The Polish Program (LSD, #2)

19. Black Magic Woman

Black Magic Woman

I wanted this. I wanted this so much. I wanted to be a spy, ever since my grandpa read me the stories of James Bond, Jason Bourne and John le Carré, stories about dangerous daggers and stolen secrets, about bright, shiny limos, glamorous nightgowns and poisonous cobras. I wanted a watch that turns into a lifeboat, to escape from the submarine after putting a time bomb in it. Jumping out of planes fits perfectly in that precious collection of fascinating activities that gives colour and taste to the life of a spy. So why do I have this breathtaking feeling? I'm falling towards the end of the fascinating spy life I've always dreamed of.

Jumping out of planes is exciting when others do it, especially when those others only exist in books of fiction. When you do it yourself, it's a sensation of extreme cold, panic-like fear, mixed with a chaotic search for that stupid thing you have to pull to open the parachute. I'm not the only one having that problem: below me, far below me, Scarlett goes down like a meteor, head forward, legs together, arms close to her body.

"Scarlett! Pull the rope!"

It's useless. I can't even hear my own voice. And I can't see her anymore either, because I lose my fragile balance and turn upside down like a yo-yo. The positive part of my unexpected movement is that the orange rope to open the parachute passes before my eyes. In a reflex, I grab it and pull as hard as I can. It works. The backpack opens, the chute unfolds, and a sudden blow on my back and shoulders indicates that my free fall has changed in a much more relaxing voyage. I concentrate on my breath, try to calm down, find the two rings that make it possible to steer, and carefully try out how they work. I never had any training or instructions. For learning how to fall, experience is a terrible teacher. Slowly, I'm getting my thoughts organized, able to think about other priorities again...

Scarlett!

I look down and see that she's still falling, but no longer like a meteor, more like a professional skydiver, arms and legs out and body in balance against the fierce cold wind. Pull the rope, Scarlett. Pull the rope.

As if she heard my thoughts, her right arm moves. Finally, the parachute unfolds above her. While I try to control my own problems, Scarlett goes down in circles around the boat she aimed at, like she follows the halo of flies that marks the landing spot. With a sigh of relief, I see how she makes a perfect landing on the front deck of the boat. Well done, Scarlett. I hope I can do it just as you showed me.

I can't.

There's not a lot of wind, but enough to make my approach to landing a lot faster than I hoped. Also, my parachute opened earlier, so the wind has more time to blow me away from my favourite landing spot. I pull both steering rings to lower my speed, but that causes an unexpected move to the left and hardly any time to correct it. I'm going to miss the boat. I see circles in the water. The sharks are waiting for their lunch... I pull both rings to the max, something I saw others do once on TV, with an ultimate attempt to avoid breaking legs when making the fall, and... I don't fall at all. The parachute becomes close friends with the small iron mast on the top of the cabin, and both want me to hang out with them. My feet hit the water next to the boat, but with a catlike reaction, I grab the ropes of the parachute and climb on board.

Where's Scarlett? She's already inside. I hear her voice. She's talking to someone in the cabin. I pat my overall. Nothing. Where's my gun? Did I leave it in Pension Chopin this morning? All I find in my pockets is a heavy metal fountain pen. I take the cap off. The pen is sharp as a knife. It will not be much of a weapon, but it's better than nothing.

When I enter the cabin, I find my Makarov: it's in Scarlett's right hand, pointing at a pale, blond man on the other side of the kitchen, making the man listen with attention to what Scarlett tells him: "I'm going to kill you, but first, I'm going to torture you; I'm going to hurt you so much that people on the other side of the border will hear you scream. Then, after three or four weeks of nightmare, I'm going to drug you..."