The result was nothing short of spectacular.
The whole front section of the CH-53E Super Stallion exploded magnificently — blasting out in an instant, showering the area behind the quickly moving helicopter with glass and twisted metal, leaving the chopper with a jagged metal hole where the glass bubble of its cockpit was supposed to be!
The impact of the missile had also destroyed the landing wheels under the nose of the chopper. So now the giant helicopter was being hauled behind Elvis's towing vehicle with its nose — or what was left of it — dragging wildly on the floor, kicking up sparks.
'Elvis!' Book II yelled. 'Go for the elevator! The regular elevator!'
The 7th Squadron soldiers dived out of the way as the speeding cockroach thundered in among them, wildly out of control.
Elvis saw the elevator doors off to his right, and yanked the steering wheel hard over. The cockroach responded, swinging right, cutting the corner of the aircraft elevator shaft — so that for the briefest of moments, Book II, partially hanging off the roof of the vehicle, saw nothing but a wide chasm of emptiness falling away beneath him.
Three seconds later, the cockroach — with the semidestroyed helicopter behind it — skidded to a squealing halt right in front of the elevator doors on the northern side of the hangar.
Book II leapt off the top of the big Volvo and hit the call button, Elvis joining him, when suddenly two armed men leapt over the big towing vehicle behind them.
Book II spun, snapping his guns up, triggers half-pulled.
'Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!' one of the armed men said, holding his pistol up.
'Easy, Sergeant,' the other one said calmly. 'We're with you.'
Book II eased back on his triggers.
They were Marines.
The first was Sergeant Ashley Lewicky, an extraordinarily ugly career sergeant with a thick monobrow, battered pug nose, and mile-wide grin. Short and stout, his call-sign was a slam dunk: 'Love Machine.' Of roughly equal age and rank, he and Elvis had been buddies for years.
The second Marine, however, couldn't have been more different from Love Machine. Tall and handsome in a clean cut kind of way, he was a twenty-nine-year-old captain named Tom Reeves. A promising young officer, he'd been tagged for rapid promotion. Indeed, he'd already been promoted over several more-experienced lieutenants. Despite his obvious skills, the men called him 'Calvin,' because he looked like a Calvin Klein underwear model.
'Jesus H. Christ, Elvis,' Love Machine said, 'where the hell did you learn to drive! A demolition derby?'
'Why? Where have you two been?' Elvis asked.
'Where do you think, knucklehead? Inside Nighthawk Two. We both dived in there when the shit hit the fan. And we were kinda happy there until you guys drove us into the sights of that rocket laun…'
Just then, a volley of bullets smacked into the wall above their heads.
Ten 7th Squadron men — Bravo Unit — were charging across the wide hangar after them.
'I presume you had a plan when you drove over here, Sergeant,' Calvin Reeves said to Book II.
At that moment, the elevator pinged and its metal doors slid open. Thankfully, it was empty.
'This was it, sir,' Book II said.
'I approve,' Calvin said and they all rushed inside. Book II went straight to the control panel and hit 'door close.'
The doors began to close. A bullet sizzled inside, smacked against the back wall of the lift.
'Hurry up…' Elvis urged.
The doors kept closing. They heard boots thud onto the roof of the cockroach outside, heard machine-gun bolts cock…
The doors came together… a bare second before they erupted with domelike welts from the barrage of bullets outside.
It had taken them a while, but moving hand over hand, hanging by their fingertips from the cabling gutter that ran all the way around the elevator shaft, they had eventually made it to the wide hangar door on the other side.
Hanging one-handed from the horizontal gutter, Schofield hit a button on a control panel beside the hangar door. Instantly, the massive steel door began to rumble upward.
Schofield climbed up onto level ground first, made sure there were no enemy troops around, then turned to help the others up behind him.
When they were all up, they gazed at the area before them.
'Whoa, mama…' Mother breathed.
A cavernous — completely underground — aircraft hangar stretched away from them.
In the control room overlooking the main grund level hangar, the wall of black-and-white television monitors flashed an array of images from the underground complex:
Juliet Janson and the President running up the stairwell.
Book II, Calvin Reeves, Elvis and Love Machine inside the regular elevator, punching out the ceiling hatch and climbing up through it.
Schofield and the others stepping up into the doorway of the underground hangar.
'…Okay, Charlie Unit, I have them. The ones who were in the ventilation shaft. Level 1 hangar bay. Four Marines: two male, two female. They're all yours…'
'…Bravo Unit, your targets have just exited the personnel elevator through the ceiling hatch. About to lose visual contact. But they're in the shaft. Sealing all elevator shaft doors except yours. Okay, they're shut in. Take them out…'
'…Sir, Echo Unit has cleaned out the rest of the main hangar. Awaiting further instructions…'
'Send them to help Charlie,' Caesar Russell said, eyeing the monitor with Shane Schofield on it.
'…Echo, this is Control, proceed to Level 1 hangar bay for rendezvous with Charlie Unit…'
'…Alpha Unit, Presidential Detail is climbing the stairs. Coming right for you. Delta Unit, the Level 6 fire door is unguarded. You are free to enter the stairwell and engage…'
It was absolutely gigantic.
An enormous subterranean hangar, roughly the same size as the one up at ground level, perhaps even larger.
It had several aircraft in it, too.
One converted Boeing 707 AWACS plane, with the characteristic flying-saucer-like rotodome mounted on its back. Two sinister-looking B-2 stealth bombers, with their black radar absorbent paint, futuristic flying-wing design, and angry furrowed-brow cockpit windows. And parked directly in front of the stealth bombers, one Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird, the world's fastest operational aircraft, with its sleek super-elongated fuselage and twin rear thrusters.
The massive airplanes towered above Schofield and his team, dominating the cavernous space.
'What do we do now?' Mother asked.
Schofield was momentarily silent.
He was staring intently at the AWACS plane. It just stood there silently, pointing toward the wide aircraft elevator shaft.
Then he said, 'We find out if what they're saying about the President's heart is true.'
The air in the fire stairs was filles with flying bullets.
The Presidential Detail, down to three now, guided their charge up the stairs, leading with their guns, a makeshift array of Uzis, SIG-Sauers and spare ankle revolvers.
A young male agent named Julio Ramondo led the way, spraying the stairs above them with his Uzi, despite a bullet wound to his shoulder.
Special Agent Juliet Janson came after him, having assumed command of the Detail more by action than protocol. She guided the President along behind her.
