He nodded, satisfied.
'Start the detonation sequence,' he said.
'Yes, sir,' one of the techs said, leaping for the laptop computer on the front of the device.
'Set it for twelve minutes,' Bittiker said. 'Twelve noon.'
The tech typed quickly and within seconds a countdown screen appeared:
YOU NOW HAVE
00:12:00
MINUTES TO ENTER DISARM CODE.
ENTER DISARM CODE HERE
The tech hit 'ENTER' and the timer began to race downwards.
As it did so, Bittiker pulled out his cellular phone and dialled Bluey James' number again.
The digital tracing equipment in Bluey's apartment lit up like a Christmas tree again.
Bluey picked up the phone. 'Yo.'
'Has the message gone out?'
'It's out there, Earl,' Bluey lied as he stared into the eyes of John-Paul Demonaco.
“Is there panic in the streets?'
'Like you wouldn't believe,' Bluey said.
The Goose edged closer to the Antonov's hindquarters, two feet separating the two speeding, rising planes.
In the face of the battering, pounding wind, Race held onto the Goose's hatch with one hand while he reached out with the other for the panel on the cargo plane, stretching out as far as he could.
It was still too far away. Doogie brought the Goose in closer still, as close as he dared…
.. and Race grabbed the panel, flipped it open.
He saw two buttons inside it—-one red, one green—and without so much as a second thought, he slammed his fist down on the green button.
With an ominous rambling whir, the rear loading ramp of the Antonov began to lower, right on top of the Goose's nose!
With the reflexes of a cat, Doogie quickly manoeuvred the little seaplane out of the path of the lowering ramp—in doing so, almost flinging Race out of the nose hatch! But Race's grip and balance held firm and he remained standing half-in-half-out of the Goose's hatch while Doogie deftly swung the little seaplane in behind the Antonov as the giant cargo plane's ramp yawned open before them.
The two planes continued to fly in tandem through the Peruvian sky—the massive Antonov and the tiny Goose flying barely two feet apart, hitting 18,000 feet-only now the Antonov's rear loading ramp was open, right in front of the little seaplane's nose!
Then, at the precise moment that the ramp came fully open and despite the fact that he was 18,000 feet above the earth, the tiny figure of William Race climbed up out of the hatch— into the roaring wind—and leapt across from the nose of the Goose onto the open loading ramp of the Antonov!
Race landed flat on his face on the loading ramp of the giant cargo plane.
He clawed for a handhold to stop himself getting sucked out the back of the plane, grappled his way along the length of the ramp—flat on his belly, hand over hand, the wind roaring all around him—crawling on his stomach with nothing but the Goose and 18,000 feet of clear open sky behind him.
It's funny where life takes you ...
The enormous cargo bay opened up before him.
He saw the massive Abrams tank sitting proudly in the middle of it—saw the whipping wind scooping up anything that wasn't nailed down—saw the flashing red warning lights and heard the hysterical wail of the alarm klaxons that were no doubt alerting whoever was on board the plane that its loading ramp was now illegally open.
Earl Bittiker already knew.
No sooner had the loading ramp opened a foot than he had heard the whoosh of the wind rushing into the cargo bay. It was followed a split second later by the high-pitched wailing of the klaxons. ,
Bittiker spun where he stood in the belly of the Abrams tank, his cellular phone still pressed against his ear.
'What the fuck is this?' he said as he stormed up the ladder of the tank, heading outside.
On his feet now, Race unshouldered his MP-5 and side stepped his way down the narrow passageway between the enormous tank and the wall of the cargo hold.
Abruptly, a man's head popped out from the hatch on top of the tank to his left.
Race whirled around, levelled his gun at the man.
“Freeze!' he yelled.
The man froze.
