State of Siege

Downer could cover pursuit from any direction. Being close to the underbelly would also keep him from being knocked around by the winds and by the downdraft from the rotor. And it would be much more difficult for a sharpshooter on the ground or in the air to notice him in the shadow of the chopper.

While they waited for a possible pursuit, Sazanka held them to one thousand feet and took them northwest along the river. A small plane was waiting for them at a tiny airstrip outside of Saint-Germain. Once the men and money bags had been transferred from the chopper, they would fly south into Spain. There, the chaos of the simmering civil war would make it easy for them to buy their way in and then out of the country.

“There it is!” Georgiev shouted down. The big man was pointing toward the southwest.

Downer didn’t have to look up to see where the Bulgarian was pointing. He’d also just spotted the police helicopter. It was about two thousand feet up and a half mile away. As Vandal had expected, it was from the French Gendarmerie’s Special Intervention Group.

The white and blue police chopper flew toward them in a sweeping, downward arc. The SIG team would follow their usual operating procedure. They’d attempt to raise the fleeing chopper by radio, which they were probably doing now. When the men didn’t respond, the police chopper would stay in constant radio contact with ground forces. Even if they had medium-range weapons, the police wouldn’t attempt to shoot the chopper down. Not as long as it was over a populated area and carrying a million dollars in currency. When the Hughes landed, both air and land units would close in on it.

Vandal knew that the Paris police department relied on radar from the two nearby airports to monitor the skies over the city. They used Charles de Gaulle to the northeast in Roissy-en-France and Orly to the south. Vandal also knew that when an aircraft dropped under two hundred and fifty feet, radar was ineffective due to interference from surrounding buildings. He had Sazanka keep the Hughes at one thousand feet.

The police chopper came closer. The hotels of the northern bank of the river passed beneath them in quick succession. To his right, across the river, Downer saw the Eiffel Tower, dark and spidery in the misty morning. They were flying level with the top of the structure.

The pursuing helicopter closed to within a quarter mile. They were still several hundred feet higher than the vehicle they were pursuing. The range of the grenade launcher was one thousand feet. According to the readout on the digital sight, the chopper was just out of range. Downer looked up at Georgiev. Vandal and Georgiev had both agreed that conversation over radios and cellular phones was too easy to intercept. Thus, once their gas masks were off, communication had to be muscular and old-fashioned.

“I need to be closer!” Downer yelled.

The Bulgarian cupped his thick hands around his mouth. “How much closer?” he shouted.

“Two hundred feet higher, three hundred feet back!”

Georgiev nodded. A door separated the cockpit from the aft cabin. The Bulgarian leaned through it and told Sazanka what Downer needed.

The Japanese pilot slowed and climbed. Downer watched the police chopper through his sight. The ascent brought them level with the other helicopter, and the decrease in speed narrowed the distance between them. The platform was jiggling up and down from the force of the rotor while the wind caused it to bump toward the stern. Aiming was difficult.

Downer sighted the cockpit of the police chopper. The optics of the grenade launcher did not magnify the target. Even so, Downer could see that someone was standing in the cockpit, leaning between the pilot and copilot and watching them with binoculars. Now that the two helicopters were level, they would finally be able to see Downer.

There was no time to wait for the police to get closer.

The Australian hunkered down on the platform, curling as tight as possible against the far side brace for the recoil. Again he sighted the cockpit of the pursuing aircraft. The shot didn’t have to be pretty; all he had to do was hit the enemy vehicle. He pulled hard on the heavy trigger.

The grenade left the barrel with a rush of air and a very loud pop. The launch knocked the platform backward with a sharp jolt, causing Downer to slide against the mesh siding. He lost the grenade launcher, which hit the platform with a ringing thunk. But he kept his eye on the projectile as it cut a thin, off- white contrail through the sky.

The grenade’s flight took three seconds. It struck the cockpit on the port side and exploded. There was a bright cotton-ball burst of red and black smoke, with slivers of fire close to the core. The smoke and glass that blew upward were dispersed by the main rotor. A moment later, the helicopter listed to the starboard side and began to roll over. There was no secondary explosion. Then, with the crew dead or disabled, the helicopter simply nosed down and plunged earthward. It reminded Downer of a shuttlecock with busted feathers on one side. The police helicopter spun in a lopsided way as the tail rotor pulled it first to one side and then another. It was almost as though the small propeller were single-handedly trying to keep the crippled chopper aloft.

Meanwhile, Georgiev had reactivated the pulley that raised the cable holding the platform. Downer finished his journey to the open door. He handed the Bulgarian the grenade launcher, and then Barone extended a hand to help him back in. Vandal helped Georgiev pull the platform inside.

Barone continued to hold Downer’s hand. The Uruguyan’s expression was taut with anger.

“I should have pushed you the other way,” Barone said.

Downer glared at him. “What you should have done was say, ‘Nice shooting, mate.’ ”

“You broke my concentration down there with all your talk!” Barone cried. He angrily released Downer’s hand.

“Didn’t take much, did it?” Downer said. “I know soldiers who can do your job in their sleep.”

“Then I suggest you work with them next time,” Barone snarled.

“Enough!” Vandal said over his shoulder.

Georgiev and Vandal had been watching as the police helicopter crashed into a block near the river. There was a small, white explosion. A muffled boom reached them a moment later. They began to shut the door.

“An arrogant ass,” Barone muttered. “That’s what I’m working with. An arrogant, Australian ass!”

Before Georgiev and Vandal could finish closing the hatch, Reynold Downer suddenly slapped both hands on the front of Barone’s uniform. The Australian grabbed it so tightly that his fingertips sank into the meat of the smaller man’s chest. Barone screamed in pain as Downer swung him around and pushed him toward the still-open hatchway. He leaned Barone back so that his head and shoulders were hanging over Paris.

“Jesus!” Barone yelled.

“I’ve had enough of this!” the Australian shouted. “You’ve been riding me for weeks!”

“Stop it!” Vandal shouted. He ran over to the men.

“I spoke my mind is all I did!” Downer said. “I also did my job and took down the bloody damn chopper, so climb off!”

Vandal forced himself between them. “Get away!” he said as he grabbed Barone’s arm with his left hand. At the same time, he used his right shoulder to nudge Downer back.

Downer pulled Barone inside, then stepped away willingly. He turned and faced the bags stacked against the other side of the cabin. Behind him, Georgiev quickly shut the door.

“Everyone calm down,” Vandal said quietly. “We’re all excitable right now, but we’ve accomplished what we set out to do. All that should matter now is finishing the job.”

“Finishing it without any more complaints,” Barone said. He was shaking with anger and fear.

“Of course,” Vandal said calmly.

“It was a bloody observation,” Downer said through his teeth. “That’s all it was!”

“All right!” Vandal said. He remained between the men and glanced back at Downer. “I would like to remind you, both of you, that in order to complete this part of the mission and move on to the next, we need every member of the team. Now, we all did our jobs here, and did them well. If we take a little extra care in the future, we’ll be fine.” He looked back at Barone. “Even if anyone heard his voice, I’m confident that we’ll be out of the country before anyone can figure out which Australian that accent belongs to.”

“Which Australian with commando experience to pull off a job like this,” Barone shot back.

“They still won’t find us in time,” Vandal said. “If they heard him, the police will still have to go to Interpol, which will check with authorities in Canberra. We’ll be long gone before they even have a list of possible suspects.” Cautiously, he moved from between the men. He looked at his watch. “We’ll be landing in ten