Dawn nudged against the darkness, revealing curls of black clouds set low against the unforgiving frontier- industrial landscape of Medford, Oregon. Lock’s motivational talk had quietened Reaper right down, and there was no talking between the Marshals either.
Hollywood might script dramatic courtroom assassination attempts, Lock reflected now that the flight was coming to an end, but both he and everyone on board knew that their real challenge lay in the transfer between airplane and courthouse.
Lock got up from his seat and made his way over to the Marshal in charge.
‘What do you have on the ground for the transfer?’
‘Six Marshals in three separate vehicles.’
This made sense to Lock. One vehicle would have Reaper in it. One would be out in front scoping out likely trouble and clearing a path through any traffic. The third would, if they had any sense, contain a counter-attack team in case anyone was stupid enough to give them any problems.
‘The Marshals evenly split among the vehicles?’
‘No, we got three in the CA vehicle. Transfer vehicle just has a driver. We’ll make up the numbers in it when we land. Anything else you want to second-guess me on?’
Lock’s reply was cut off by the captain on the intercom. His message was brief: no weather report or thank you for flying JPATS, just a curt ‘Buckle up, we’re making our final approach in about a coupla minutes, gentlemen.’
Lock fastened his seat belt as the plane looped round to the east. From his window he could see the postcard-size airfield below. It was surrounded by dense woods. On the ground he could see three black SUVS — no doubt the transfer vehicles — rolling up towards the entrance.
Then, much further back, not even within the confines of the airfield itself, he saw a helicopter. It was small, black and, judging from the hardware mounted either side of the cockpit, very definitely military.
Then he spotted something else. A patrol car, recognisable by the lights and number painted on the roof, parked in tight to the perimeter fence. And crouched behind it two figures holding what even at this height were clearly heavy-duty assault rifles.
Lock unclipped his belt, stood up and waved the Marshal in charge over.
‘What the hell is it now?’ the Marshal said.
‘Did you order a helicopter as a back-up transfer vehicle?’
The Marshal looked at Lock like he was crazy. ‘No. Why?’
‘Because there’s one down there.’
‘Probably some black ops shit. This place gets used for all kinds of stuff.’
That didn’t explain why a helicopter was in plain sight outside the airfield.
‘What about your CA team? Where are they?’
The Marshal was clearly losing patience. ‘In their vehicle, I’d guess.’
What he’d just seen still made no sense to Lock. Again and again in his career, saving the principal’s life had come down to one simple mantra. Look out for two things: the absence of the normal or the presence of the abnormal.
‘Then who the hell are those guys?’ Lock said, pointing out the two figures crouched behind the patrol car, automatic weapons trained on the runway.
The Marshal followed the trajectory of Lock’s finger and froze. ‘I’ve no idea.’
There was a hiss of noise from the intercom, then the captain’s voice: ‘Final approach, folks. Hold on tight.’
29
‘Abort the landing!’ Lock bellowed as he and the Marshal raced towards the cockpit door. The Marshal made it there first but Lock pushed past him and grabbed the door handle. It wouldn’t turn. ‘Get this plane back up in the air!’ he shouted. He stepped back and took a kick at the door, but it didn’t budge. He guessed that no amount of kicking would do the job, JPATS aircraft doors having been specifically designed to resist such attempts.
‘It’s Brody,’ shouted the Marshal. ‘Let me in.’
There was a whirr beneath them and a hard clunk as the landing gear went down.
The Marshal pounded on the door. ‘You need to get us back up in the air.’
The cabin door opened and a shaken co-pilot stood there. He had a SIG P250 in his hand, no doubt a precautionary measure in case Reaper had somehow overthrown his guard.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘We got a problem on the ground. Abort the landing,’ the Marshal barked.
Lock could see the trees below rushing in on them fast. Dead ahead, a police cruiser was making its way on to the runway. The two armed figures who’d been standing behind it were now nowhere to be seen.
‘It’s too late,’ the co-pilot replied. ‘Get back to your seats, now!’
They were almost on top of the trees; then, for a fraction of a second, they were below them. Lock and the Marshal turned round just as the plane’s wheels made contact with terra firma. The jolt sent both of them tumbling back down the aisle. Lock grabbed an arm rest to steady himself as the pilot slammed on the brakes.
Through the window next to him, Lock could see the police cruiser driving parallel to them, a female deputy at the wheel. The look of terror on her face told him everything he needed to know about the situation they’d just landed themselves in.
Chance was shouting instructions from a prone position on the rear bench seat of the police cruiser.
‘OK, now slow down.’
Hulsey took her foot off the gas. The plane sped past them, revealing the three SUV transfer-convoy vehicles five hundred yards away on the apron.
‘Now, lower the rear window.’
‘Please, don’t do this,’ Hulsey pleaded.
‘Lower the goddamn window, bitch.’
Hulsey did as she was told, her fingers trembling.
Chance grabbed the RPG launcher from the footwell and took aim at the rear SUV parked on the apron. She pulled the trigger, the recoil throwing her back on to the seat. Clawing her way back up, she watched as the SUV took a direct hit, the impact of the grenade twisting the frame and punching the SUV over on to its side.
So much for the counter-attack team, she thought.
Beyond her, Chance could see Cowboy and Trooper making their move, emerging from their positions and laying down covering fire as they made their way towards the two remaining SUVs. Rounds pinged off the vehicles. She spotted Trooper stopping to reload as Cowboy let off a three-round burst from his M-4. She smiled as Trooper finished the reload, his moves sharp and balletic, so at odds with his shambolic appearance.
The passenger door of the lead SUV opened and a Marshal appeared in full tactical gear. Trooper, lying flat on the floor in a sniper position, took aim and shot the Marshal full in the face from a hundred yards. The Marshal’s mouth caved in on itself, dragging his nose and eyes with it.
Chance grabbed a fresh RPG round from her backpack and rearmed the launcher. It took her a moment. In front, Hulsey was yammering into her radio: ‘Officer down, officer down! Back-up requested immediately!’ Chance ignored her. The pleas were already redundant; not even a factor. The Marshals on the ground and the pilot of the plane would already have communicated to the authorities in Medford and beyond that there had been a different sort of welcoming committee than the one they’d anticipated.
She finished reloading and looked at the digital timer hooked to the front of her bra. They had three more minutes.
Reassured that they were on schedule, Chance hefted the reloaded RPG launcher over her shoulder again and aimed for the lead vehicle.
She hit it dead centre. Another Marshal emerging from it took the full force of a front panel of the vehicle as it was blown from the carcass. His arms were ripped from his shoulders and arced behind his back and up into the air, landing just a few feet from her.
