Image credit: © Photo Extremist
Chapter One
It was cold and dark in the luggage compartment of that boeing 747. He didn’t know that yet. He was still bundled up in the foetal position safe and warm inside the custom made duffel bag. This duffel bag had some very special “features”. Not only was it completely water proof and air-tight, it was impervious to x-ray and ultra-sound scans. Actually, if the bag ever was scanned the sensors built into the lining would detect what sort of scan it was and then project a false image back to the scanner. This bag was a smuggler’s dream come true.
He twisted his left wrist slightly towards his face so he could see his watch. 6 minutes of air left. It was time to get started. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, trying to listen for signs of any life. The only thing that he could hear was the drone of the plane’s engines. Good, that means that everything is going to plan. He freed himself from the bag, thinking again how stupid it was that the people who had made him the bag had neglected to include a way for it to be opened from the inside. Obviously he had sent that one back and demanded a replacement. It had arrived just in time, and it was out of this bag that he now emerged.
Three hours spent curled up in a bag designed to carry not much more than a few days worth of underwear and clothes tends to make a person a little in need of a damn good stretch. So that’s what he did… slowly he stood up, straightened his body to its full height, then arched his back and extended his arms. legs. fingers, even his toes. There were several loud cracks as his joints found the freedom of unrestricted movement once more.
Ahhhhhhh! That’s better.
No time to relax, he thought. Time to find his tools and supplies. He set to work at finding the other bag. The bag that had everything he needed to carry out his mission. A mission that he had put so many years into planning and preparing for. He had already tried and failed at least a thousand times before, but this time… This time would be different. He had taken into account every conceivable variable. He had thought of everything. He couldn’t fail. He had to succeed.
He found his bag of tools and supplies a couple feet away from where he’d been laying and headed for the maintenance hatch above the main undercarriage assembly. Once there, the first thing he had to do was to fool the aircraft’s computer systems into thinking that nothing was going on. The last thing he needed was for some over-observant airline pilot to investigate a blinking red light. He popped the cover off of an access panel beside the hatch that exposed a mass of wires. Within a few short seconds he had located the wires he needed, stripped back a little of the plastic shielding and had attached the tiny piece of electronics that would allow him to work unnoticed.
He opened the maintenance hatch and then grabbed the small battery powered drill and drilled a 1cm diameter hole through the hatch door. This was very slow going and would probably completely drain the battery on the drill. Couldn’t be helped, and besides, all of the rest of the work could be done by hand, even if if would have been easier to use the spanner tool on the drill. Once the drill finished cutting through the multiple layers of the hatch door he inserted the rubber tubing and applied a sealing resin around the hole to make it air tight.
The other end of the hose looked just like an air attachment you see at any garage that is used for inflating car tyres. In fact, that is exactly what it was, except this one was designed to deflate tyres. He checked that he had everything with him for the one millionth time and then hid the drill inside of an unsuspecting suitcase.
He climbed down into the undercarriage feet first and carefully closed the hatch above him. With the hatch closed it was incredibly cramped. That area, although quite large and can easily fit a man in, was quite a snug fit for the gigantic undercarriage assembly. He somehow managed to maneuver himself into position so he could attach the other end of the rubber hose to the valve on the closest tyre to him. He held his breathe and listened out for the tell-tale hiss of the dry nitrogen escaping harmlessly into the baggage compartment above his head.
Deflating the tyre was going to take at least half an hour but it was necessary because he needed the room. He could have just uncoupled the whole thing and dropped it out the bottom of the plane over the Atlantic, but that would mean that the plane would not have been able to land safely and hundreds of innocent people could have been killed.
He used the time to meditate and keep himself and his mind as relaxed as possible. It was vitally important that his adrenaline levels were at their lowest possible point, otherwise all of this would be a complete waste of time. Listening to the hiss of the escaping gas he closed his eyes, took some long drawn out breaths and began lowering his heart rate.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he had the room he needed. He made his way down past the, now completely deflated, tyre to the aircraft’s outer hull. He located the manual release that opened the door to allow the undercarriage to be extended. Before opening the door he checked his watch which came equipped with an altimeter… 9,603 metres. Excellent, he thought to himself, that will give him the time he needed to reach terminal velocity.
He took a few seconds to ready himself, and then began cranking the handle that would open the outer door to the undercarriage bay. This part of the aircraft wasn’t pressurised so there was no danger of being blown out of the plane before he was ready. All the same though, there was a noticeable drop in pressure when the seal was broken. At that moment he stopped, held his breath, and listened. An odd thing to do really considering that he would not have been able to hear anyone coming anyway. A second or two later he realised that and got back to cranking. He only needed to open that door enough to fit his body through, but it was hard going and was going to take some time.
Time to go!
He positioned himself so that he was sitting on the door with his back to the nose of the plane, and slowly inched toward the opening. Once he got his legs almost all the way out of the plane, with just his buttocks on the edge of the door he flipped over onto his stomach. He could feel the passing wind pulling him out and knew that all he had to do now was let go. He tested the strength of his left arm by gingerly letting go with his right. Good, he could maintain his position with just one arm for now.
With his right hand he reached into a pocket on his left sleeve and pulled out the hypo gun. The same sort that diabetics use to inject themselves with insulin, but this one didn’t contain insulin. It had a chemical cocktail that would put him into a deep sleep exactly 45 seconds from when he injected it. It’s affects would only last 12 minutes, but that would be ample time.
45 seconds to go. Let go!
As soon as he was clear of the plane he quickly got his bearings and straightened his body with his arms by his sides.
35 seconds to go.
He pointed his head toward the ground and began to accelerate.
25 seconds to go, 185 kilometres per hour.
15 seconds to go, 265 kilometres per hour.
4 seconds to go, 345 kilometres per hour. Terminal velocity! Yes! he thought to himself, it is going to work!! It has to work.
Darkness.
He hadn’t expected to dream, but dream he did. He dreamed of when he was a boy of maybe 4 or 5. His parents had taken him out for a day at the fair, there were rides and ponies. He loved ponies and was pleading with his father to let him ride on the pony. At the next moment they were in a completely different place and different time. Something in his subconscious noted how odd it was how dreams jump all over the place. His parents were gone and he was alone… all alone. He felt scared.
It was the universe fighting back. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to raise his pulse a few beats per minute. The higher his heart rate, the more hold the universe could exert over him. Strangely it was the steps he had taken so that this wouldn’t happen which was the exact reason why it was. While sleeping he couldn’t be influenced by the sight of the ocean heading toward him at 345 kilometres per hour, or the sound of the air rushing passed him. He could keep his adrenaline from rising. He just couldn’t stop himself from dreaming. It was through his dreams that the universe was fighting him now.
His heart rate was now a staggering 245 beats per minute and he regained consciousness. That should have been impossible. The chemicals in his body should have ensured that. But something brought him back to consciousness, he couldn’t figure out why. It was at that moment that he felt it. The hotness that began somewhere in the middle of his head, behind his eyes.
Noooooo! Not again!
It filled him with fear and anxiety which only made things worse. Those feelings fuelled what was now inevitable. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes he could see the distortion beginning to form in front of him. It would have gone unnoticed to anyone else it was so slight, but he had seen it countless times before and could spot it a mile away. Part of space in front of him was out of kilter by a few millimetres.
When he came to he could smell animal. Not quite sure what sort of animal, but definitely animal. Horse! Yes, that was it. He could smell horse. He opened his eyes and could see he was inside some sort of structure. There was hay on the ground, and a definite odour of horse.
Where am I?
He whispered to himself, and followed it up with a more pressing question…
When am I?
Till next time…
Chapter Two: Men Of Honour. But make sure you leave a comment here before you head over to the next chapter, yeah? 
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That was different and a very compelling read. I look forward to reading the rest.
Glad you liked it, Steve. Thanks very much for taking the time to stop and read.
Twitter: SteveYoungs