In the Palace of the Khans by Peter Dickinson Page B

swung north-west. This looked as if it was just as well. At this new angle he could see that if they had continued along the previous line it wouldn’t have been long before they’d run into the advancing storm. Even as it was, it seemed to be coming surprisingly fast.
    It was difficult to look away. In the seat across the aisle from the President he could see his father watching it too. The music in the headphones was replaced by the President’s voice asking a question, and one of the pilots answering. The President gave orders and switched to English.
    â€œThere has been a forecasting error. The storm system appears to have changed course. It is now too late to turn back. Our best course is to descend into the comparative shelter of the gorge a little way ahead, where we could travel faster, but at the risk of encountering unpredictable gusts. If we continue as we are we will not reach the landing pad before the full force of the storm is on us. Going by the gorge we have a better chance, and if we fail to make it we should at least be over the lake, where we can ditch in …”
    The rest of the sentence was lost as the helicopter gave a violent lurch and the roar of the rotor rose to a bellow, almost deafening despite the ear-muffs. As it died away he continued.
    â€œWe must prepare for a forced landing. Ambassador, please signal to me whether you both know the emergency posture … Good. Your life jacket is inside your left armrest. There is a small-size one for Nigel. Put them on but do not inflate them. A guard will come round with a waterproof bag for each of you. Put in it anything that might spoil in water, and give it back to the guard with anything that might impede your exit. Keep your seat fully erect and your seatbelt close fastened.
    â€œPlease do not worry about Mrs Ridgwell. She and my daughter are in no greater danger than we are. My guards are an elite squad, the women especially. I will keep you informed of any further developments.”
    By now seriously scared, Nigel found his life-jacket, put it on and laced it firm, then sorted out stuff to give to the guard and tucked it into his back-pack. The helicopter lurched again and put its nose down. Nigel readied himself for the safety drill, but it levelled and fought its way on, though now barely above the tops of the dense-packed trees on either side of the river. A shaft of lightning glared close by, forcing his eyes shut, and all other noises were drowned by the bellow of its thunder. By the time he could see again they were well below the tree-tops.
    He was moving into a crouch, ready for a landing in the river when he realised that it wasn’t that they were still descending but that the trees were now growing from fissured yellow-grey cliffs that rose sheer from the water. The helicopter was bouncing like a 4 x 4 riding rough ground. With his heart pounding and his palms slippery he watched the cliffs stagger past, with the tumbling water spuming along below.
    Leaning forward he could see his father gnawing his knuckles as he stared out at the cliff. That makes two of us, he thought. Then something seemed to seize hold of the helicopter, tilt it to the left and at the same time fling it towards the right hand cliff. He huddled into the emergency posture. The racket of the rotor arms rose to a battering roar. Instinct closed his eyes against the flying splinters of impact.
    It didn’t happen. He forced them open and watched the cliff recede as the tilt of the machine clawed it clear. Lightning blinked and blinked again. He sat back up shuddering with relief. Never in his life had he been this scared. Across the aisle his father leaned out round the back of his chair with a stiff grin on his face and raised a thumb. Nigel signalled back no more convincingly. Time passed, unbelievably slowly, until the President’s voice, as calm as ever, came through the headphones again.
    â€œI have been in touch with the other