Gorilla Republic: Deutschland: Part 7
15 Oct 2024
The two days had crawled by painfully slowly for Banou, but finally, they came to an end. On this late morning, she found herself seated in the plane, the sun hanging lazily over the horizon, casting a hazy orange glow into the cockpit. Mapacha, ever curious, watched Gwafa’s hands as they deftly manipulated the buttons and dials of the plane. He observed with the fascination of a child watching a magician at work, captivated by the idea that one day, he too might pilot a plane. Through the headset, the endless chatter of air traffic controllers and other pilots filled his ears, grounding him in the present moment.
The plane sat idling on the tarmac, its engines humming with restless energy, ready to propel them into the sky. Outside, the wind toyed with the wings, sending gentle streaks of island sand into the air. The Wasps’ engines bleated loudly, eager to take flight, but inside, the only thing they could focus on was the sweat trickling down their faces.
"Eh, Gwafa, with all the money we made on that diamond job, I’m surprised you didn’t buy a fan for this plane," Banou teased as she swabbed the sweat from her forehead.
Gwafa turned to her with a smile and quipped, "Non ma reine (No my queen). A fan would have made the plane heavy with that 'wall safe' you insisted on bringing. And as a frequent flyer, you know it would not have been the best investment."
Mapacha’s gaze was fixed on the runway, though his mind was divided between the chatter in the headphones and the banter between Banou and Gwafa. Finally, their plane was cleared for take-off, and with those magic words, Gwafa eased the throttle forward. The plane rolled off the tarmac, and then surged into the sky, leaving a trail of dust behind. Banou watched as the island shrank below them, the plane banking twice before settling on a north-easterly course toward Tenerife. As they climbed higher, the cabin cooled, and they all began to relax. Banou reached into her train case, pulled out a stack of fashion magazines she had been longing to read, and tuned out the noise of Gwafa and Mapacha’s conversation about aviation and bikes.
As they crossed the open sea, a sense of unease settled over them. Though they would not admit it, the absence of Mzee Tembo, who would have been snoring opposite Banou by now, made the entire adventure feel incomplete.
Five and a half hours later, Gwafa spotted the lights on the horizon, guiding them toward Arrecife. He began his descent, and Banou, still immersed in her magazine, flipped through the pages with methodical precision, her eyes and mind working in tandem to remember what was important. Half an hour later, they touched down on the brightly lit tarmac of Lanzarote, the plane’s tyres squealing as they made contact with the ground, guided by Gwafa’s skilled hands. The Wasps thundered as the plane slowed to a stop, and as air control directed them to their designated spot, Gwafa turned right on the apron and parked the plane. A few minutes later, the engines fell silent, and they heard the soft thumps of the ground crew securing the plane. Certain they were clear, Gwafa opened the service door and scrambled out, followed by Mapacha and Banou. They all stretched as Gwafa headed toward the terminal.
He returned a few minutes later in a yellow Fiat 643N hydrant, manned by two wiry Spaniards. They jumped out, set up a ladder next to the left wing, climbed up, undid the cover, and began pumping fuel. Mapacha wandered off to the terminal, returning a few minutes later looking refreshed.
"Hey, mon frère (my brother), watch the plane while I go to the terminal?" Gwafa asked.
He then turned to Banou.
"You coming?"
Banou followed him towards the terminal, and after their bathroom break, they stood at the door to the apron, each with a cigarette in hand. Gwafa, though in good spirits, had been unusually contemplative. Finally, he voiced what had been on his mind.
"You know, Banou, you do not have to do this job."
"I know," she replied. "But it is something I need to do just to get it out of the way."
"Is this you finally embracing a life of crime, or is it because you are drawn to Makhlouf?"
She blushed briefly before her anger flared.
"You have been talking to Mapacha, have you not?"
He chuckled.
"No. But you were different around him."
"You knew I liked him?"
"Yeah, we all knew. I’m not sure about Tembo—he was so focused on the job that he might have missed it."
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she pushed it aside.
"I think I enjoy this life of crime. It’s exciting. Flying to Morocco to land on a secret base in the cover of night, doing dangerous missions."
"Secret base?" Gwafa laughed. "We are either landing on a highway or a dusty track. And yes, it is exciting, but it is also high risk, high reward, and high consequences. You get that, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, as long as I am not bored. I am not cut out to be some housewife with kids clinging onto my tits. Ugh!"
She made him chortle.
"You are looking at my tits, aren’t you?"
"You think too highly of yourself sometimes," he teased back, taking another drag from his cigarette.
After a pause, Gwafa asked, "How’s your business? You are the talk of the island, Banou—Madam Banou, the trendsetter."
Banou giggled.
"Business is good. I can’t complain. You should bring Bina to pick some things for herself."
She noticed the discomfort in his eyes at the mention of Bina’s name.
"So, Bina...?" she began, but he cut her off.
"Bina is just a good friend. There is no story there."
The roar of three Pratt & Whitney engines on an Iberian 727 caused the glass to shiver for a moment.
"Nonsense, Gwafa. Why was she jealous?"
"She was not jealous, just territorial."
Banou snorted.
"She’s French," Gwafa added, trying to explain.
"So you are saying she is territorial?"
They both burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation hitting them. Banou choked on her cigarette smoke and coughed.
"Well, Banou, it is stereotypical, but yes, some French girls can be territorial."
"So, are you going to marry her then?" she teased.
Gwafa sidestepped the question.
"No. And why does Bina concern you so much? Are you jealous?"
Banou gave him a dry side-eye.
"No, I am not jealous. I am just curious."
They ground out their cigarette butts in the ashtray and stood in silence for a moment, enjoying the calm.
"Let’s head back before Mapacha gets fed up and takes off without us," Gwafa said, holding the door open for her. They walked back to the plane, each lost in thought.
Mapacha was standing next to the plane, holding the fuel chit. Gwafa took it and quickly walked back to the terminal, returning a few minutes later. They boarded the plane, and soon, the Wasps and radio chatter were the only sounds filling the cabin.
It was a long haul. Banou fought to stay awake, but eventually, the steady hum of the engines lulled her to sleep. Gwafa, equally tired, relied on the autopilot, knowing he still had to make it to Oran. Around a quarter past three, the plane crossed land near Asilah. Twenty minutes later, Gwafa dropped altitude over Had Al Gharbia, flying close to the ground. He killed the transponder and aviation lights, then pushed the Skytrain upwards again, confident they were now flying under the radar. Makhlouf had mapped out a clever route, and Gwafa followed it, their eyes scanning the darkness for Mount Ghorgihiz. As they approached, he dropped altitude again, beginning a series of tight right-hand turns every few minutes, searching for the signal they were expecting. Banou woke as the engines’ tone shifted.
"Hey, what is going on?" she asked, groggily.
Gwafa glanced back at her.
"Banou, are you sure about what Makhlouf told you?"
She looked out into the night, uncertain.
"Yes, I am sure. I wrote it down as he explained. Are we there yet?"
"We are, but I am not sure if they are here. I will make a few more passes, but if we do not see anything, we are heading to Oran. We are already low on fuel."
They strained to see through the darkness, but nothing appeared. Gwafa lowered the plane once more. Banou sat in the back, biting back a string of curses directed at Makhlouf. Had he given her the wrong instructions? Had she written them down wrong?
"Gwafa, are we early or late?"
"We’re—"
He was cut off by a double flash of lights in the distance. A second flash followed. He blinked the wing lights twice in response, and the double flash returned. That was the signal.
"There, you see it?" Gwafa asked Mapacha.
"Yeah, that is them. Where are we landing?"
"No idea, but it is here or Oran, so let’s go."
Gwafa lowered the landing gear and blinked the aviation lights on and off. As they made their final approach, two rows of lights appeared ahead. Gwafa scanned the area, but all he could see was a dusty track.
"Brace yourselves. I’m not sure what we are in for," he warned.
Banou’s heart raced as she realized they were in for a rough landing. Her training as an air hostess seemed distant and irrelevant now. All she could do was ensure she was strapped in tightly.
Mapacha watched as Gwafa fused with the controls, his calm focused demeanour guiding the plane toward the lights. The ground rushed up to meet them faster than expected. Banou gripped her harness and closed her eyes. The wind kicked up, and the plane bounced violently. Gwafa finally spotted the ground—a carefully levelled grassy strip that looked almost like a golf course fairway.
"Merde!" he cursed as he eased the plane down.
To his surprise, the plane bounced gently twice before settling. The Wasps roared as Gwafa prayed the runway was long enough to stop. His other fear was that only part of the runway would be usable. Eventually, with enough effort, the plane came to a stop. The lights behind them were extinguished, and Gwafa shut down the aviation lights, leaving only the Wasps idling. Figures cloaked in shadow approached the plane. Gwafa made his way to the back, passing a visibly shaken Banou, and opened the cabin door. The propeller wash hit him immediately. As he stepped out, he saw more figures surrounding the plane, the glint of metal revealing their weapons.
One of the hooded figures cautiously approached him and spoke.
"Hé Algérien, tu peux l'éteindre maintenant. (Hey Algerian, you can switch it off now.)"
The voice was unmistakable. Makhlouf.
"Ça va?" Gwafa greeted him as he turned back to shut down the engines.
"Je vais bien, merci," Makhlouf replied.
Makhlouf waited as the Wasps finally went silent. To his surprise, two wide eyes appeared from the cabin—Mapacha. Makhlouf took a deep breath, anticipation hanging in the cool night air. An owl hooted in the distance, adding to the eerie calm of the mountains. Banou followed Mapacha out, her excitement barely contained as she rushed to Makhlouf.
"Hi, Makhlouf."
"Hallo, Island Girl. Welcome to Tetouan!" he greeted her.
As they exchanged pleasantries, lighting cigarettes, a dark Bedford TK rumbled up to the plane, a tanker attached to its back. Two hooded figures scrambled out, setting up a ladder next to the wing. Gwafa quickly dropped his cigarette and approached them, ensuring he understood what was happening to his plane.
Makhlouf turned to Banou, who stood shyly nearby.
"Luggage?"
Mapacha, eager to contribute, quickly retrieved the bags from the storage compartment—his gunny bag, Banou’s train case, and a small suitcase. Two other figures grabbed the luggage and whisked it away to a shadowy car, where it was stowed in the boot.
Makhlouf beamed, satisfied with the efficiency of his operation.
"You see, I told you we would succeed."
Banou, still a bit dazed, nodded. "Ermm, yeah."
Mapacha was equally impressed, especially when he realized the hooded figures were all women. Their eyes were steely, their movements coordinated and competent. They worked in near silence, the only sounds being the muted hum of the Bedford and the wind howling through the mountains. The 30 minutes it took to refuel the plane passed quickly. One of the women gave Gwafa a thumbs-up to signal they were done. Gwafa returned to the group.
"OK, time for me to go. Let me know when you are ready to be picked up."
"OK," Mapacha agreed.
"Thanks, Capitaine," Makhlouf said. "Now listen carefully. Fly north until you reach the sea. Then turn right and head toward Oran. No one will bother you in these parts. When you return for them, approach from Oran, not the way you came. Understand?"
Gwafa nodded.
"Got it."
The women connected a long cable from the Bedford to the plane as Gwafa climbed back in and locked the door. A few minutes later, the Wasps were up and running again. The women cleared their equipment, and Gwafa turned the plane around. Once ready, he switched on the lights, which were echoed by the strip lights illuminating ahead. He raced down the strip, taking off into the night. As he climbed, the lights below were snuffed out in tandem with his own.
On the ground, the Bedford quickly ascended the hill and disappeared into the night. The remaining women dragged brush over the strip to obscure it, pulling out the lights and storing them in a hidden van. Makhlouf led Mapacha and Banou to the black Mercedes where their luggage had been stowed. They watched as the women jumped into the van, following the same path as the Bedford. Then, they entered the car, and with the engine quietly humming, they followed suit, melting into the darkness.