Philip Godsent's Peugeot emerged near the entrance to Murtala Mohammed airport. Three hundred yards down the access road a hanger loomed in the daylight. He pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car. An oval - faced man in a blue flight suit emerged from behind the building.
"Philip Godsent?" he called.
The man's voice was friendly. He had an accent, Philip could not place.
"That's me," Philip said, locking his car.
"Perfect timing," the man said. "I've just landed. follow me, please."
"Who are you? And how do you know my name?" Philip asked feeling tensed.
"Oh sorry Mr. Philip, I forgot to make a small introduction. I am a pilot sent by the U.S president to get you. Some information of you were extracted from the Web. Let's go Mr. Philip."
As they circled the building, Philip felt a little more tensed than before. He was not accustomed to personal meetings and secret rendezvous with strangers. Not knowing what to expect, he had donned his usual attire _ a pair of navy slack, a polo shirt and a leather jacket. As they walked, he thought of what task the president had for him.
The pilot seemed to sense Philip's anxiety. "Flying is not a problem for you or is it, sir?"
"Not at all," Philip replied. Personal meetings are a problem for me. Flying I can handle, Philip muttered to himself.
The man led Philip to the length of the hangar. They rounded the corner onto the runaway.
Philip stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the craft parked on the tarmac. "Are we riding in that?"
The pilot grinned. "Do you like it?"
Philip stared for a long moment. "Do I like it? What is that?"
The craft before him was enormous. It was vaguely reminiscent of the space shuttle except that the top had been shaved off, leaving it perfectly parked there on the runway, it resembled a colossal wedge. Philip's first impression was that he must be dreaming. The vehicle looked as a airworthy as a Buick.
The wings were practically non-existent, just two stubby fins on the rear of the fuselage. A pair of dorsal guiders rose out of the aft section. The rest of the plane was hull - about 200 feet from front to back - no windows, nothing but hull.
"A mission impossible," Philip thought.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand kilo's fully fueled," the pilot offered, like a father bragging about his newborn. "Runs on slush hydrogen. The Shell's a Titanic matrix with silicon carbide fibers. She packs a 20:1 thrust/ weight ratio; most jets run at 7:1. The president must be in one helluva a hurry to see you. He doesn't usually send the big boy."
"Does this thing fly?" Philip asked.
The pilot smiled. "Oh yeah." He led Philip across the tarmac toward the plane.
"Looks kind of startling, I know but you better get used to it. In five years all you will see are these babies. High Speed Civil Transports.
In five years time indeed, Philip thought.
"This one's a prototype of the Boeing x-33, the pilot continued. "You can kiss the conventional jets goodbye."
Philip looked up warily at the craft. "I would very much prefer a conventional jet."
The pilot motioned up the gang plank. "This way please, Mr. Philip make sure to watch your step....wait a minute, where's your companion?"
"Companion? What companion are you talking about? I am not married," Philip asked feeling confused.
"I did not mean it in that manner, I meant your partner. You guys are supposed to be two," the pilot said.
"Hmm, I haven't been introduced to any partner yet."
"I think I...."
"Excuse me, sorry I am late," a young lady interrupted while coming out of her Ford.
Wow, a lady, Philip thought. He nodded his head, as though he just realized that today was going to be filled with surprises.
The young lady wore a navy coloured trouser and a black turtle neck. She looked nothing like the scientist he had expected. The girl in front of him was tall, she was dark skinned, with an afro hairstyle that looked brown in the sun. Her face gave her nationality away, anyone could tell that she was Igbo - not overly beautiful but possessing full, earthly features that even at twenty yard seemed to exude a raw sensuality.
"My co-partner is a woman?" Philip blurted out.
"Women are good scientists and hard working people," the pilot said, sensing Philip's restlessness.
Philip watched the lady approach them. She moved towards them with command and fire.
"Good day," she greeted as she approached. "Thank goodness I met with you people on time".
Thank goodness, on time indeed, Philip mocked in his thought, if only she knew she was an hour late.
" I hope I did not miss out on anything?" She asked.
The pilot nodded his in gesture to her question.
"My name is Catherine Wilson by the way. You must be the scientific purists, I assume?" She asked rhetorically, holding out a slender hand for a handshake.
Philip took her hand in his, "Philip Godsent," he replied, unsure of what else to say.
"I am a theo - physicist," Catherine said. She turned to the American pilot, "the pilot I suppose?"
"Yeah," the pilot said.
"Let's get the jet. The president must be waiting for us."
Minutes later, Philip and Catherine were inside the empty cabin. The pilot buckled them into the front row and disappeared toward the front of the aircraft.
The cabin itself looked surprisingly like a wide body commercial airliner. The only exception was that it had no windows, which made Philip uneasy. He had been haunted his whole life by a mild case of claustrophobia - the vestige of a childhood incident he had never quite overcome.
Philip's aversion to closed spaces was by no means debilitating but it had always frustrated him. It manifested itself in subtle ways.
The engines roared to life beneath him sending a deep shudder through hull. Philip swallowed hard and waited, he felt it when the plane started taxiing.
A phone on the wall beeped twice. Catherine answered the call.
"Hello?"
"I hope Mr. Philip and Ms. Catherine are both comfortable?"
"Not at all," Philip nearly screamed, the fear could be clearly heard in his voice.
"Sorry, just relax. We will be in the United States very soon."
The plane jotted across some turbulence and Philip felt a surge of danger. The windowless cabin felt cramped again and he tried to imagine himself in an open field. The notion he realized, was ironic. He had been in an open field when it had happened. Crushing darkness, he struggled to remove the memories from his mind.