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Thepilot,Jacques, was one he had worked with several times.Theyhad established a shorthand between them long ago:Gabrielwould ask for what he wanted—a steep bank, tight orbits over a particular landmark—andJacqueswould manoeuvre the helicopter in the safest way possible to deliver it.Gabrielwould never questionJacques’ choices.Safetywas paramount.Norisks.
They’dgone over the map and discussed whatGabrielwanted to achieve on this expedition.Allhe needed to do now was get the shots.
JesswatchedPariswhoosh by through the taxi window, her foot tapping on the floor.Allshe could think about were stories she had heard in the news of helicopters crashing, and it didn’thelp whenGabrielasked her: ‘Doyou have any experience with increasedG-force?’
‘No,’ she said with saucer eyes.
Hemade a dismissive motion with his hand. ‘Don’tworry.It’llonly be three to fourGs, max.You’llbe fine.’
Butshe did worry.Sheworried about a lot of things, including not seeming grateful despite the fact she was doubting her own sanity right now. ‘Ijust wanted to say thank you, by the way.Itwas really kind of you to invite me along.’EvenifImight be driving towards my death, she added.
Gabrielshrugged and grumbled, ‘Ididn’t do it to be kind.Idid it…because you seemed like you needed help.AndIwas in a position to help you.That’sall.’
Well, in her book, that was being kind, even if he didn’t want to call it that for some reason. ‘Thankyou anyway.’Sheneeded to keep talking, to take her mind off the fact that she was about to get in a helicopter and experienceGswith a strange man. ‘So,Gabriel, tell me: are youFrenchorAmerican?Orboth?’
‘I’mFrench, butIspent my teen years inNewJersey.Myfather worked for a pharmaceutical company, and he was transferred to theirUSHQwhenIwas twelve.’
Jesshad spent her whole life in the countryside aroundBristolin the same house since birth, even studying at the university there.MovingtoLondonafter graduating had been a huge leap for her. ‘Wow, that must have been an experience.’
‘Itwas.AlthoughIhad to survive almost ten years of being calledGabe.’Hemade a sour face, and she laughed, partly out of surprise that he could be funny.Thecorners of his mouth flickered upwards—so quick, she almost missed it.
Jessdecided it would be her goal to make him laugh before the day was out. ‘Wasit strange when you returned toFrance?’
‘Abit.Icame back after studying photojournalism inDC.ButthenIstarted working almost straight away, soIwas on the move a lot.’
‘Workingas…?’
Hewas quiet for a beat. ‘Awar photographer.’
‘Oh.’Hereyes shot to his scar.
Heturned towards the window. ‘We’rehere.’
Herhead whipped forward, and she saw they were pulling into the heliport.Thetaxi stopped outside a hangar with corrugated metal walls and a white cathedral roof.Infront of it sat a gleaming blue helicopter sparkling in the sun.Shegulped hard.
Gabrielretrieved his camera bag from the boot and helped her out of the car.Shecouldn’t take her eyes off the helicopter.Somethingabout it wasn’t quite right…
‘Whyaren’t there any doors?GABRIEL?’Shegrabbed his arm. ‘Whereare the doors?!’
‘HowwouldItake pictures if there were doors?’ he said as though she were being unreasonable.Shecouldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses, but from the tone in his voice, she imagined they were shining with quiet amusement.
Herheart knocked in her chest.
Notingher distress, he said, ‘Don’tworry.Itreally is safe.I’vedone at least fifty of these trips all over the world.’
Shedistrusted when people used the fact that they’d done a dangerous act loads of times to infer that it was perfectly safe.Hadhe never heard ofaccidents?
‘Youcan still pull out,’ he said gently.Heslipped his sunglasses down his nose and dipped down a little so that he caught her eye.
Theidea tempted her.Itdidn’t matter if she chose not to go up.Nobodywould lose any money.Thetrip would still go ahead.Butshe would know that she’d had a choice between adventure and cowardice, and she’d chosen the wrong one.
‘No,Iwant to come with you.’
‘Great.Good.’Amoment passed. ‘Um, do you mind releasing my arm?’ he said.
Jesslooked down and realised she still had his forearm in a vise.Sheunclasped and watched as he jiggled it to encourage blood flow. ‘Sorry.’
Heshook his head and led the way towards the hulking blue machine.Thepilot was examining the helicopter, marking off items on a laminated pre-flight checklist.ThatassuagedJess’sfears a little; at least the pilot seemed responsible.Hisappearance further heartened her: reassuringly middle-aged with the beer belly to prove it.Thecalm, systematic way he inspected his helicopter reminded her of how her dad checked her bike every time before she was allowed to ride it.Tires—pumped.Chain—greased.Bolts—tightened.
