The pilot shook his head. “Can I see some sort of ID?”
Overhead I could hear the
I pulled out the Ruger. “The helicopter. We need it. Now.”
The pilot backed away from the door. The couple scrambled, almost tripping over each other to get out. Some part of me registered that this was the third mode of transportation I’d stolen in the last hour.
I nodded to Julie and Kirk. “Hurry.”
Julie looked as if she’d rather do just about anything but go on another helicopter ride, but she stepped up into the tiny craft anyway.
Behind Kirk, the pilot turned around, and I caught a gleam in his eye, that little surge of adrenaline people felt just before they were about to do something very stupid.
I opened my mouth to shout a warning.
I needn’t have bothered.
Kirk twisted at the waist, throwing his body weight into a well-aimed punch.
The pilot crumpled onto the concrete.
“Nice,” I said.
He cocked his head and shot me a half smile. “I’m a lover, not a fighter. Wait ‘til I show you my real talents.”
Still no Iranians, but in the distance I saw a chopper heading toward us, still too far to tell if it was Hawk Nose, or just a tourist craft.
I climbed into the pilot’s seat, Kirk slipping into the seat next to Julie.
Moving fast, I familiarized myself with the interior: collective control stick, cyclic control stick, rudder pedals, RPM gauge, altimeter, airspeed indicator, manifold pressure gauge, vertical speed indicator, fuel gauge, oil pressure and temp, cylinder head temp.
Then, Kirk: “Above us!”
I was just reaching for the ignition when a round crashed through the upper windshield and dug into the main instrument panel. More bullets peppered the fuselage. I dropped to the floor.
Apparently Hawk Nose had realized Julie’s corpse was nearly as valuable as taking her alive.
Shitastic.
Julie hunched forward. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Are you hit?” Kirk yelled at Julie.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“They’re shooting at us,” Julie screamed over the noise.
“But are you hurt?”
“No, no. I’m okay.”
“No crying.”
Another full magazine of automatic weapon fire punched through the roof, pinging off the metal floor. While the layered construction of the hull and windshield was made to withstand the occasional run in with a seagull or even a goose, it couldn’t hold up to bullets. And I couldn’t risk lifting off, provided the instrument panel was even operational at this point.
“We have to evacuate. Find cover.”
I swung the doors on both sides of the cockpit open.
The roar of another engine caught my attention, then the shuddering clang of steel.
I had hesitated at running through the fence. The Iranians hadn’t. The green SUV screeched to a stop less than twenty yards away, between us and our yellow cab.
“The river.” Kirk gave me a look. “Can you keep them busy?”
I nodded, fitting the Ruger into my hands, wishing I had a rifle. “Move.”
Kirk and Julie scrambled out of the cockpit and crouched on the helicopter’s off side. I climbed out as well, kneeling low, trying to gain as much cover as I could.
I gave Kirk a look, then squeezed off several rounds, first targeting the helicopter, which was too high to hit, and then the Iranians’ SUV.
Bullets flew, from the ground, from the air, until it was impossible to tell who was shooting who, the only thing I was sure of was that Julie and Kirk had made it off the edge of the platform and into the river.
I didn’t think I would be so lucky.
The chopper lifted higher, flying out of range of my .380.
Something moved in my peripheral vision.
I swung the pistol back in time to see one of the Iranians advancing along the concrete pad that jutted into the water, just ten feet away.
He wasn’t out of my range. I put a round in his throat.
The Persian went down, made a few twitching movements, and then lay still, his rifle still slung across his shoulder.
A gift.
Firing off my last few rounds, I scooted toward the man I’d just killed. I yanked the rifle—a Madsen LAR— over his head and tugged the strap free of his heavy body.
The weapon was hot to the touch, and by my mental count he’d used about half of his thirty round AK magazine. I squeezed off a burst of three at the SUV.
No one returned fire, but I could see movement.
The beat of the blades crescendoed, coming in for another assault.
I couldn’t hold off the chopper and the SUV, not without more ammunition, and in a few more seconds, my chance to make a break would be gone.
I fired another three rounds, then made my dash for the river.
My feet slapped pavement, trying to get traction, adrenaline humming in my ears.
Five steps to go.
Four.
Three.
A gust of wind hit me, sending my Yankees cap flying, knocking me to my knees.
The purple helicopter dropped in front of me, hovering, cutting me off.
I propped myself up, raised the rifle, took aim, fired.
My first shot cracked the windshield. My second missed entirely.
The chopper turned to the side. The passenger compartment door gaped open, my old buddy Hawk Nose raising his rifle, putting me in his sites.
I squeezed the trigger and held it, giving him everything I had left.
But I didn’t aim for Hawk Nose.
I aimed for the back rotor, and I hit it square.
The helicopter whirled around, spinning, spinning. It veered to the side, smacked into the far side of the platform, crumpling like an angry god squeezed it in his fist. Flames began to curl out from the engines.
Tires screeched, drawing my attention. It was the SUV.
The last Iranian was driving away, fleeing the scene.
But why?
I scrambled to my feet, dropping the useless rifle and heading for the water’s edge. The helicopter exploded in a brilliant fireball, heated air and the smell of burning fuel washing over me.
Adios, Hawk Nose. Maybe you’ll luck out and they’ll have donkey porn in hell.
I spotted Julie and Kirk twenty meters away, hovering on the edge of the platform, clinging to the concrete pilings that anchored the pier-like helipad to the river floor.
My purse vibrated, and I slapped my cell to my face.
I traded codes with Jacob. It was a miracle I could remember the appropriate response.
“Chandler, I’m watching via satellite feed. They’re coming.”
“Who?”
