The van had been on the way to bin Laden’s compound, so Ruyintan had either intended to warn bin Laden about the Americans or give him the missiles.
Then why was one missing?
Because that wasn’t all the Iranian intended.
“Head north,” Rapp said. “Back toward the military academy. Now.”
The helicopter’s nose dipped, and the aircraft surged forward as if the JetRanger had been shot from a cannon.
“We’re not going to make it,” Derek said.
“Get me as close to the Bilal Town Road turnoff from Kaul Road as you can,” Rapp said. “Look for a chunk of land with the widest view of the sky.”
“Roger that,” Derek said. “We’ll glide farther with more altitude, but that will also make us easier to see.”
The aviator didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t have to.
Easier to see meant easier for the missile team to see. So be it. If the presence of a blacked-out JetRanger spooked the Iranians, Rapp would chance eating a missile in order to save the SEALs. But judging by his past performance, Ruyintan wouldn’t make things that easy.
“Where the hell are you going?”
With a start, Rapp realized Stan hadn’t been able to hear his conversation with Derek. “We temporarily lost sight of the van before it turned south on Bilal Road, remember? If they dumped Ruyintan and the other missile, that’s where he’ll be.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then a helicopter full of SEALs is gonna die. If that happens, I expect you to knock on bin Laden’s door and shoot him in the face.”
“On it.”
Rapp was preparing to reply when another sound demanded his attention.
Or rather, a lack of sound.
A lack of sound coming from the engine.
CHAPTER 94
“LOCK your harness,” Derek said. “We’re going down.”
Rapp did not lock his harness.
Instead, he leaned over the aviator’s shoulder, peering through the windshield. Without the aid of night-vision goggles, Rapp couldn’t see much of anything. Then again, he supposed that between the two of them, Derek needed the NVGs more right about now.
“Did you find the missile team?” Rapp said.
“Trying to find somewhere to land.”
“The missile team—do you see them?”
“For fuck’s sake, I don’t… wait… yes! There’s a field just west of the military academy. Three figures… maybe a missile.”
Maybe a missile.
Not exactly definitive proof, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Land on them.”
“They’re to our north and we’ve got a twenty-knot tailwind. I need to turn into the wind—”
“Land this fucking helicopter on top of them.”
Rapp heard a hiss through the intercom system, but the aviator didn’t turn the aircraft. Hunching forward, Rapp thought he could see a clump of dark figures in a field just ahead.
Dark figures that were rapidly drawing closer.
“Hold on,” Derek said. “This is gonna hurt.”
A heartbeat later, steel met earth.
Rapp’s restraint harness kept him mostly upright, but since the inertia latching mechanism wasn’t locked, his limbs pinballed around the cabin. The crash sequence was loud. The fuselage groaned, the rotors shrieked, and men screamed. Rapp didn’t black out, but the world did get a little hazy. When he came to his senses, he was struck by two overwhelming sensations: every inch of his body hurt, and the air smelled like shit.
Cow shit.
They’d crash-landed into a freshly manured field.
That seemed like an appropriate metaphor for this entire endeavor.
Turning the quick release on his restraint harness, Rapp fought clear of the entangling nylon straps and tumbled to the damp soil. In a testament to the aviator’s ability to follow directions, Derek had in fact landed the helicopter on top of the missile team.
