"Turn this bloody — "

He'd been waiting for it and his bunched fist drove in at groin level and impacted on the thigh as I twisted in time and lost balance and hit the tubular metal along the back of the seats and found him rising against me with both his hands out and reaching for the throat. The deck was tilting badly and we both lurched sideways and the pilot's headset swung clear of its hook and struck my face, blinding me on one side before I could get my balance back and block him as he came in again while thunder broke out as the rotor tips went through the sound barrier and the whole machine started shuddering to the vibration.

Kaleidoscope of images in the glow from the facia lamps — his squat body frantic to get at me as the deck tilted again, tilted and swung down with the blades crackling and the seats shaking on their stanchions, his face suddenly looming as he got close with his hands hooking, catching my jacket and dragging me down across the cyclic column, and now the whole thing went wild as the deck came up and threw us both across the seat squabs with my shoulder crashing past the bulkhead and bouncing me the other way and straight into him, a chance in a thousand and I used a sword-hand and found his neck and did it again and saw him pitch back into the perspex window, did it again with the deck tilting me and lending me extra force till he wasn't there any more but somewhere below me as the cabin began spinning slowly under the rotor and the deck came up and then sank and went on sinking as I tried to find the controls and couldn't manage it because of the angle, tried to get a grip on something, on anything, finally found the cyclic and brought it upwards, twisting the throttle down a degree and feeling the sudden pause as the rotor steadied and the cabin stopped spinning and I slumped into the seat and trimmed the aircraft, locking the column on automatic and turning to see what had happened to the Korean.

He was watching me steadily, and I turned away and settled down in the pilot's seat, checking the compass and bringing the machine in a slow swing towards the north-west and then putting its nose down and going for maximum speed with the tips just this side of the barrier. After a minute the nerves in my spine began crawling, and I turned round and closed his eyelids and then faced forwards again, concentrating on the compass and feeling with one hand for the headset and putting it on.

5051 kHz.

Eagle to Jade One.

Nothing but static when I switched to receive.

Time was 01:17 and we'd lost eight minutes in turning back to the monastery and I doubted, I very much doubted now, that I could get this thing to Kimpo in time to do anything physically about the Cathay Pacific: I'd have to leave it to Ferris now, if I could raise him.

Eagle to Jade One.

Nothing but static.

29: 584

He came in at 02:12.

Jade One to Eagle.

There was still some static, but the lights of Seoul were crowding against the undernose perspex window and the distance was closing in towards zero.

I told him again: Cathay Pacific 584.

It's too late, he said.

Phone the airport, so forth.

His voice faded and came back. I suppose he meant it was too late to get there himself, from the Embassy.

We had six minutes. I tried to think we still had a chance, but we didn't. The security people wouldn't move that fast: they'd want to know what authority he'd got; anyone can ring up an airport and start a panic.

I swung the Mi2 into the approach path, watching the cluster of lights moving into the nose window.

Eagle to Jade One. Do what you can.

Then I checked the map and switched to the approach control channel at 1213 kHz and gave them my call sign. They came back immediately.

HK-9192: You will turn south-west and hold clear of the field.

I throttled back and crab-flew for thirty seconds to see what the situation was on the runways, acknowledging and switching to Landing Control.

HK-9192: You will make an immediate turn and keep clear of the field.

I didn't acknowledge yet.

Things didn't look normal down there. I could see a DC10 moving towards the main runway, but along one of the intermediary paths. Security control lights were flashing in half a dozen places as road vehicles crawled from the terminus towards the marker lights.

I tried the traffic channel and got voices.

… Are ordered to keep their distance. A burst of static as I trimmed the rotor and settled at a hundred feet over the perimeter road, then it cleared again… Repeat, are ordered to keep their distance. This is a hijack situation.

The jet was moving onto the runway and turning right, with the wind, its green-striped tail catching the light as one of the security vehicles closed in and then stopped at the edge of the runway.

Cathay Pacific.

The time was 02:27 and she was behind schedule but then the schedule had been wrecked anyway. I just began speaking, with no call sign.

Is that Flight 584 on the runway?

Landing Control came back. Yes. This is a hijack situation.

Are the passengers on board?

No passengers. Only the crew and the hijackers. Then a break came and a different voice said: This is Security. Who are you? Please give your call sign.

American accent. He said something else, but it wasn't to me: I could see a light aircraft towards the south, with its strobe pricking the dark. Below me the DC10 was turning at the end of the runway, against the windsock. Through the side window I caught a line of flashing light as more security vehicles moved in to the airport from the city.

I kept the Mi2 hovering at a hundred feet between the perimeter road and some hangars and watched the big DC 10 sitting at the end of the runway, facing into wind.

So Ferris had done something. I'd told him ultra priority and he'd known I'd meant it and he must have done the only thing he could have done to get Airport Security onto the KGB party coming through with their hostage: he'd gone direct to NATO's Military Emergency Centre with an alert signal and then told them what he wanted.

But Airport Security had been too late.

It must have been one of the crew the KGB had taken as their hostage. The captain. Or the whole crew, as they'd walked out to the aircraft.

I hit the radio again and got voices.

CP 584 to Tower: do I have clearance for take-off?

There was a wailing noise in the background, covering some of the speech. Sirens somewhere. I kept the machine steady, watching the red flashes moving past the main terminal as three vehicles cruised down past the fire station.

CP to Tower: do I have clearance?

His voice was tight.

Another voice now, coming through the wail of the sirens, Ukrainian accent. You will keep the runway clear. We are taking off.

Jesus Christ, someone said, then the set crackled.

I watched the big jet with its green-striped tail starting to roll as the brakes came off.

You will keep the runway clear. We are taking off.

I counted five emergency vehicles standing along the edge of the runway, none of them beginning to move. I looked up and watched the tower, but couldn't see anything behind the dark green glass. The telephones would be jammed in there, with Traffic Control trying to get authority to stop the Cathay Pacific and Airport Security trying to get an advisory from the Metropolitan Police.

I looked down again and watched the DC 10 gathering speed, the red splashes of light from the emergency vehicles staining its white fuselage.

I do not need to tell you, Tung Kuo-feng had said, what such a volte face would mean: the immediate destruction of the American-Chinese Japanese bloc and a massive Soviet-Chinese threat to the West. The next two actions I shall undertake on behalf of the Soviets will bring this about within a matter of days, unless you can prevent it.