hit him with cannon-fire. King didn’t know why they hadn’t simply fired a heat-seeker up his exhaust pipe, but he had no doubt that eventually they would, and then it would all be over. There was, he realized, only one way to survive this.
He kept descending, tilting the cyclic forward and increasing speed in a power dive. The barren landscape, rendered even bleaker in the monochrome night-vision display, rushed up at him. He leveled out less than a hundred feet above the uneven terrain, and began weaving the aircraft back and forth, all the while keeping an eye on the distant moving lights in the sky.
The jets made another attack run, strafing the ground nearby as if he were a stationary target, but King came about and steered under them, well away from danger. The jets broke off and winged skyward, repositioning once again.
King’s instincts told him that the gloves were about to come off. His attackers had probably expected him to be easy pickings, but now that he had demonstrated his ability to elude them, they would look for a quick, decisive solution. His mind raced to find anything that would help him survive the next few seconds.
The JetRanger wasn’t equipped with any weapon systems. He had the M-4 he’d taken from the cavern, but that wouldn’t be much use in a dogfight, even if he had a hand free to use it. He also had one frag grenade.
Maybe… A grin spread across his King’s face. It was a crazy plan, but crazy was better than nothing.
He felt certain that the fighter pilots would use missiles on this pass, almost certainly thermal guided missiles, and there was only one way to elude those-make something else even hotter. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Since most air-to-air missiles could travel in excess of twice the speed of sound, it would take split second timing.
He watched. He waited. And then, when he saw a bloom of fire under one of the jets, he dropped the grenade out the sliding window, and then hastily pulled up on the collective. The helicopter rose sluggishly, and with each passing second, King knew he was getting closer to the missile now streaking toward him.
But then, he felt the concussion wave of the grenade exploding on the ground a few hundred feet below. For just an instant, the center of the detonation released a burst of intense heat-much hotter than the JetRanger’s turbine exhaust. There was a streak of light in his night-vision, the missile flashing by as it homed in on its new target, and then a second later, another concussion.
King was stunned by the success of his plan; it had been a desperate play, and he hadn’t really expected it to work, and so hadn’t really thought about what would happen next. He had dodged this attack, but what now?
The jets veered skyward again. He had fooled the missile, but not the pilots. They knew he was still alive.
And King was out of moves.
# # #
The Sukhoi fighters needed only one more pass. The pilots were relatively inexperienced, but they were learning from their mistakes. The engagement had already lasted longer than either man expected; now it was time to finish it decisively.
The helicopter was descending again, its operator evidently desperate to land before the next missile blew him out of the sky. The pilot of the lead Su-25 decided not to give him that chance. He changed the targeting selector on the missile’s guidance system to visual, put the helicopter in the crosshairs, and thumbed the launch button.
The R-73 missile, NATO designation AA-11 Archer, dropped away from the wing and shot through the sky at Mach 2.5. The pilot kept his targeting sight on the fleeing aircraft until, a few seconds later, both the missile and the helicopter exploded in a ball of smoke and flaming debris.
Sigler is dead.
›››Understood. What is your status?
I’m back in Addis. I have Sara Fogg and Felice Carter with me. Fogg believes that Carter can infect others by some unknown vector. We’ll need to keep her isolated.
›››Transportation will be arranged. Bring the women to the Brainstorm facility.
Are you sure that’s a good idea?
›››Your inquiry is irrelevant. It is the only logical course of action. The vaccine must be developed. The facility has been upgraded to ensure the highest probability of success in accomplishing that goal.
ENDGAME
24.
Unknown Location
See that ball of fire down there? That’s your boyfriend.
Fulbright’s gleeful pronouncement still echoed in Sara’s ears. She had kept a brave face, denying the rogue CIA agent the pleasure of watching her cry. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to believe him.
That was, she knew, the first stage of grief: denial.
As an intellectual matter, she did believe him but her heart wasn’t ready to deal with it just yet. There would be time for tears later, if she survived.
A Gulfstream V jet had been waiting for them at the private airfield used by the contracted commandos. Still unconscious from the sedative injection, Felice had been buckled into one of the rear seats, while Sara had been allowed to sit where she pleased, but always under Fulbright’s watchful eye. How long they flew, she could not say, but when they arrived at their destination, it was mid-morning, and the physical environment did not seem that much different than the place they had just left.
A fit but pale-looking middle-aged man got out of a dark green Range Rover and greeted them as they descended from the jet. His hair was gray, but Sara couldn’t tell if he was in his late forties or his early seventies. When he approached and introduced himself, Sara got the impression that it was as much for Fulbright’s benefit as for Sara’s.
“I’m Graham,” he said, affably. “I kind of keep things running around here.”
“Just take us to Brainstorm,” Fulbright answered impatiently.
“As you like.” Graham chuckled then turned to Sara and extended a hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss…?”
Sara narrowed her eyes, appraisingly. Despite his attempt at charm, Graham-was that his first or last name?-had given her no reason to think he was anything but another villain in Brainstorm’s employ. “It’s ‘doctor,’ actually. Dr. Sara Fogg.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard wonderful things about you, Dr. Fogg. I think you’ll be pleased with the research facility here.”
“I’ll be pleased when I’m not being held prisoner.”
Graham inclined his head. “Touche. I do hope that, in time, you will see that benefit of the work you will do here far outstrips the sacrifices you have made.”
“I’m not the only one who was sacrificed.”
If Graham heard her muttered comment, he chose not to acknowledge it.
# # #
The main house-what Fulbright had called the ‘Brainstorm facility’-was a palatial two-story villa that might have been transplanted from the south of France or the Catalina hills of California. Sara was escorted to a luxurious private room where Graham invited her to “freshen up” and join him for a meal if she was so inclined. A closet full of clothes, ranging in style from dress casual to blue jeans and T-shirts-all of them clothes that she might have purchased for herself, every garment the correct size-was provided, and the bathroom was stocked with her favorite brands of toiletries. Someone had been doing their homework.
No demands were made of her, but there was little question that she was a prisoner. Nevertheless, she took advantage of the chance to shower away the residue of her plunge into the Indian Ocean and the general grime of days spent in the field.
As the hot water cascaded down on her shoulders, she pondered her next move. Things were so much
