Celeste Three Is Missing by Chris Calder
The world’s
first earth-orbit passenger plane, the sensational Celeste Three,
takes off from its base in Arizona, also the only place where it is
designed land. On a routine flight the craft disappears.
On board is
Viktor Karenkov, billionaire oil magnate who has used his wealth to
evade prosecution for a murder he committed years earlier. Gregory
Topozian, the murdered man’s friend, has been waiting for a chance
to bring Karenkov to justice. With dogged determination and
considerable ingenuity, he conceives an audacious plan.
Getting the craft
down in total secrecy is key. And someone has to pay the huge costs
involved.
An extract from the first
chapter. Context:
Dawn, a day in the
1980s, in the remote Soviet Republic of East Gulamistan. Gregory
Topozian, part owner of an oil drilling site has arrived with
Suleiman, the local Chief of Police. The site has been taken over by
Viktor Karenkov, a local gangster. (860
words)
Gregory strode towards the door, with Suleiman following. The
soldiers at each side stepped back to let them through, but the way
they held their Kalashnikovs showed that they meant business. Gregory
Topozian was angry, frightened and confused. Had these thugs really
killed his deputy in cold blood? What sort of animals were they? He
had fought to get the license that gave his company sole mining
rights in the area, gambling everything he had in order to become a
partner in the enterprise. He would be ruined if the license had been
revoked. What was going on?
He bounded up the steps and went through the door, turning slightly
to speak to Suleiman.
“Where are they? In my office?
How many?”
“Yes. There are three. Karenkov, his bodyguard and a soldier.”
Gregory strode down the narrow corridor towards his office at the
rear. The policeman was unable to keep up and he followed, more
slowly.
“Gregor, be careful,” he pleaded.
At the end of the corridor Gregory turned and saw the soldier
standing outside the door to his office. He heard voices from within,
one raised to shouting volume. The soldier levelled his rifle and
stood still, blocking the entrance. Gregory strode forward.
“I am
Topozian, Director,” he said firmly.
The guard raised
his weapon. “Wait.”
“This is my
office,” Gregory hissed, pushing past. “Get out of my way.” He
turned the door handle and burst into the room. The soldier had
stepped back, his face showing his surprise. Suleiman caught up, went
past him and entered behind Topozian.
The man sitting
behind Gregory’s desk was heavily built, with square shoulders. He
had short, cropped blond hair and blue eyes set in a hard face. He
was casually dressed in denim jeans and a heavy leather jacket.
Opposite him sat a large bald man wearing a roll-neck sweater. The
man in the leather jacket was leaning back in the chair, with his
booted feet on the desk and he was speaking, but stopped in
mid-sentence. The man facing him across the desk stood up.
The man in the
chair raised an eyebrow. “You are Topozian?”
“Yes. And
you?”
“Did our
friend the policeman not tell you?” His lips parted in a grin as he
took his feet off the desk. “I am Viktor Karenkov. I work for
Intexplor, I am sure you know them.”
Gregory could
not conceal his anger. “He said you killed my deputy in cold blood.
I will make sure that you pay for that.”
“Cold blood?
Calm yourself, we do not do such things. Your man had a pistol. My
colleague Boris,” he nodded towards the big man, “shot him in
self-defence. Regrettable, but there it is.” He shrugged and looked
at Suleiman. “Is that not so, Superintendent?”
The bodyguard
Boris cut in, nodding vigorously. “I had no choice.”
Suleiman’s
face bore a look of stark fear. He glared at Karenkov, spun his head
to look first at Gregory, then back again to answer Karenkov.
“I…I did not
see the incident,” he mumbled.
“No? My
mistake.” Karenkov grinned. “No matter, everyone else did.”
Gregory was
speechless. He realized instantly that Suleiman’s response was pure
self-defense. Understandable, in the circumstances.
Karenkov sat up,
reached for his briefcase on the desk and continued calmly.
“I have some
papers for you, Mr Topozian.” He flicked open the lid of the case.
Gregory took a step forward and waved a hand angrily. “I am not
interested in your papers. I will be taking up the matter of my
deputy’s killing with the proper authorities, but now I insist that
you get out of my office and leave these premises immediately.”
Karenkov ignored
Topozian’s outburst. He withdrew a large brown envelope from the
briefcase, dropped it on the desk and looked up. The envelope hit the
desk top with a muted thud.
“You want to
contact the proper authorities? Good. In here you will find official
notice from the highest authority, revoking your mining license.
Also a copy,” he inclined his head, “of our license, and
notification of the acquisition by Intexplor of everything on this
site.”
Karenkov glared
at Gregory. The bodyguard had drawn himself up to his full height and
was grinning. Beside Gregory, Suleiman seemed to have shrunk in
stature.
Gregory felt the
blood rise in his cheeks. His nostrils flared. “Our license is
signed by Petrov himself, the Soviet State minister for development
of resources. Only he or someone higher can revoke it.”
Karenkov laughed
and shook his head theatrically. The bodyguard Boris joined in.
Karenkov rubbed his palms together.
“Of course you
must go and see him. You would be welcomed, I assure you.” He
stopped laughing and his expression changed, as suddenly as if turned
off by a switch. He leaned forward, an ugly grin on his face. “Ivan
Petrov was arrested last week. He has been jailed for fraud.”
After ten happy
years of retirement in rural France, Chris Calder is back in England.
He came late to writing novels, penning his first whilst incarcerated
in a French hospital following cancer surgery. At the time he spoke
little French. Unable to communicate effectively with the staff, he
spent his time fleshing out his first novel. Five more have followed;
light thrillers leavened with humour. Best of all, the cancer is now
history.
Chris knows that
readers of fiction expect to be diverted and entertained. He loves
feedback and believes passionately that taking on board readers’
views improves what what he does. You can email him at
chris@chriscalder.com.
Go on, he’d love to hear from you.
Hi Lin, A marvellous review. A huge THANK YOU.
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