Brent tensed and picked up the pace. This was it. He was going to lose her. Again.
TWENTY-FIVE
Fires raged through the ground-floor windows of the building where the militiamen had holed up. Those pathetic dolts thought they had a perfect firing line on the Silver Tower’s remaining exit, but the Enforcers Corps chopper and its gunner had routinely ruined their plans.
Now Haussler, still at the wheel of the lead truck, hit the gas, and the Snow Maiden followed him. They bounced over the concrete curbing, left the garage, and rumbled onto the street, with the chopper still hovering above.
Within two minutes they were headed southwest along the desolate highway, bound for Mina Jebel Ali, guided by night vision and, well, to be blunt, vengeance and greed.
Patti contacted her over the suit’s radio and said that their ship, the NYK Line’s
“How did the Americans get here? By land? Or by sea. . if there’s a JSF ship out there — or a submarine — this could all be for nothing. Do you understand?”
“Viktoria, there’s no need to remind me of that again.”
“Well, if you haven’t taken care of that, then I can’t promise you anything.”
“I understand. And
“You gave me no choice. Your Green Brigade friends couldn’t stop him. So I earned his trust by killing the Chinese. Are you happy?”
“What will you do with the German now?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure.”
The Range Rover was parked just behind a pile of concrete rubble on the north side of the tower. Juma turned over the car to Brent and Lakota. He was going back into the tower to find his cousin, who was with Schleck and Voeckler. The rest of Juma’s men had sought cover in the Almas Tower, but ironically, the chopper had broken off to escort the telecom trucks. Juma said the convoy was heading south down Sheikh Zayed Road.
Brent took the wheel, with Lakota at his side. He checked the gauges. Half a tank of gas. They had to assume the Snow Maiden was meeting someone. The farther south she drove, the stronger the radioactive fallout became. She might be moving the gold out of Abu Dhabi, but probably not much farther south than that.
“Brent, I just got a call from my men at the airport,” said Juma over the radio. “They’ve been putting some fire on that cargo plane, but one of the choppers is keeping them pinned down.”
“See if they can disrupt the convoy of BTRs. That’s about all we can hope for now. I’m thinking the gold is with them.”
“Okay, Brent.”
He turned onto the highway and put the pedal to the metal. One headlight was out, and the engine wailed against his coaxing. He turned off that headlight and used the suit’s night vision.
“Ghost Lead, this is Copeland,” called the team’s medic. “Heston and Daugherty are stable but took some serious shrapnel hits. The suits administered pain meds before I could do anything. Heston’s fuel cell is out, damaged by the grenades, and Daugherty’s is shot, too. We need to evac a-sap.”
Copeland’s camera view filled a window in Brent’s HUD, and he glimpsed his men sitting up against the tunnel wall, both grimacing.
“All right, hold position till I can get you out of there. Noboru? Park? Go back for Riggs and Schoolie.”
There were few jobs more grim than retrieving the bodies of your fallen comrades.
He tossed a look to Lakota. “There’s just the two of us, some small arms, and a few grenades. How do we stop a convoy of trucks with a big lead?”
“Somebody told me you drove Corvettes when you were younger.”
“Maybe.”
“Then just drive, baby, drive!”
He drove his foot deeper into the pedal.
“That’s nice!” she cried.
Brent flicked his gaze to the right, saw Villanueva’s door just a few feet away, both Corvettes neck and neck now, their Borla exhaust systems thundering as they raced up the four-lane road.
He blinked again and saw Lakota. She looked at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure we take out those trucks. She doesn’t get away this time. Not this time.” Her voice did not falter, and he knew she would keep her promise or die trying.
The telecom trucks were running with lights out, so it took both Brent’s night vision and zoom lens to finally glimpse them in the distance, range 2.23 kilometers and falling.
“I can’t get this piece of crap to go any faster.”
“It’s no Corvette.”
He snorted. “Yeah.”
“Whoa. Hold,” she said. “We don’t have to catch them.” She spoke rapidly to someone else on another channel, her voice muted by the helmet.
He tensed. “What?”
“You know the old saying, if it becomes a sensor it has to talk to all of us?”
“Yeah, yeah, that thing about situational awareness, but what’s that have to do with—”
“Voeckler’s sending stuff to me since he knows you’re driving. He’s regained temporary contact with
A window irised open in the upper right-hand corner of Brent’s display to stream video from the unmanned reconnaissance drone as it arced high over the road. He spotted their Range Rover and the three trucks gliding like blips in a video game display across the dark road. The drone’s camera panned right and focused on a long series of docks. A flashing red label appeared with the words
“All right, I’m confused,” Brent confessed. “She might be heading to the dock, but is she taking the trucks because it’s just faster?”
“No, because she’s also got the gold,” finished Lakota. “And the BTRs are just the decoy. We assumed the gold was in the better-defended vehicles, and we played right into her hand.”
“She’s crazy.”
“And so are we.”
“Ghost Lead, this is Hawk’s Honor, up top at nine thousand feet, over.”
A new window in Brent’s HUD showed a rotating file image of a JSF Boeing 747 that was operating out of Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. The image switched to the pilot, who wore a narrow headset with attached monocle similar to Brent’s Cross-Com. A bar below him indicated that his aircraft was equipped with a YAL-1 laser cannon attached to the jet’s nose cone. The 747’s chemical oxygen iodine laser was primarily an air-to-air missile defense weapon, but the YAL-1 had recently been modified to take out ground targets.
Two smaller windows opened on Brent’s screen to show the 747’s escort: a pair of carrier-based F-35s operating from the USS
Brent could barely contain his excitement.
