to disconnect the fuel tanks. In a panic, I realized that if it were Alex Rory, we would be lost. We would have no choice but to skydive. Right now we would be thrown into the night over the Atlas Mountains. Burners roared overhead, illuminating everything with an orange light.

Have you ever skydived before? I called out to Alex.

“Never,” he replied.

“This is your haulage,” I said, guiding his hand.

"It's already 7,000 feet and the altitude is dropping," Per called out. - Now 6600.

Through the exit hatch, Alex climbed onto the roof of the gondola. It was hard to understand how fast we were falling. Ears stuffed up. If the locks are frozen and Alex can't detach the fuel tanks, he'll have to jump. There were only a few minutes left. I посмотрел на люк и мысленно повторил, что предстояло сделать: одна рука - на кольцо, шаг из кабины и прыжок в темноту. The hand instinctively touched the parachute. I взглянул на Пера, чтобы убедиться, что его парашют на месте. Per watched the altimeter. The readings dropped quickly. WITHейчас 6000 футов, и темно, нет, 5500. If Алекс пробудет наверху еще минуту, будет 3500. I стоял, высунув голову из люка, стравливая страховочную стропу и наблюдая за Алексом, который был на крыше. It was very dark below us and terribly cold. The earth is not visible. The phone and fax rang incessantly. Ground flight control must have been wondering what the hell we were doing there.

“There is one,” Alex called through the hatch.

- 3700. - said Per.

“Another one,” Alex said.

- 3400 feet.

- Another one.

- 2900 feet.

- 2400…

It was too late to skydive. By the time it was possible to jump, we would have been smashed to pieces, crashing into the mountains.

"Get back," Per called out. - Immediately!

Alex climbed through the hatch.

We buckled up. Per pulled the lever to disconnect the fuel tank. If it doesn't, we'll be dead in about a minute. The tank disengaged and the balloon jerked sharply. It felt like an elevator pushing off the ground. We were flattened in our seats, my head pressed into my shoulders. Then the balloon began to rise. We kept our eyes on the altimeter: 2600, 2700, 2800 feet. Saved. Ten minutes later we had passed 3,000 feet and the balloon was rising again into the night sky.

I опустился на пол рядом с Алексом и обнял его.

“Thank God you are with us,” I said. “We would have died without you.

They say that in the last moments before death, a person looks through his whole life. This didn't happen to me. As we raced like fireballs towards the Atlas Mountains and I thought death was near, the only thing on my mind was the thought that if I survived, I would never fly in a balloon again. When we got to a safe height, Alex told a story about a rich man who intended to swim across the English Channel. He went out to the beach, set up his sun lounger and a table on which lay sandwiches with cucumbers and strawberries, and then announced that his man would now swim across the English Channel instead of him. At the time, it wasn't such a bad idea.

All that first night we fought to keep control of the balloon. At some point, he began to constantly gain altitude for no apparent reason. Finally we realized that one of the remaining fuel tanks was leaking and we were unwittingly throwing fuel away. At dawn we made the necessary preparations for landing. Beneath us was the Algiers Desert, an inhospitable place at the best of times, and now, in the midst of civil war, even more so.

The desert was not the yellow sandy expanse with soft dunes that we imagine from the movie Lawrence of Arabia. The bare ground was red and rocky, as barren as the surface of Mars; the rocks to the right looked like giant termite mounds. Alex and I sat on the roof of the gondola, admiring the rays of the rising sun that flooded the entire desert. We were aware that this was a day that might not come for us. The rising sun and the day filled with warmth seemed to us infinitely precious. Watching the shadow of the ball gliding over the desert surface, it was hard to believe that this was the same ingenious human invention that had fallen like a dead weight on the Atlas Mountains last night.

The remaining fuel tanks caught Per's attention, and Alex went over the details of the landing with him. As soon as we approached the ground, Alex called out:

- Power lines ahead!

Per shouted back that we were in the middle of the Sahara, and here, by definition, there can be no power lines.

You must be seeing a mirage. he concluded.

Alex insisted that it was perfectly clear to him that we had managed to find the only power line in the entire Sahara.

Despite the vast barren desert around us, within minutes of our landing, signs of life began to appear. A group of Berbers materialized from the rocks. At first they kept their distance. We were about to offer them some water and the rest of the supplies when we heard the chirping rumble of military helicopters. They must have tracked us down with radar. The Berbers disappeared as quickly as they appeared. Two helicopters landed close to us, whirring into the air. Soon we were surrounded by imperturbable soldiers who were armed with machine guns, not really knowing where to point them.

“God,” I said encouragingly.

They stood motionless for a minute, but curiosity nevertheless got the better of them, and they came closer. We took their officer around the gondola and he admired the remaining fuel tanks.

Standing aside from the gondola, I wondered: what do these Algerian soldiers think of her? Looking back quickly, I read the answer in their eyes. The remaining fuel tanks were painted the same vibrant red and yellow as the big cans of Virgin Cola and Virgin Energy. Among the many slogans displayed on the outer wall of the gondola were those representing Virgin Atlantic, virgin direct, virgin territory and virgin cola. We were probably lucky that the pious Muslim soldiers couldn't read the dictum painted on the top of the Virgin Energy can: "Despite rumors, there is absolutely no evidence that virgin energy drink increases sexual desire."

* * *

Looking at the gondola on the red sand, I relived the heartbreaking fall into the Atlas Mountains and reiterated my vow that I would never try again. But in complete contradiction to the oath, somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that as soon as I arrived home and talked to other aeronauts who were trying to circle the globe, I would agree to make one last attempt. It was a challenge that went deep into my blood and flesh so that I could give up[3].

The two questions I get asked the most are: Why do I take risks? life by going on balloon trips? What are the prospects for companies under the common name Virgin Group? The sight of the Virgin gondola sitting in the middle of the Algerian desert somehow helped me answer these big questions.

I знал, что сделаю еще одну попытку полета на аэростате, потому что это был один из немногих оставшихся великих вызовов. As soon as the fears of each flight were smoothed out in my memory, I again and again felt confident that we were able to learn from it, and the next flight would be safe.

The more complex question of what will happen to the virgin group is impossible to answer. Instead of jumping into scientific discussions on this subject, which is not my nature, I wrote this book to tell how we built virgin. If you read between the lines carefully, I hope you can understand our current position on the Virgin Group and anticipate my next steps. Some people say that my vision for Virgin is against the rules and too fluid; others that Virgin is founded to become one of the leading brands of the next century; still others do not leave stone unturned from the company, and then write scientific papers about it. As for me, it's just my life. Both flying and the numerous Virgin companies that I founded are all equal challenges that I began to take on from a young age.

This book is an autobiography. It covers the first 43 years of my life. Almost dying over the Atlas Mountains, I decided to write it in case the guardian angel leaves me on the next attempt. Like flying in a hot air balloon, the first 43 years of my life and my career were a struggle for survival. This book ends with the events of January 1993, the year before I was forced to sell Virgin Music, which had been the weak link in my business career. At the same time, virgin atlantic won its unprecedented victory over British Airways. This was a turning point for virgin. Defying superior forces, I survived all these 43 years; For the first time in my life, I had money at my disposal, there were many ideas that I wanted to implement, and I was free to choose the path of becoming virgin. How we started to make our dreams come true, I will tell in the next book. This book is about how we "kept afloat" and survived to live up to this point.

When I was looking for titles for a book, David Tait, who runs Virgin Atlantic's US division, came up with the following: "virgin: the