The Secret of Excalibur

whipped yellow hair. She swung her blade at the sword, metal clashing against metal, jarring Chase’s left hand.

Clang. Another hit. And another. The hilt began to slide through his grasp, a little more with each blow.

If the sword dropped, the gunship would go after it. If she caught it, Vaskovich had his prize. Either way, Chase would fall.

Clang. Clang. The sword jolted in his hand. His little finger reached the end of the hilt and clutched around nothing. Dominika stretched out further, loosening the grip of her legs to extend her reach. Clang. He felt his ring finger slip over the rounded end of the handle.

The Russian drew back her arm for a final swing—

And Chase tore the spare magazine from his holster strap and hurled it into her face.

Even though it only contained seven bullets, the .50-calibre magazine was still over half a pound of hard- edged steel and copper and lead cracking against the bridge of her nose.

Blood gushing from her nostrils, Dominika convulsed in pain, and her legs slipped off the landing skid. She screamed, her left hand wrenched from the support as she dropped - to catch the skid by her fingertips. Lighter than Chase, she was hit harder by the wind as she dangled precariously from the helicopter. The knife fell away as she tried to reach up with her right hand, but safety was just beyond her reach.

Chase stretched out his right arm, scrabbling for grip, finding it. He pulled himself back up and finally managed to hook an arm round the skid. Painfully dragging himself over the top, he looked across at Dominika.

She hung by one hand, desperately clawing with the other . . . Clang.

Excalibur’s gleaming edge was just an inch from her fingers.

Dominika turned her head towards Chase. He was now leaning across the gap just as she had done . . . but his blade was much longer than hers. Her eyes filled with terror as she realised what he was about to do. ‘Nyet! NYET!’

He stared coldly back, no mercy in his gaze as he slowly swung Excalibur away from her, the flat of the sword grating along the skid. He leaned closer so she could hear him.

‘This is for Mitzi.’

The sword sliced back.

Dominika’s severed fingers flashed through the beam of the helicopter’s navigation light, then were gone, falling with the screaming assassin as she plunged hundreds of feet to burst on the unforgiving streets below.

But Chase’s problems weren’t over.

A laser-like streak of fire burned past, a harsh chainsaw rasp coming from behind. The Kamov was letting rip with its 30mm cannon. With Dominika gone, there was nothing to restrain the pilot.

But he wasn’t trying to shoot down the MD 500. If he had, it would have been destroyed already. He was aiming specifically at Chase.

‘Shit!’ Chase gasped. Only his helicopter’s twitchy flightpath had saved him, the cannon shells passing less than a foot below as the MD 500 bobbed. But if even a single shell struck him, whatever body part it hit would instantly be reduced to a red mist - and Excalibur would fall.

The helicopter banked hard, almost throwing Chase from the skid. Mitchell had seen the tracer fire and was taking evasive action, rolling into a rapid descent.

The Kamov pursued. The MD 500 was nimble - but the much larger Alligator could match it move for move.

Chase knew what Mitchell was doing: if he dropped down close to street level, he could fly between the apartment buildings and use them for cover. Unless the Kamov’s pilot was a psychopath, it would keep his finger off the trigger.

But they had to reach them first . . .

Another brief burst of fire lashed past, the shells arcing away into the distance. The helicopter continued its twisting descent. Chase struggled to keep hold, wrapping his arms round the connecting strut. He realised he was just below the cockpit door, the handle tantalisingly close.

The MD 500 levelled out, G-forces squashing Chase against the skid. An apartment block whipped past, its roof above him. Mitchell was flying down a street, barely clearing the streetlights and telephone cables as he weaved from side to side to make himself a harder target. The Kamov was still behind them, but flying higher, waiting to pounce.

Chase pulled himself up, peering over the bottom of the large window in the oval door. Mitchell was on the opposite side of the cockpit, a smear of blood on his thigh, eyes fixed on the view ahead.

The Alligator’s pilot had been deterred from firing, but he would still follow them wherever they went. And if they tried to land so Chase could flee on foot, he would have them.

Mitchell turned sharply, sweeping the helicopter round into another street. The movement banged Chase’s head against the door. Mitchell glanced round at the unexpected noise, eyes widening in surprise as he saw him. The Kamov pursued, not fooled by its target’s sudden change of course.

Although Mitchell could have reached the internal door release, he needed both hands to fly. Chase switched Excalibur to his right hand. Wind battering him, he stretched up for the handle with his left, fingers straining . . .

He reached it. The door popped open, banging against its frame in the slipstream. Chase jammed his arm into the gap, pushing his head and shoulder inside. ‘Eddie!’ Mitchell shouted. ‘Where’s the sword?’

‘I’ve got it!’

‘Then get in!’

‘No! We need to take out that chopper!’

‘Are you crazy?’ yelled Mitchell as he made another sharp turn. The door swung open, then flapped back to bash painfully against Chase’s shoulder. ‘It’s a goddamn gunship! This thing isn’t!’

‘You’ll have to improvise!’ Chase looked ahead, seeing taller, newer buildings rising above the old Soviet blocks. A long string of lights picked out the skeletal outline of a crane between them, another tower under construction. ‘That crane! Drop me on top of it!’

‘What?’

‘It’s the only way to get rid of him! Do it!’ Chase hunched back down and slammed the door, cutting off Mitchell’s objections mid-word.

The Kamov was still behind them, having moved to see what Chase was doing. He wondered what the pilot would make of the fact that he had deliberately shut himself out of the cockpit.

He had something else for him to think about. ‘Hey!’ Chase screamed, looking back and waving Excalibur out from the side of the helicopter as it ascended. ‘You want this? Then come and get it, dickhead!’

A spotlight flashed into dazzling life on the Kamov’s nose, locking on to Chase. The sword glinted in the harsh blue light.

The crane’s long, orange-painted jib swept past, the MD 500 pivoting to fly almost sideways along its length. Chase looked down. He was at least two hundred feet up, the ground around the crane’s base strewn with girders and concrete blocks and other things not remotely likely to provide a soft landing. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ he asked himself as he leaned out from the skid—

And jumped.

The helicopter was only a few feet above the jib, but the impact as Chase slammed against the tubular metalwork was still like a baseball bat to his chest. One foot slipped. Clinging to a diagonal cross-member, he dropped, sliding down it like a fireman’s pole, and thumped painfully to a halt straddling the lower horizontal beam.

Grimacing, he dragged himself back up. Mitchell’s helicopter had peeled away, but the Alligator was still there, having overshot Chase when he jumped and now performing a rapid aerial pirouette to come back after him.

He stood upright, feet on the beam as he gripped the upper support. The top of the tall vertical tower was about thirty feet away. He started for it, Excalibur clanging against the orange metal as he moved crab-like along the jib.

A hot wind, reeking of burnt fuel, whirled around him. The Kamov drifted down on the other side of the jib, its blinding spotlight shining into his face. Chase lowered his head, using the upper beam to shield his eyes as he