by Andy Lucas
Stars suddenly exploded in front of Pace’s eyes before a deep darkness enveloped him. Wolf had brought the butt of his pistol down hard against the back of his skull, satisfied to see Pace slump, face down, into the mud.
Once he’d seen his nemesis fall at his feet, Cathera seemed to recover his senses. He gave orders for everyone to be taken to the helicopters and led the way with an arrogant swagger.
They reached the clearing after three minutes fairly easy walking. It housed two helicopters. One was a converted Lynx that Cathera and Wolf had come in on, the other an old Russian assault troop carrier that looked similar to an over-sized Sea King; massive with a set of clamshell rear doors that sat wide open, revealing a huge rear hold. The remaining Huey had vanished, heading for home.
Baker could not tell the make or model as he looked at it. What he could judge was that it was easily big enough on its own to transport the two dozen or so mercenaries that comprised Wolf’s team.
In fact, it was a venerable MIL Mi-6 heavy lift and assault carrier; once the world’s largest helicopter, that Baker and his team were presented with. Originally designed in the late 1950’s, it could cruise at 160 mph and carry a load twice as heavy as its own weight, or up to sixty-five fully-equipped troops. Rugged, solid and dependable, this particular model had been flying since 1963 and could fly on for another fifty years, with the correct maintenance.
Baker’s party filed obediently behind him as they were jostled into the clearing. The skies were ominously grey but kept their watery contents to themselves for now. The air was hot and very humid and a background chorus of insect life clicked and buzzed in the sweltering heat.
Only four men had been left with the helicopters; the pilot and co-pilot of each machine. When they saw the others push into the clearing, they darted inside their machines and began pre-flight checks; all too aware that something was coming their way that would arrive in about ten minutes time. Blades began to spin as the mercenaries pushed the prisoners into the huge transport helicopter before following them inside.
Wolf and Cathera clambered inside the luxurious confines of a Lynx. The inert form of Pace was dumped on the carpeted floor at their feet by the big mercenary before he threw a quick salute and headed off over to the MIL Mi-6 at a run.
The sight of Pace’s head lolling from side to side drew a muffled gasp of horror from the only other occupant, as Sarah was bundled into the back as well.
‘Don’t worry,’ promised Cathera. ‘At least he cannot feel his pain at the moment. When he awakes, I assure you that he will pray for unconsciousness again.’ He laughed at the fury in her eyes and the obvious frustration of being tied up.
‘We should get to the mine,’ said Wolf. ‘We only have a few minutes to get clear.’
‘Of course.’ Cathera gave the instruction to the pilot and they were soon lifting off the ground, beating a path north-east barely ten feet above the trees.
21
For a corpse, Attia looked very healthy as his hands skilfully manipulated the helicopter’s control pedals and cyclic stick with the easy touch of a veteran, whisking it towards their target coordinates as fast as the sleek machine could manage. Stranger even than that, perhaps, was his passenger.
As bald accountants went, he was a one-off original. His adventurous spirit had drawn him to the murkier side of the McEntire business and his years of martial training in Hong Kong, where he was raised from early childhood, made him a valuable asset in covert operations. Interestingly enough, his credentials; both botanical and financial, were genuine and he was equally at home handling a weapon as he was a fountain pen.
Seated next to him, Hammond watched the world flash past the cockpit glass and thumbed the safety catch on his M16 to safe mode.
The weapons they used in the field were usually the older sort, bought up on the surplus markets and thoroughly reconditioned. So many M16s had been made over the past thirty years that tracing them, in the event that they had to leave someone behind, was impossible. Also, the older weapons had proved themselves in battle and were often more reliable in poor conditions than more complex, modern firearms.
In case the landing was bumpy, he was taking no chances.
‘This is it,’ Hammond remarked casually. ‘A few more hours and we can put this mess behind us.’
‘As long as we don’t make even more mess in the process,’ cautioned Attia. ‘Cathera is a cunning operator and the complexity of his network has surprised us all. I don’t think we have a clue what he’s really planning to do yet, so we must be careful.’
‘McEntire is always careful,’ Hammond replied. ‘You know that. Besides, how often do we know exactly what we’re walking into? That just doesn’t happen in our business, you know that.’
Attia did know that. Being uncertain of an outcome was expected in the field, as was making difficult decisions on the spot that often led to human beings ceasing to exist. Lying convincingly was a skill that all operatives honed, though he had still found it hard to deceive the other athletes on his team by pretending to die. It had been necessary and necessary actions were often unpalatable in the clandestine section of the McEntire global umbrella.
They had been sent in by McEntire after contact was lost with the surveillance airship. There was no mayday or any hint of why it had suddenly vanished, so they were on their way to the last know coordinates, flying as fast as they could from where they’d been on standby, close to the Venezuelan border. Journey time could be measured in a matter of minutes.
A sudden, sweeping turn whipped the helicopter around the top of an unusually tall tree that erupted from the fairly uniform carpet of tree tops below the fuselage; the lurching change of direction threatening to tip Hammond from his seat. The accountant just grinned and braced his legs against the floor, riding out the imbalance easily.
He never buckled up when flying on a mission, in case the aircraft went down and the seatbelt became a deadly shackle against escape. His pulse quickened as the expected rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins; his mind telling him that the climax of months of clandestine work was barely minutes away – he had to be ready.
They had picked up Cathera’s helicopters as they were beating a path away from the scene of their attack, Attia noting their flight path on a secretly-developed, short range radar unit that had been configured to read down to thirty feet above ground level, leaving the fleeing aircraft clearly visible on a small computer screen set into the helicopter’s overhead control panel.
He eased the stick forward a little and twisted open the throttle a little further, easing pressure on one of the rudder pedals in order to swing them around slightly around to match Cathera’s bearing. The increased airspeed pushed them over the treetops at nearly two hundred miles an hour, which caused them to rapidly gain on their quarry.
Tom McEntire had been along for the ride earlier in the day, with his role as Cathera’s spy in the McEntire camp no longer needing to be kept secret. He’d received an instruction to join Cathera and Wolf at a small airfield just outside Manaus and had smugly climbed aboard the Lynx, sure that his life was now about to get even better.
He would soon get to see James die, then be able to watch his estranged wife beg for her life at his feet. His brain found itself suddenly addled, twenty minutes into the flight, by the sight of the sliding door being dragged open in mid-air. A heavy shove between his shoulder blades sent him flying through the open door.
Cathera didn’t even glance over as Wolf slid the door closed on yet another murder. Tom’s screams barely started before he struck the ground, on the edge of a small stream, deep within the forest.
Unbeknown to her, Sarah’s divorce worries were now a thing of past.
Up ahead, Cathera’s team were heading towards an old, opencast gold mine, abandoned four years earlier and long since forgotten by the outside company that had sold the land rights to one of Cathera’s many front companies a few months after the last miner had headed off downstr
eam.
When operating at its peak, tonnes of surface soil had been scraped away and washed with river water to reveal gold deposits; the deadly addition of heavy metals and poisons in the separation process having a catastrophic affect on the local river system and wildlife, leaving a trail of death snaking downstream for over twenty miles.
Now, overgrown and rapidly being reclaimed by the jungle, it was the perfect place for Cathera’s back-up plan to be set in motion. Desperate and deadly, the psychotic Egyptian was quite prepared to unleash the unthinkable in a desperate bid to keep his dream of eventual power, and untold personal wealth, alive.
Barely six miles separated the two groups of weaving, tree-skimming helicopters when a small, dirty tributary suddenly flashed into view below Cathera’s helicopter. A quick twisting turn and a brown and green expanse of open space on one bend of the narrow waterway opened up eighty feet below their whirling rotor assembly. A collection of battered, disused shipping containers sat huddled forlornly at the edge of the open ground, closest to the encroaching jungle.
‘We can’t afford to stay,’ decided Wolf quickly. ‘McEntire’s people will surely find us before we can complete the operation.’
Cathera had no idea just how close the enemy was, nor how fast they were closing in. Despite that, he knew that his hired assassin was quite correct, which infuriated him. All he wanted to do now was land, conduct some pleasurable torturing of the prisoners and then execute his escape plan.
‘You are right,’ he agreed reluctantly. He issued some rapid orders and the helicopter dropped from the skies and settled on the soft mud close to the abandoned containers. Wolf then dragged the unconscious form of Pace out of the aircraft and carried him across to one of the containers. Sarah watched, horrified, as the men disappeared inside.
Wolf emerged a minute later, carrying Pace’s clothing. He ducked down and ran back to the helicopter, forcing his way through the downdraft of the rotors. Once inside, the helicopter rocketed back into the sky and, together with its companion, veered westward.
‘I locked him up and he won’t get far without his clothing, even if he does manage to get free before we return. Too many dangerous things that bite, sting or scratch to try and walk through this kind of jungle naked.’
‘Good idea,’ congratulated Cathera. The man was proving to be well worth his exorbitant fee.
Accelerating to maximum speed, Cathera ordered the pilot to ascend to two hundred feet so that any pursuers would get a clear radar reading on them. He wanted a chase to move away from the mine so that he could double back later and have his fun, undisturbed. The last thing he needed was for the force that McEntire was bound to send finding the mine, release Pace, and perhaps even foiling his plan.
With barely a minute’s flying time between the hunter and hunted, the weather chose its moment to change dramatically. Within thirty seconds, the grey skies thickened and the cloud dropped down to smother the canopy, plunging visibility to zero.
With the low cloud came heavy rain. Humidity remained high and there was no wind, just a steady pounding of water on metal, glass and plastic.
Attia flew on as if nothing had changed, continuing to monitor the instrumentation, keeping a close eye on Cathera’s flight. He was slightly puzzled to note the change in height but it made no difference to the chase. The only difference was that they now had to catch up to their prey and try to force them down without actually being able to physically see anything.
‘Do you think the weather is trying to tell us something?’ Hammond asked. ‘And do you think Sarah is in there?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Attia replied. ‘It’s safe to say that Cathera has her somewhere close by. She could well be with him, or he might have had her taken somewhere nice and safe to use as leverage at some later date.’
‘So, do we shoot them down or not?’
‘Not with missiles. We’re carrying heat seeking, air-to-air hardware. We could easily destroy them from here. We’re in range but it’s not an option. Everyone would be killed.’
Hammond knew the plan was to bring any aircraft down using guns, by targeting engines and rotors before calling in back up helicopters with men who could be sent down on ropes to finish off any survivors. McEntire had given clear orders that Pace and his daughter; if she was somehow included, were to be given every chance of survival. Unfortunately, the weather now made forcing targets down into the canopy with guns an almost impossible job.
They needed a new plan, and quickly. That was why, a few seconds later, Cathera’s radio crackled into life. Time for concealment was gone.
‘This is Rescue One calling unidentified aircraft, over.’ Attia hoped he was doing the right thing as he finished the sentence. He repeated it again and was rewarded with a stern reply.
‘Rescue One. Your assistance is not required, over.’
‘Copy that, unidentified aircraft. We have orders from your government to render assistance, even if it is not welcome. Please acknowledge and reduce speed to a holding hover, over.’
There was a long pause before the radio burst into life once more. ‘Rescue One, we require no assistance and we will not comply, over.’
‘Unidentified aircraft, acknowledged. Failure to comply will lead to consequences, over,’
‘Understood, out.’
The brief play of words had got Attia nowhere, other than alerting the enemy of their presence but he knew this was a surprise to no one. Cathera would have been expecting them soon enough.
Having attracted attention away from the mine, the fleeing aircraft dropped low again, which put them at risk of running into a tall tree in the thick cloud. Attia was still able to track them but he wisely chose to fly higher, now that he could not see anything outside the cockpit bubble.
Levelling off at three hundred feet, he noted with satisfaction that the gap between the two sides had closed down to within five hundred feet. Rain mocked him and the low cloud swirled thickly outside water-beaded glass.
Attia was flying a variation of the Aerospatiale Dauphin 2 variety, originally built in France but now manufactured under licence in several countries around the globe. Favoured by both the US Coastguard and civilian companies for its sleek design, durability and high performance, these four-bladed helicopters had been modified by the McEntire Corporation for a more aggressive role, mounting a radar-controlled 50mm cannon in the nose and a pair of Sidewinder, air-to-air missiles slung beneath the fuselage.
In the cloud, however, their superior firepower was worthless. As the distance closed; to within one hundred feet behind and two hundred and twenty feet above, visibility remained at zero. Peering down between his feet, through the glass panels, Hammond saw only thick white emptiness.
Attia kept his eyes firmly fixed on the instruments. The last thing he wanted was to bump into Cathera in the murk, in case he decided to alter course and height suddenly. The radar told him the enemy remained flying in the same direction, at a little over one hundred and seventy miles per hour.
‘We have to do something to bring them down,’ Attia said firmly. ‘We can’t chase them around in this soup for hours. Our fuel reserves will force us to turn back in about ten minutes.’
‘Where do you think James is? I can’t tell if these two helicopters we’re chasing are the same model, or who is in which. We have to be sure before we shoot.’
‘Suggestions?’ growled Attia. He was getting tired of waiting and he was more than a little bit irritated that his attempt to scare Cathera down by exposing themselves had failed miserably.
‘Go to thermal imaging through the gun-sight,’ Hammond suddenly commanded. The thermal capability was normally used to track living targets that were hiding on the ground, so Attia shot him a look that forced a brief explanation. ‘Use the thermal imager to scan both Cathera’s machines. We might get lucky and spot something to tell us which one to shoot at.’
It was a good idea, Attia thought. Flicking the relevant switch, he pull
ed on a flying helmet, fitted with its military style head-up display and gun sight. Immediately, the thermal signatures of the previously invisible machines sprang into his eyes.
The hot engine exhausts from the fleeing aircraft muffled the readings because they were flying almost directly above them, so he carefully turned the collective handle and eased back on the throttle, descending slowly until he matched the enemy’s height and flew a parallel course.
Without the cloud, it would have looked something similar to two thoroughbred racehorses running, neck and neck, for the finishing post. Through the power of the imager, however, Attia found his smile again.
‘First helicopter is smaller and it has four body signatures. The one behind it is a big beast and has multiple signatures.’ He made a quick tally. ‘Over a dozen, maybe twenty.’
‘Odds are that Cathera has the luxury one leading the way and the bruiser flies behind to watch his back,’ decided Hammond.
‘That’s about it. What do you think? I’m all for shooting the big one out of the sky. If I’m careful, I can use the thermal imager to still try and target the engines with the cannon.’
‘If James isn’t already dead, he’s going to be in that smaller helicopter, with Cathera. Sarah too,’ Hammond said.
‘We’ll just have to be careful,’ said Attia solemnly.
‘Then let’s do it.’
‘Okay. Here we go.’ Settling himself deeper into his seat, he flicked his eyes across to the huge heat signature radiating from the MIL Mi-6’s two massive 5,500 horse power Soloviev D-25V turboshafts.
The gun barrel in the nose moved in time to his eye movements and the crosshairs soon settled on the tail section, a few inches just behind the engine cover. A red button on the control stick was slowly depressed and Hammond felt a familiar shudder as the heavy ammunition streaked away from the unseen muzzle of their weapon, spewing through the thick shroud and slicing the tail of the Russian machine neatly off.
