“Turning,” Derek said. “The second fuel light just illuminated. We’re down to five minutes. Maybe less.”
Rapp shrugged into his plate carrier and fastened the straps, his fingers moving on autopilot. Fighting the harness as the helicopter banked, Rapp seated a magazine in the HK and switched on his optics.
A holographic crimson dot stared back at him.
“Got the little fucker,” Hurley said. “He just turned south on Bilal Town Road. I want to take him at the northeastern corner of the field. Get me there, Derek.”
“I’ll take him,” Rapp said.
“No can do,” Hurley said. “One of us needs to stay with the bird. I’m as good in close as ever, but you’re better with a long gun. I’m hitting the vehicle and you’re providing overwatch. Set me down, Derek. Now.”
Rapp wanted to argue.
He didn’t.
Stan was right.
“Do it, Derek,” Rapp said. “Stan—grab one of the low-profile earbud sets.”
“Way ahead of you,” Stan said, pointing to his ear.
Derek flared the helicopter and Stan jumped while the skids were still five feet above the tilled earth. Without missing a beat, the JetRanger thundered back skyward. Rapp popped one of the earbuds into his right ear so that he could still hear Derek through the aircraft’s intercom via his left.
“You got me?”
Stan’s voice came through crystal clear. It was not lost on Rapp that he and Stan were now using the low-profile communications kit Nash had forced on him during the FAIRBANKS hit what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Maybe Nash had a future on the seventh floor after all.
“Loud and clear,” Rapp said. “The van is two hundred meters to your north and closing. How do you want to play it?”
“I’m gonna set up on the west side of the road,” Stan said, “right at the northwest corner of the field. There’s a clump of trees I can hide in, and I’ll be shooting toward the empty field instead of houses. I’ll concentrate my fire on the front of the van, but I’ll be on the driver’s side. You start on the passenger’s side and work your way back. I’ll call ‘cease fire.’ ”
Stan’s heavy breathing echoed across the radio. From the sound of things, it had been a while since Hurley had incorporated wind sprints into his fitness regimen.
“Roger all,” Rapp said to Stan before triggering his headset’s mike. “Derek—is there a way to jettison the cabin door?”
“Yeah—should be cotter pins on the hinges. Pull them and then push out. The door will fall away. What’s the plan?”
“Stan’s gonna initiate once the vehicle’s abeam him,” Rapp grunted as he worked the rusty pins loose. “Once he starts shooting, I’ll need you to keep us steady so I can help.”
“Got it—what’s the initiation signal?”
That was a very good question.
Rapp pulled the final cotter pin, and the door went nowhere. Unbuckling his restraint harness, Rapp rotated in his seat, placed his feet on the door, and pushed. The slipstream was working against him. After two fruitless attempts, his brain reengaged.
“Derek—give me a slight right bank.”
Apparently, slight was in the eye of the beholder.
The helicopter rolled right, and the door tumbled into space.
Rapp nearly tumbled with it.
As his feet slid toward oblivion, Rapp’s fingers found the restraint harness. He grabbed the nylon webbing with both hands and hung on as if his life depended on it.
It did.
After what seemed like an eternity, Derek banked the helicopter back to the left. Rapp buckled himself in, thankful he’d slung his rifle around his neck. Otherwise, the HK would have joined the cabin door.
“Derek,” Rapp said once he had a hand free to trigger the intercom system, “does this bird have a spotlight?”
“A small one.”
“Get ready to illuminate the van on my mark.”
“Got it.”
“Stan, we will initiate with the bird’s spotlight. Call when ready.”
“Execute, execute, execute.”
This time Rapp didn’t try to find the intercom switch. Instead, he reached forward and slapped Derek on the shoulder, hoping the pilot would get the hint.
He did.
The helicopter’s taxi light lanced through the darkness, catching the van in a puddle of silver. In a stroke of genius, Derek spun the JetRanger on its axis, orientating the aircraft so the light blasted through the van’s windshield. The vehicle slowed, probably as the driver instinctively braked in response to the ocular onslaught. Rapp held the EOTECH’s crimson dot on the van’s passenger’s-side windshield, moved the selector switch from safe to single shot, and began squeezing the trigger.
