mark now? Any move down the cabin would be noticed, and they would both be picked off before the plane touched down at LAX. He could not risk the information on the chip being lost, and there was no way it could fall into the wrong hands. His orders were clear, and he understood exactly what was at stake.

Brian just hoped his mark did too. The plan had changed, and this called for improvisation.

Seeing his chance, he stepped into the aisle and offered to lift a grateful passenger’s baggage into the overhead compartment. A quick flick of the wrist and one of the clasps fell open, sending shoes and a bunch of charging cords tumbling to the floor, while a pile of papers flew into the air.

Perfect. Paper was just what he needed.

Apologising profusely, he slipped around the attendants who had rushed to help pick up the scattered belongings, and ducked around the corner. He had bought himself only a few precious seconds, and he needed to make them count.

“Understood. Will not engage. Advise pickup location”.

He scanned the area for any place that would work; drawers, spare cups and cutlery, a uniform draped over the jump seat, the dinner trays stacked into their trolleys, snacks in their shelves…

Wait. He pocketed a steel knife, then pulled out a tray.

His hands peeled back the foil, and in one deft movement Brian slid the microchip out of his sleeve and delicately in between the hot flesh. The protective casing would keep the heat out.

Fish fillet. Nice for some. A pity that he wouldn’t get to taste his.

He barely had time to cover up the tray and grab the uniform before the first one burst into the galley, fist swinging and teeth bared.

Brian flung the uniform into his face, kicked him into the seats, and dashed back down the aisle.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a gun come up to his right. The other one.

He hurled the knife without looking and was rewarded with a grunt as the second agent collapsed. Screams filled the air as passengers started to panic.

No time to grab his things. No chance to make eye contact down the cabin- he couldn’t risk the connection being made.

He bumped an attendant out of the way and started down the tunnel, only to be greeted by three more agents sprinting towards him. Shit.

He backtracked, barreling down the stairs to his right and tearing through the double doors, out into the cool night air of the tarmac.

Peeling his phone from his pants pocket, Brian’s fingers flew across the touchpad, while his other hand reached for a ball-bearing. The explosion would bring them out.

“Drawing them away to give time. Won’t be back. Kanye’s girl ordered it. Third from the right, four down”.

The reply came back immediately, as he made a break for an Airbus A380 sitting silently in the dark.

“Affirmative. Searching now. Will advise when secure”.

The sharp report of gunfire rang out, and he felt his left leg buckle. He pulled himself behind a crate as headlights cut through the cover of night.

Brian gritted his teeth as he tested the leg. Nothing. If there had been minimal chance of escape before, that had just fallen to zero.

“Hands up or we’ll shoot”.

He rolled his eyes. So original. They were already shooting at him anyway.

Pin out, perfect throw, casualties made. A few more seconds bought. He just needed to get a reply.

“Got it. Need to discard phone to remove trace. They cannot find anything. For the good of the people”.

He had done all he could then. It was out of his hands now, and all that was left was to dispose of the evidence.

He grasped for the third and final ball-bearing, ripped the pin out, and placed his phone snugly into the palm of his hand. This one was staying with him.