Chapter 10: You Can Come Down Now

This chapter was originally posted with a copy/paste error that caused a section to repeat. This should now be fixed. Thanks for letting me know. You should also feel free to talk to me if it’s not about formatting errors! I love hearing what made you laugh, or if you spot a mistake. By the way, I am now also aware discrete and discreet are spelled differently in English. My proof readers missed it as well, so I always hope to hear about things like that from the SOL-community. – RD.

“TWO HUNDRED,” announced the polished, British voice of a cockpit warning system called ICAS, more commonly referred to as ‘Barking Bob’.

I pulled the stick to the right, overcompensating much too hard. It fought back, as if to protect me from my own stupidity.

AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI!

Leonie stepped out of the simulation cockpit and disappeared out of sight on the iPad. Two seconds later, her voice came over the radio. Now there was no delay, no chance of disconnection.

“Can you hear me?!”

AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI-AI!

“ASIM!” I called out. He reached over and grabbed the microphone, aiming it at me. We were now flying above the runway, rather than landing on it.

“I can hear you!”

Thank God, the siren stopped.

I saw Asim’s hand muscles relax. Good, he knew to stop pressing the switch when I was done speaking, so I could hear Leonie again.

“FLARE! NOW! IF WE GO AROUND, IT WILL BE DARK!”

Flare means to pull up slightly on the stick just before touchdown, so that the main gear hits the tarmac first. It’s not recommended to land on the nose gear, you see.

I pulled back the stick, WAY too hard. The view changed from a shimmering runway and speeding yellow trucks to blue sky for a second.

“DOWN!” yelled Caroline, as if I couldn’t figure this out for myself. The engines strained.

“STALL. STALL,” announced Bob, who himself didn’t seem all that worried as he was just an MP3 loaded on one of the cockpit systems. Or, given how outdated all this supposedly modern technology felt, more likely an 8 Khz 8 bit a-Law file.

“STALL.”

AI-AI-AI-AI!

“FLAAAARE!”

I felt sick. We were still above the rooftops of the terminals and hangars and I wasn’t even sure how much runway I had left to land on, but I couldn’t see the tarmac. I pushed the stick forward, as gently as I dared. Very slowly, much too slow for my taste, the horizon came back, but we were still quite high up. I could still see all the AC-dotted roofs, from the main terminal to the industrial zone around the airport. It was tempting to grab the thrust levers and simply cut power, but I had been told not to. If anything, I’d have to speed up, pull up and try to land again. That instruction had been given to me an hour ago, when we were still safely cruising over Saudi-Arabia. It seemed reasonable at the time: got a problem? Try again. But I wanted to LAND, damn it!

The handover to a new ACC had been easy. The Saudi jets disappeared without me or anybody else ever having seen them and making the slow turn to line up with the runway went surprisingly well. And then I knew I had about eight minutes to program the landing, being guided through every step by Leonie. At that that point I was actually quietly confident this would work. That I’d see my family again. My beautiful wife. My son, and his goofy grin. Kate, my personal angel. And now it was taken away from me. Well, fuck that. I’m landing NOW!

“ONE HUNDRED.”

The siren stopped, but the radio didn’t.

“PUT HER DOWN! THERE IS STILL TIME, VERDOMME! TENMINSTE TWEE KILOMETER!”

I could already see the end of the runway, even though it is over five kilometres long. Sounds like a lot, right? Well, it’s not. The fire trucks were level with us now, five on each side. I pushed forward just a tiny bit. The plane responded equally: just a tiny bit. More, then. I gritted my teeth so hard I chipped my left, second bicuspid.

“FIFTY.”

“THIRTY.”

The thud came unexpectedly soon. I didn’t know if we’d landed nose-first or not, because all I cared about was to turn off the thrust and apply the brakes. You better believe I knew where THEY were. I hit full reverse and felt another thud right below me, so I assumed we had all wheels down. The brakes kicked in and I switched from reverse to neutral thrust as the yellow trucks overtook us and slowed down in perfect sync. God, it was nice to be below the rooftops! We slowed down more and more and I then I applied the brakes fully, just as we approached the end of the runway. Asim held the microphone out to me.

“We made it and we’ve stopped,” I said. And then I spat out some enamel.

REUTERS: Passenger lands plane, one dead

I don’t remember everything that happened after the plane came to a halt. Caroline later helped me to fill in some blanks. Leonie spoke to me over the radio and I shut down the engines, but that was about it.

A small truck with a boarding ramp came towards us, surrounded by what seemed to be police and ambulance vehicles. Caroline stood behind me and spoke in my ear while Asim insisted on shaking my hand. Someone in a white shirt asked to sit in my seat and I was arrested and taken off the plane. Before that, I noticed Caroline was no longer in uniform.

“Hey, you changed outfits,” I whispered, as we were shuffling around in the crowded pantry.

“Yes. While we were landing. I figured you boys wouldn’t be looking behind you. It will be alright, Martin. It’s just procedure. Don’t fight them.”

It was warm outside, I do remember that. But at least it didn’t smell of vomit, which was nice.

Policemen stood in the aisles, making sure everyone remained in their seats, as I was taken down the steps and made to sit in the back of a white and green car with flashing lights. Caroline and Asim remained on board, for some reason. A man in an assault uniform, which must have been very uncomfortable for him, sat next to me and held my right wrist. Only then did it register with me how massive the aircraft was that I’d just landed. Seriously, the A-385 can eat Boeing 747s as after dinner mints. It’s irresponsible to build ‘em so large, I think.

They made me sit in a room without windows and gave me a bottle of water and a chicken sandwich, which I ate while three stern looking men in khaki uniforms looked at me and asked me questions every now and then. I don’t speak Arabic and their English was so poor we weren’t getting anywhere. They looked at every page of my passport at least twice and kept saying:

“British?”

But I’m not. So I just shook my head. And then we were joined by a man from the British embassy, who also looked at my Dutch passport and seemed very surprised.

“You’re Carstairs, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But this is you? Martin ... fendy Kiss ... Kissey?”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“They said you were British.”

“I get that a lot. Am I under arrest?”

“I’m not sure. They’re not sure, either. So, how is Kelly?”

“Please leave.”

He didn’t leave but sat with me for a while, as I sipped from my bottle. And then another policeman came in, said something in Arabic and I was politely invited to stand up and follow them. We were in the administration section of the airport, but it all looked very luxurious. Marble floors, spacious offices, air conditioning. I found some people waiting for me in another room and the police officers didn’t follow me in. The guy from the embassy did, but I think he was just curious.

Caroline was there, along with Asim and Leonie, plus two men in suits.

“Come here,” said Caroline, as she got up and hugged me. This behaviour is generally frowned upon in the Arabic world, especially since we weren’t married, but people who work in airports are generally a bit more familiar with the ways of the world and then there is the fact that Caroline would probably have turned anyone who would have tried to stop her into a pillar of salt.

“How are you? Did they treat you okay?”

“Yes. I had lunch. Finally.”

She smiled.

“Good. I’d like you to meet someone. Our guardian angel on the ground.”

Leonie got up and, mindful of the fact she would be judged differently for the way she greeted me, extended her hand. I shook it. Somehow we managed to hug by just shaking hands. It took us a while.

“We’ve met before. Great work, Carstairs! Any landing you walk away from is a good one, but this was fantastic.”

“Ahem ... We do have one problem,” said one of the men in suits. “Someone died.”

“The pilot? He was dead before I was anywhere near the cockpit!”

“Yes, Sir. But a passenger died during landing. You put it down quite hard and he broke his neck.”

“THAT IS BULLSHIT,” said Leonie. “He took off his seatbelt and refused to assume the position. Go and blame the people who go around spouting that conspiracy theory. That was practically a textbook landing. I’ve put them down twice as hard.”

“Excuse me, which conspiracy theory is this?” asked Caroline.

“There are people who claim that the brace position only serves to make as many people as possible break their necks on impact, which reduces the amount in damages that an airline has to pay to any survivors. You get less if you die, that’s the idea,” explained Leonie. “Or they claim it’s the best way to preserve dental records. It’s bullshit, it really is.”

“Regardless, he didn’t HAVE to land. He could have done a go-around.”

“He’s not a pilot! They were at two hundred feet! There’s ZERO damage to the airplane. That guy took off his seatbelt on purpose and then he crashed into a wall. Boo hoo hoo.”

“Excuse me,” said Asim, speaking very quietly. “I think this matter has been resolved already. My government is indebted to Mr. Carstairs for saving nine members of the Royal Family and demands that he should be released without any further consequences. We will gladly pay for any damages claimed by the victim’s family, if it comes to that. I have made this clear, no?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” mumbled the other man in a suit. He seemed a bit older. “But rules are rules. So far, Mister ... uhm ... Carstairs?”

Everyone nodded. I shrugged. I’ll go to my grave with the wrong name, I’m sure of it.

“He has not been able to give us a coherent statement as to what happened.”

“BIRD STRIKE HAPPENED!” yelled Leonie. “What do you think, he’s going to fill out an incident form? He landed a damned AIRBUS on his first try! With bird strike! Give him a medal!”

“I don’t ... I don’t want a medal,” I said. “I just ... Can I go? Caroline? Can we leave here?”

“No pills.”

I had just unpacked, because I don’t like it when others do it for me even though they offered. We both had a suite, but there was a connecting door, which was opened with some furtive looks from the hotel manager. After all, we weren’t married and weren’t pretending to be. Technically (and in reality) you can go to prison in Qatar for having unmarried sex, even if it is with your long-time partner or fiancée. They turn a blind eye for Westerners, but there have been quite a few women from countries such as India and Nepal who found themselves jailed after getting knocked up or even raped. That’s still sex, you see. And in the United Arab Emirates, couples do get arrested for ‘sinful acts’, even if they have a mortgage on a house back home. Still, many laws do not apply to those who have suites at the Four Seasons.

“Yes pills,” said Caroline, shaking some small white tablets out of a tube. We were in a suite on the eighth floor, which rather unfortunately had a great view across the bay around which Doha is built. On the opposite side I could see the airport and runway 16R.

Just an hour ago I had said goodbye to Leonie and Asim, and then left the airport like any other passenger: we even had to pass through immigration, although Qatar hands out free 96 hour visas these days so that didn’t take very long. We then picked up our bags and took a limousine to the hotel. What, do you think Caroline Keller would travel in a mere taxi?

“You need to sleep, Martin. To reset.”

“I want to speak to Melody. And Kate.”

Caroline sat down next to me on the bed.

“Martin, please listen to me. You are in shock. I haven’t yet worked out if it’s only from today’s events or your life in general since coming to the UK, but you are clearly at the end of your tether and you are shutting down. I’ve witnessed it before. Once stressful events are over, you become catatonic. No more jokes, no small talk, an emotionless face ... This is not how you should be speaking to your loved ones, Martin. They go through enough.”

“I just ... I miss them.”

“Martin, they are thousands of miles away. All you’ll do is worry them. I will arrange for help once we get back to London, because clearly this was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but right now a few hours of deep sleep will help you process recent events. You do ... You are aware that we are friends, right? I can’t work out how far down the well you have fallen this time.”

“We’re friends, absolutely,” I confirmed. She undid some buttons on my shirt.

“Then trust me. Have a few hours sleep. I’m here to mind the world for you.”

Caroline got up and even went so far as to slide off my shoes. Caroline Keller kneeling at my feet. That’s not something many men have seen. I might even be the first.

“Would you like me to stay here? Sleep next to you? Just sleep.”

“Yes. If you would ... I don’t want to...”

I undid my own cuff buttons, from force of habit.

“Good. Sleep however you like, although I’d recommend taking off as much as you can manage. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

She closed the curtains as I stepped out of my dress pants and unceremoniously let my shirt slide from my torso. That’s when I smelled my own sweat. I don’t sweat much and so I rarely smell myself, but being under serious mental stress for several hours has consequences.

“Ugh.”

“A warm shower is even better, my dear. I’ll come find you there, if you like.”

She did, which was a minor miracle given the size of this suite. There couldn’t have been more than six on the entire floor. The extravagance was lost on me at the time, because all I could think of was feeling warm water all over my body. The mixer tap didn’t fight me, for a change.

It was one of those rain showers. I stepped out of my briefs, stood under the shower and just placed my hands against the wall as warm water ran down my back, in lieu of a hug from Kate. Why me? Why always me? Dangling off bridges. Fleeing from the police through storm drains. Jumping off ships, or nearly drowning underneath them. Watching Kate fall off a building ... That was the one I couldn’t shake. That was the time it all came way too close. Mel knew better than anyone how that had affected me, because she slept next to me most often. I’d start tossing and turning in my sleep, sometimes for up to an hour. And then I’d invariably wake up (but not really), grab her arm and put my face close to hers. Our bedroom is dark and so is Melody, so then I panic and hiss. ‘Kate? KATE? Is that you? Kate?’ And then poor Melody has to tell me that she isn’t, that she’s my wife and that Kate is perfectly safe. I generally believe her, but one time I didn’t for some reason and I actually got out of bed to look for Kate, who happened to be abroad on assignment that night. Luckily, Kelly was in and together they managed to talk me down from trying to leave the house in my pyjamas. That was scary, especially for them. It’s happened while I was in bed with Kate as well, but in that case she merely has to whisper in my ear as soon as I start to groan and I go right back to sleep. For at least an hour.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but it helped. A little. Wasting water in Doha was no concern of mine: they have vast desalinisation plants and they’re not exactly environmentally conscious themselves. If they were, they wouldn’t be focussing on selling hydrocarbons (natural gas) when they could cover their land in solar panels and ship clean hydrogen across the globe.

I missed the knock on the bathroom door, because of the running water.

“Martin?”

I turned around and saw Caroline waiting outside the shower, dressed in nothing but a fluffy white bathrobe.

“Hi.”

She seemed a bit shy. That was odd, because we’d seen each other naked before.

“Can I join you?”

I just nodded. And then I turned around again, so she wouldn’t feel like I was trying to get a free striptease out of her. I felt her coming up behind me. She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my back. Not quite Kate, but it was still nice.

“Don’t be scared, okay?”

“Of what?”

“Me. I uhm ... took off my face.”

“What?”

“Make-up, my dear. I took it off. I’m just saying, don’t be alarmed.”

I turned to face her. She held on to me, but I was slippery so that was no problem. There was indeed a difference. Her lips were pink now, not red. Her eyes weren’t so imposingly black anymore. And yes, there were one or two wrinkles. If anything, her face looked kinder now. It doesn’t, usually. It looks calm, focused and commanding. The kindness is only there if you know to look for it. I see it all the time, but not everyone does. I suppose it’s part of her armour.

“You’re fine. Look at you: any woman ten years younger than you would kill to look like that.”

She smiled.

“You’re such a charmer.”

Then she tilted her head and kissed me. Nothing fancy, just a kiss.

“How are you now, dear?”

“I don’t want any pills.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to. Does that mean you’re okay?”

“No. I don’t think so. But I don’t want pills.”

She took one step back and got a washcloth and a bottle of complimentary soap from a glass shelf.

“What’s wrong with your mouth?” she asked, as she wetted the cloth and poured soap on it. I couldn’t help giving her body a quick glance. Those legs ... Her breasts were tiny, as with most dancers, but her stomach was firm and her skin looked like liquid silk. She’s very white, but that can be attractive, too. I wish Kate was whiter, sometimes. She usually has a slight tan, because she uses sunbeds when she’s in a hotel. She says it helps her to manipulate her body clock and stops her from looking like ‘a naked Black Pete’, because her head and shoulders usually get more sun than the rest of her. Still, I don’t trust those tanning beds. And neither does Caroline, it would seem. Her nipples were very red, though. Almost purple, in contrast.

“I chipped a tooth. Can’t stop rubbing it with my tongue, I’m afraid.”

“When was this?” she asked, as she began to rub my chest with the flannel.

“Today. During the landing.”

“I see. Shall I send for a dentist?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. But maybe I can see one tomorrow.”

“Raise your hands, dear. In fact, why don’t you stand the way I found you?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“But I’d like to, very much. Don’t worry, I’ll stay above the navel.”

She gave me a very cheeky wink and that was the first time I was able to laugh, in fact to smile, since I’d boarded that Goddamned airplane this morning. She washed my top half and then I made her turn around while I gave the rest a quick once-over, as I looked at her alabaster buttocks and the graceful lines of her legs, hips and shoulders. So she wasn’t twenty anymore, big deal. Some things get better with age.

She took a few extra minutes as I towelled myself dry out of sight. It’s one thing to shower together, but it’s quite another to bend over to dry your ankles in full view of someone else. There was, after all, very little that was graceful, tight and muscular about me. Thank goodness women see those things differently, for the most part. And then I brushed my teeth in a double marble sink the width of my garage at home.

“Could you hand me a towel?” Caroline asked, from around the corner. I handed it to her and put on a fluffy bathrobe, getting ready to give her some privacy.

“Martin? There is a get-together tonight, hosted by Aston Martin. It’s only just started. We’d be able to make it. Do you feel up to it?”

I sighed.

“Not really. But I’ll go if I have to.”

She looked me over from top to bottom, but quick enough for me not to be alarmed.

“Perhaps not. I think Carstairs has been through enough for one day. Go to bed, dear. I’ll join you shortly. In fifteen minutes or so. You can turn off all the lights, if you wish.”

“Okay. Oh, before I go ... I need to tell you something, in case I’m asleep by the time you join me. I may get ... restless during the night. It’s ... Well, you should probably...”

This was harder to admit than I thought, especially because it was about Kate.

“I know, dear. Melody told me. I’ll know what to do. Don’t I always?”

It was around half past eight in the evening when I went to sleep. That’s four hours ahead of my usual time. Make that six hours, because there is a two hour time difference between London and Doha, which I would ordinarily have ignored. If the time difference is less than six hours, jet lag doesn’t affect me. I used to be a programmer: six hours? That’s nothing. You can barely write a few decent lines of code and squash a bug or two in six hours. (I’m not a very good programmer.)

I never heard or saw Caroline, because she was already gone when I woke up at five past eight in the morning. If you have a one year old kid, you’ll know waking up 8:05 am is the same as when you slept until noon in your student days. It’s bliss. The room was very dark, because there is a direct correlation between the quality of hotel room curtains and the price of the room, but I found my iPhone on the night stand, plugged in to a lightning cable. I didn’t remember doing that, but I was sure Caroline had arranged it. And so I picked it up and texted her, to let her know I was awake.

“Hi lm uo[“ I texted, because my reading glasses were still in my jacket pocket and I can’t even see straight with them on, after just waking up. My corneas always need five minutes more than me. A few seconds later she came through the connecting door, fully dressed. Her ‘face’ was back on and she looked ready for business.

“Good morning, dear,” she said, as she sat on the edge of the bed. “How are we today?”

“Better, I think,” I said, with my tongue glued to my palate. I don’t wake up gracefully and I never have. I’m cramped up, I reek, I’ll have a sore throat from snoring, my nose is blocked and I can’t see properly. It’s a good thing Melody was never there to see that when we were courting. Actually, courting isn’t the right word: technically I was in love with another woman at the time.

“Oh dear, someone needs a cup of tea. I’ll order breakfast.”

“In that case, can I get...” I croaked. She interrupted me.

“I didn’t say I was going to take your breakfast order, Martin. I said: ‘I will order breakfast.’ For the same reason I’m not allowing you anywhere near the breakfast buffet downstairs. Aston Martin doesn’t build heavy goods lorries, you know. I’ve been told your competition is in town and you weigh about the same as the three of them combined, so we’ll have to rein you in.”

I took a few seconds to have a good cough.

“That’s better. Can I have yesterday’s Caroline back, please? She was nicer to me.”

“Now don’t be silly,” she said, pulling back the sheets. I was glad my tackle had managed to stay inside my briefs during the night. “I still love you to bits, dear. But we’re after a twenty-five million pound prize today and having pancakes is not going to get you selected. Have a quick shower while I order your food, won’t you?”

“What’s this about my competition?” I asked, as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and accepted the bath robe she handed me.

“Well, there are three other candidates for the role, and all of them happened to have a sudden interest in the Qatar Touring Car Championship.”

She opened the curtains by pressing a button on the headboard.

“Just like me, then.”

“Yes. I guess tennis prize money doesn’t go as far as it used to. You are up against ... You can get started on your shower, Martin ... You are up against Raphael Noodle, the tennis player, Pepi Enkokki, the Finish Formula One driver and Kunthy South.”

“Who’s that?”

Caroline rolled her yes.

“Your ignorance of popular culture never seizes to amaze me, Martin. He’s a rapper, producer, songwriter and even a fashion designer. He’s got 21 grannies!”

“Really? I thought you can only have two,” I said, as I strolled into the bathroom.

“Two? Why would you think that?”

“One from your dad’s side, one from your mum.”

Caroline followed me in.

“What? Not grannies, GRAMMYS! Grammy Awards!”

“Oh, right. I thought it was a lot of birthdays to keep track of. Never mind the funerals. I’d like to be alone for the next part. Out of earshot, to be precise.”

“I’m quite aware of what is going to happen, you know. I live with a man, now. I’ll order breakfast to my room. See you in ten minutes.”

“What the actual fuck?” I asked, as I sat down at a dining table that could seat six, but which was somehow tucked away in a corner of Caroline’s suite. It turns out I had a smaller suite than Caroline, one where the rich would park their grandmothers or kids.

“Well, if I had any residual doubts regarding your mental acuity, they would be resolved right now. Yesterday’s Martin was too far gone to complain about food. In fact, you missed dinner. That was the clearest indication something was amiss,” said Caroline, gesturing at the chair opposite her.

“This is breakfast?”

“Yes. I always have this. Don’t you like avocado?”

“Yes, in guacamole. What IS this?”

“Well, this is toast from German ‘dinkelbrot’, which is spelt, basically. And then you scoop out an avocado, Hass if you can get them, mash it up, season with some salt and lemon juice and a touch of dill. It’ll keep you going for hours and it’s the healthiest thing you could possibly eat. I’ve been having it almost every day for the past twenty years.”

It was hard to argue with her, considering how good she looked. Presumably this was as close to the actual fountain of youth as mere mortals can get. It is not, however, anywhere near what I consider breakfast.

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This Is Your Carstairs Speaking

Ron Dudderie

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