A brief silence, then, ‘I hear you. I’ll be back in two.’
‘I hope he’s quicker than that,’ said Dave. He was throwing glances at the sky, where the shape of a huge cargo aircraft could be seen approaching in the distance. ‘We’re running shy of time here.’
Seconds later Brasher was back. He sounded both mad and desperate enough to forget formal communications. ‘The little shit was playing us, all right. He says there’s only one – repeat, one – tube of chemical, because that’s all Malak could get his hands on.’
‘What about the other drones?’ Rush asked. As Brasher was speaking she was watching the Globemaster lumber in closer, and was sure the rear cargo ramp was already open ready for the SWAT team to make their exit.
‘Explosives. He says the plan was for each of the remaining three to be fitted with a pack of C4, to be triggered automatically when the drone reaches the map coordinates. Coming in at twenty feet, anybody caught underneath will be wiped out. They’re also carrying red powdered dye, although I have no idea why.’
‘I do. It’s for effect. With all the television crews around, he’ll want to give his financial backers a show they’ll remember. It’ll go round the world in minutes.’
‘So which ones will he use where?’
Vaslik supplied the answer. ‘Didn’t Donny say Malak knows how to change the coordinates? My guess is he’ll use the spray over the base for maximum damage and reserve the explosives for Freedom Field where all the broadcast media will be focussing.’
Brasher started to say something, then came a shout in the background and his voice changed. ‘You’re out of time! The SWAT team’s away… you’d better land now! Out.’
He was right. One look showed the Globemaster banking away from the drop zone away, leaving behind a line of specks falling through the sky. They seemed to be dropping much too fast and too low, but it was clear they were going for a freefall deployment and a low-altitude opening to get on the ground as quickly as possible.
One by one, when it seemed far too late, the parachutes began to blossom like flowers and separate from each other in a mesmerising display of skill.
‘Hold tight.’ Dave took the machine down as fast as he dared, virtually standing it on its nose and hovering just above the ground a couple of hundred yards away from the army patrol vehicle. There were no signs of movement, but they could see the shape of a body on the ground nearby.
‘He must be in the trees,’ said Vaslik, and pulled his handgun, checking the load.
‘Can you manage?’ Ruth asked, and pointed at his wounded arm.
He grinned tightly and said, ‘I’ve got another one. Let’s go!’
51
James Chadwick watched from the interior of the patrol vehicle as the Globemaster droned overhead then banked away, leaving behind its human cargo hanging like a music score in the sky. Malak was nearby and Bilal was out of sight among the trees behind them, watching for security patrols, his assault rifle like a kid’s toy in his hand.
Malak had made them put on combat uniform, boots and helmets. None would stand up to close inspection by genuine military personnel, but with the vehicle they were in, they had so far survived the passing of two other patrols and a police officer, all of whom had slowed on seeing them. Each time, Malak had jumped out and stood by the hood, using binoculars as cover in a pretence of scanning the ground. He had returned a wave from one patrol, a convincing imitation of a man focussing on his job and not open to interruption, but the tactic had worked; each of the patrols had driven on by without stopping and left them alone, intent only on spotting non-military or police vehicles.
James glanced towards the open rear door and felt his stomach rebel. He could just see the legs of the man who had brought Malak the patrol vehicle and uniforms; he was now lying dead with a bullet in his stomach. When Malak had handed him a rifle and told him to take his place alongside Bilal on the outside and get ready to help, he had protested that he was a mechanic, not a fighter, and did not belong here.
Malak’s response had been swift and brutal. Waiting for a passing news helicopter to go by, he’d pushed the man out of the vehicle, then jabbed the barrel of his pistol into his stomach and pulled the trigger. The report, muffled against his body, had still sounded deafening to James, but the noise had gone unnoticed, drowned out by the clatter of the rotors overhead.
It was yet another sign of just how unpredictable this man was, and how unhinged his actions and attitude were fast becoming as his stress levels began to mount.
Malak climbed back inside as if nothing had happened and focussed on the parachute team, counting the jumpers out loud. He was toying nervously with a cell phone from the box by his side, and kept checking it was powered up. James guessed that at the critical moment he would use it to give word to whoever he was working with that the strike was about to take place.
He looked down at the box and saw that it now contained only two phones. There had been at least half a dozen yesterday, along with some strips of wire, the purpose of which had escaped him. So where had the others gone? And the packs of C4?
Then he saw noticed something that made his gut recoil. One of the phones was wrapped in packaging tape, and attached to it was a dark pack of C4. The tape had a number written on it in ink.
‘What are they doing?’ Malak’s voice jerked his attention away from the box. The terrorist had stopped counting at twenty, and was scowling. ‘Is that all? The news reports said there would be at least double that number.’ He shook his head and pulled a face in disgust. ‘Maybe that’s all this warmongering president deserves; twenty fools who will also die with him.’
James said nothing; he was too busy wondering what other surprises the man had prepared for today. In any case, Malak wasn’t interested in his views, only those tumbling around in his own twisted mind. Moments later he saw something that Malak had missed: another Globemaster was lumbering into view, this one higher and further back, on a parallel course but closer to the base. He felt a sense of excitement, even hope. He had no way of knowing for certain, but if the plane spilled another team, it could only mean that the first twenty currently dropping to earth were not trainees but… something else altogether!
Malak grunted and moved restlessly in his seat. His instincts must have been telling him something wasn’t right. A sound like a moan came from deep in his chest, followed by slapping James’s knee with the back of his hand.
‘Get them in the air,’ he said softly. ‘Do it now. Now!’ To reinforce the point, he took out his semi-automatic and held it in his lap. ‘Remember – no mistakes and no tricks.’
James picked up the control unit and took a deep breath, adjusting the video screen so that Malak couldn’t see it, pretending he was tilting it against the light. ‘They’re all set on the coordinates you entered,’ he reminded Malak, and winced; his voice had come out a little too loud in the cramped interior. He pretended to flick on the power switch and wait for the screen display to light up, whereas it was already showing a full array of data. His heart was thudding and his mouth felt as dry as the dusty soil outside, whereas his hands were slippery with sweat on the plastic casing.
It had all come down to this.
He’d taken advantage of the few minutes while Malak had been standing outside playing security man to affect the outcome of the next few minutes. In spite of his earlier claim, using the screen’s icons had been second nature to him. But it had been a close call; Malak had nearly caught him with the control unit in his hands and he hadn’t had time to switch off the screen. All it would take was for Malak to spot that it was active and he would know for sure that it had been accessed.
He toggled the control stick and watched as the read-out showed data coming in from each of the drones where they had been placed during the night under cover of running a security patrol, each one about a mile out and a quarter of a mile from its neighbour. Malak had made him feed in homing coordinates into each one, and selected conceal
ment locations which were invisible in dead ground away from any of the roads criss-crossing the area. Even a careful study of the area through binoculars would not reveal them unless a security patrol went off-road and actually stumbled over them. And he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Moskito One. In the air.
Two. Lifting off.
Three. A momentary flicker of the figures, then moving up.
Four. Nothing. He waited, then tapped the side of the handset and grunted. It was pure pantomime entirely for Malak’s benefit and he hoped it was convincing.
‘What is it?’ Malak slid forward in his seat until he could see the read-outs. ‘Number four – why is there no signal? What have you done?’ His voice was frantic and his face became suffused with blood. ‘Get me the feed for number four and the visual!’ He was referring to the camera on each drone, which would show their progress on the video screen as they lifted off, and their flight path ahead.
‘I can’t.’ James moved the control but with no reaction from number four. ‘It’s not responding. Isn’t that the one Bilal placed closest to the base? It could be there’s a signal blocker in operation. Maybe he hid it too well.’
Malak stared at him and James felt the full power of his gaze; the same power that the dead man outside must have experienced before being shot. He found himself counting, as if that would somehow provide a barrier against him suffering the same fate.
Instead of pulling the trigger, Malak grabbed the control unit and tried to get a reaction, but without success. He thrust it back into James’s hands and pushed the pistol barrel hard against his forehead, grinding it into the skin.
‘You have one chance only,’ he hissed, his breath hot and sour. ‘You will make sure the three other drones come in on target, or I will kill you. Then I will order the elimination of your wife, your son and your filthy whore. That is my promise.’ To emphasise the point, he took out his cell phone and held it in the air.
James felt the sweat trickling down his forehead, and for the first time in his life experienced complete and utter helplessness. There would be only one outcome for himself, he was certain of that; the dead man outside was the clearest indicator. But he couldn’t even countenance the same fate for Elizabeth, Ben or Valerie. He wasn’t sure even now if he would have the courage to do the right thing if the situation arose. Disarming drone number four had been simple, but doing something physical was altogether different, as Malak was watching him far too closely.
‘Asim! They come!’ It was Bilal. He was pointing towards the area where the presidential party was gathering ready for the visit. Cars were arriving and parking under the directions of military police personnel, and a sizeable crowd had accumulated along with media vans and reporting crews around the wooden podium that had been placed there earlier. ‘They are here!’
Malak looked surprised and swore softly. ‘They are early. But no matter – the result will be the same.’
James looked too, and breathed a sigh of relief as the focus turned away from himself. Sure enough the presidential convoy was drawing up at the freedom field site, a line of black cars gleaming in the sun.
‘Get the drones here – now!’ Malak ordered him. ‘How long will it take?’
‘Two minutes.’ James felt sick. ‘No more than that.’ He wondered if the security cordon around the president would spot the drones, and if so, what they would do.
‘Who are they?’ It was Bilal again, now standing by the open rear door and pointing off to one side. ‘Is it a news team?’
Malak looked through the side window, and swore. One of the small civilian helicopters they’d seen overflying the area earlier was coming in to land not far away. Its descent was steep, and at the last second, just as it appeared about to smash into the ground, it flared level and hovered, the skids barely touching the coarse grass.
If Malak was expecting a news reporter or camera team to exit the craft, it was not to be. A man and a woman leapt out either side of the helicopter and ran in opposite directions, while the aircraft rose sharply back in the air. But instead of moving away, it held station at a hundred feet or so, a cloud of dust and foliage billowing from the downdraft of the rotors.
‘What is it doing?’ Bilal asked, his mouth open. ‘Asim?’
But Malak’s eyes were glued on the two people who had landed from the helicopter, his face expressing utter astonishment. James looked, too, and felt a jolt of hope. They were carrying weapons! And Malak had clearly recognised them.
And they were now heading in this direction.
‘Get them!’ Malak screamed, and reached out and slapped Bilal’s shoulder to jolt him into action. ‘Stop them now!’
For a second Bilal seemed rooted to the spot. Then he shook himself and lumbered out from behind the patrol vehicle and dropped to one knee, ready to open fire.
James felt powerless, his gut churning with fear. He had to do something – but what? He turned back to the video screen as the first of the drones headed towards the designated target area, the ground flashing by in a blur. He thought about simply making the drones dump into the ground, but knew he’d never get past downing the first one before Malak would shoot him dead.
He looked up through the front window towards the gathered crowd in the distance, and thought he saw a familiar figure stepping up to the podium and the assembled press microphones and cameras, amid a volley of flash-bulbs.
The US president.
52
Running away from the helicopter as fast as she could pump her legs, Ruth felt as if she had jumped into a giant vacuum cleaner full of grit. She ploughed on through the swirling haze of dust and debris being blasted up by the downdraft of the rotors, and felt the stinging sensation on her skin as millions of fragments of dirt lashed into her from all directions.
She caught a glimpse of movement straight ahead of her, and recognised the bulky figure of Bilal dropping to one knee, an assault rifle held to his shoulder. She threw herself to one side, thinking she’d heard a shot, but in the roaring pandemonium of the helicopter engine, couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she was still alive.
She fired twice at Bilal, but the dust was working as much in his favour as hers and he didn’t seem affected. Behind him the trees were beginning to bend away and foliage was being ripped off the branches like confetti, and even the heavy patrol vehicle Malak was using was being rocked on its suspension.
She turned to look back and was stunned to see what was causing it. Dave Proust had turned the helicopter almost side-on and was focussing his rotors like a giant fan, creating a down-draft to stir up a shield and to put Bilal off his aim. The gunman, unable to focus on Ruth or Vaslik, turned his rifle and began firing at the helicopter as it moved past in a slow curve.
Ruth was dimly aware of Vaslik running forward and shooting, and opened fire herself as Bilal stood braced against the howling dust storm. He was holding the rifle in one hand like a pistol and shouting unintelligibly as he pulled the trigger. Then she saw the helicopter move away and guessed that some of the rounds had struck the cabin.
With the abrupt cessation of wind and dust came an awesome silence. But Bilal recovered quickly and aimed his weapon into the sky and began firing wildly. But he was no longer aiming at the helicopter; the reason quickly became evident as a shadow passed through Ruth’s field of vision.
‘Down! Down!’ a voice shouted, and she threw herself flat just as one of the SWAT team members passed over her head and hit the ground running. Without stopping to release his chute he lifted his Heckler & Koch machine pistol and sent a hail of bullets at the screaming Bilal, knocking him off his feet.
Ruth didn’t wait. She jumped to her feet and ran towards the patrol vehicle, and saw Vaslik doing the same. Before they could reach it she heard a shot and saw Malak sliding behind the wheel. As the vehicle surged forward, a figure in combat uniform tumbled from the rear door and hit the ground.
James Chadwick.
Ruth dodged to avoi
d the charging nose of the vehicle, and saw Malak’s frenzied face snarling at her from behind the wheel. She wondered how he thought he could possibly get away. A glance through the duststorm showed a frantic buzz of activity around the president as his secret service detail closed in around him and hustled him away from the podium towards the armoured vehicle he’d arrived in. She also knew what would be happening elsewhere: the outer ring of security would be turning to look for possible sources of attack, while the communications team travelling with the president would be calling up the standby medical team and alerting Air Force One to be ready for departure.
Just as she reached Chadwick, she felt the shockwave of an explosion.
She spun round in horror, half expecting to see Dave Proust’s helicopter in flames. But instead saw a vast cloud of red dust hanging in the air some three hundred yards away, and tiny fragments of hard material spinning away and showering down on the SWAT team landing nearby and the fleeing patrol vehicle, which rocked and dipped savagely under the blast but continued going.
Seconds later another explosion came from further away, with another red dust cloud drifting on the breeze. Then a third.
Ruth turned to find Chadwick sitting up, his face in shock and clutching his ribs, where a splash of blood showed on his combat jacket. He tried speaking but couldn’t get the words out, and she wondered how seriously he was hurt. She turned to the SWAT team member who had discarded his parachute and was standing over them with his weapon raised and said, ‘This is Chadwick. We need to get him to hospital right away.’
Just then Vaslik arrived and kept James from trying to stand up, while the FBI man radioed for an emergency evacuation.
‘What the hell happened?’ she asked James, as he slumped against Vaslik’s arm. ‘Where’s the fourth drone?’
The Drone Page 28
