The brute Russian voice returned.
“Ukrainian BROTHERS from other mothers… please begin descent immediately. You will not be harmed.”
“Ukrainian BROTHERS from other mothers… please begin descent immediately. You will not be harmed.”
“Ukrainian BROTHERS from other mothers… please begin descent immediately. You will not be harmed.”
“Ok man. Ok. Don’t shoot us or anything. We comply,” said Andriy to his apparently Russian brothers.
“Good, just turn off your transponders and other tracking shit. Maintain radio silence and head to Anadyr Airport to the north.”
“Yes brother.”
“And now we are going to admire your sweet ass. Hustle.”
“Copy that.”
“Remember, no funny stuff.”
ICN — Incheon Airport, Seoul
“Yo man, something just happened….” said Ahn the Air Traffic Controller.
“What?” asked Yu, who was trying to thread a Korean Air A320 between the bosoms of two Asiana A380s.
“It’s the Ukrainian Mriya, the one from HRB to MEX. An alarm just went off. It suddenly lost a bunch of feet. But then a minute later everything seems to be fine.”
“No biggie dude. Magnetic fields go crazy in the arctic. I never trust them. I am a visual guy… come on baby 300 more meters to your left… good girl.”
Ahn wasn’t convinced.
“I tried calling the crew. No response. Been five minutes.”
“Maybe they are on autopilot. Or drunk. It’s a long way to Mexico City.”
“I don’t know man…”
“Well, let me take a look… hmm… they are sticking to their flight plan. All way points are intact. Yep, like I said, magnetic fields are weird up there.”
As Ahn and Yu returned their focus to the Seoul airspace, someone screamed, “Bloody punk.” It was one of the Asiana A380 pilots. A Korean Air A320 had almost side swiped him.
“It’s that Yu guy on the tower… the bozo thinks he is John Cusack from Pushing Tins,” offered the Korean Air A320.
“Yo the one with the cleft asshole. No,” responded Yu.
“Someone has a cleft asshole in that movie? Well I missed that part. Hahaha.”
“No.”
“No what?” another Asiana A380 pilot interjected.
“Neither cleft assholes nor John Cusack. I base my life on Billy Bob Thornton.”
“Yeah… you should probably base it on Cate Blanchett. Pussy,” joined the second A380.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you clowns get down here and we will do an old fashioned throw down… ready?”
“Yep see you in ten moron,” said the A320.
“Oops… oh no… a couple of UALs are coming in fast… They are running on fumes… head winds can be bitches… But don’t worry I will be waiting for you baboons.”
“Oh no. No nono. Don’t jerk us around man. I got to go home to the family. Rush hour starts in forty minutes….,” feinted the A380 pilot, before plunging the dagger “…oh wait… I just realized… I haven’t had sex with the same stewardess in seven days… hahaha…”
“But I did…” retorted Yu.
“You did what Yu…”
“Your wife… bitch.”
Ahn decided to back up his bro. “Asiana 143 increase altitude to 10,500 ft. Asiana 396 increase altitude to 10,000 ft., UAL 587 you are on… Mriya AN-225 do you copy…. Mriya AN-225 do you copy….”
“Nooo… me so sad…” cried Asiana 143.
“Me too… me so solly…,” joined in Asiana 396.
Ten minutes later, the Mriya responded, “Seoul this is Mriya AN-225. Seoul this is Mriya. Do you copy?”
“Jesus. Mriya are you guys alright?”
“Oh just a thunder strike. Knocked out our transponder for a few minutes.”
“Good. Great. You still on to MEX?”
“Absolutely.”
“Alright mate. We are handing you over to Bob in Anchorage. He should come on in about twenty minutes. Fly safe.”
“Spasibo.”
Chukotka, Palin’s Russia
“Spasibo,” said Andriy as the line to Seoul disconnected.
Primakov gave a thumbs up as Viktor Volokov, Primakov’s premier henchman nodded and removed the gun from Andriy’s temple.
Chapter 20
Mehico City, Mehico
At 1,800 feet and 160 Knots, the AN-225 Mriya lined up for its final approach to Santa Lucia air force base in Mexico City.
A group of dignitaries including ministers, Chinese diplomats and cartel bosses were gathered to witness this epic moment in Mexican history. Every country in North America stood out in its own awesome way. Panama had the canal. The US had the nukes. Canada had Ryan Reynolds. Belize had that sick sinkhole. And now, Mehico was getting a sweet high speed train.
Finance Minister Alejandro Vargas and the Chinese Trade Secretary Tsai Huateng sat at the podium admiring the descending aircraft. The rest of the dignitaries, the majority of whom belonged to the Zeta Zones cartel, stood by the tarmac sipping Coronas and Champagne. The air force personnel provided the much needed security from pigeons and laymen.
The AN-225 was losing altitude steadily. Two minutes before touchdown, the Japanese made generator revved up and began churning out 400KVA of unadulterated power. Sensing the pulsating voltage, the Shinkansen’s auto pilot pushed the throttle all the way up. The wheels of the train began to spin… slow then fast and then faster. Thirty seconds later the rotating wheels had hit a land speed of 500Km/hr, way over the Shinkansen’s rated top speed of 415Km/hr.
But… incredibly, the train hadn’t moved an inch relative to the aircraft. The Shinkansen’s autopilot, a computer named Shanky, or at least certain sections of Shanky, firmly believed the train was rushing ahead. The proponents of this theory were the simple headed analog parts that measured the wheel’s angular speed.
But the suave, sophisticated and highbrow parts of Shanky gathered inputs from radars and proximity sensors. These suggested that they weren’t moving at all.
A third input from a GPS sensor said they were moving at 300Km/hr aka 160 Knots.
Three systems — three measurements — Shanky faced quite a conundrum.
During this conundrum a small and kooky part of Shanky came up with another bizarre hypothesis.
Someone asshole had put a giant treadmill under the train.
The big Antonov… the Mriya II, listed and swayed.
“Boy she is big… tail winds eh?” said Vargas the Mehican Minister.
“No biggie. Happens all the time in China,” asserted the Chinese Trade guy. Tail winds, ass winds, whatever… China was all in on this Mehican deal.
The Antonov crossed the airport’s fence with its nose slightly ajar of the runway. The hundred or so dignitaries were enraptured by its size.
“Jesus. She is big,” said one of the Zeta Zones dudes.
“Maybe we should buy this damn thing instead of a train… fuck man we got screwed here,” responded another.
“It’s not too late. We will shove out the Chinese and deal with the Ukrainians instead.”
By now the Antonov was only a couple of hundred yards away.
Chukotka, Palin’s Russia
“Hit the rudder,” barked Primakov.
“Hitting the rudder.”
The Antonov, AN-225 turned slightly to the right.
Primakov was breathless. Everything would be over in five seconds.
“Unlatch nosecone,” cried Primakov.
Korlov clicked something, “Nose cone unlatched.”
5 sec
4 sec
Primakov held his breath.
Inside a hangar at the Anadyr Airport, a bunch of heavy vehicles were buzz sawing something huge… something white with Ukrainian markings.