“What’s the plan?” Michael asked.
“The book says we should land immediately and be ready for an autorotation if the engine seizes,” Trevor replied.
“We’re not doing that, are we?” Marta asked.
“No,” Trevor said as he tightened his harness. “We’re twenty miles from the border. That’s ten minutes, max. I say we press on and pray that the engine keeps running for another ten minutes.”
“Trevor, should we still fly directly over the city?” Donovan asked. “Or would it be safer to skirt the city, and then if we had to autorotate to a landing we’d be in the open country as opposed to the city?”
“Straight over the city is the shortest distance to the border, it’s still the best play,” Trevor replied. “I can set this thing down on a rooftop or in a parking lot if I have to, and we have a better chance hiding in an urban environment.”
“What’s our weapon and ammunition situation?” Montero asked.
“I have about twenty rounds for the machine gun and two full clips for my Glock,” Marta replied.
“I only have six rounds left,” Donovan said.
“Okay, hiding is a far better option than fighting,” Montero said. “I agree with Trevor, an urban setting works to our advantage. Marta, do you have any contacts in Bratislava?”
“No. There’s a strict division of business between us and the Slovakians,” Marta explained. “There was a bloody turf war started years ago, and much ill will still exists. In fact, I’d rather be captured by the authorities than the Slovak mafia.”
“Good to know,” Montero said. “Is there any chance your associates in Austria could cross the border and pull us out?”
“Perhaps, but it would take time.”
“I hate to break up your strategic meeting,” Trevor said. “But it’s time to talk to Air Traffic Control or we’ll have a whole new set of problems.”
“I’m ready.” Marta turned her attention to Trevor.
“I’ll control the push-to-talk switch,” Trevor said. “I’ll tell you what to say, then I’ll use the word go. This means that the microphone is hot, and that you need to repeat exactly what I’ve just said. I’ll stop transmitting the moment you’re finished, and we’ll wait and see what you need to say next. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Marta said as she nodded and blew out a quick breath.
Donovan watched with anticipation. Pilot speak was an art, and controllers expected not only familiar phrases, but a certain cadence as well. This could go badly in a hurry.
“Here goes,” Trevor said. “Bratislava tower, this is Med-Air helicopter zero-two. How do you read? Go!”
Donovan marveled as Marta repeated perfectly what Trevor had said word for word.
“Med-Air zero-two, this is Bratislava tower, go with your message.”
“We’re ten miles east, request transition through your airspace at one thousand five hundred feet,” Trevor said to Marta. “Go.”
Once again Marta convincingly repeated what she’d been told to say.
“Med-Air zero-two,” the seemingly bored controller replied. “Say your destination?”
“University hospital helipad. Go.” Trevor said.
Donovan marveled at how relaxed Marta sounded. Then he realized she was in charge of a huge crime syndicate, and was no doubt well practiced in saying what was needed to get people to do her bidding.
“Roger Med-Air zero-two, cleared to transition, report leaving one thousand five hundred.”
“We’re beginning our descent at this time, Med-Air zero two,” Trevor said as he nodded his approval. “Go.”
Marta gave herself a little fist-pump as she made the final transmission that allowed them to continue.
Covering ground as fast as he could, Trevor was flying only a thousand feet above the city. Donovan was helpless to do anything except hold Lauren and hope that the engine kept turning. Below them were narrow, tree-lined streets, and houses with sloped roofs. There seemed to be few places to land a helicopter, regardless of how well Trevor could fly. Downtown was situated slightly to the left. Straight ahead was a cluster of buildings that looked to be a university. Just beyond, in the distance, lay the Danube and the border to Austria.
“Okay, folks,” Trevor said. “This thing could go to shit at any moment. If we go down, hold onto something solid and brace yourself for impact. Do not panic and do not try to get out of the helicopter before I give the word. There’s a rotor brake, let me stop the blades from spinning before we make a run for it—does everyone understand?”
Donovan eyed the instrument panel and spotted the oil temperature gauge. The needle was in the red. Next to it was the oil pressure gauge—and it showed zero. As if he were having the same worrisome thoughts, Michael turned toward Donovan with an expression of concern. They’d all hear the engine when it quit, and would know they were going down. Trevor would autorotate, which allowed the airflow in the descent to keep the blades turning. Only a few feet above the ground, Trevor would convert the energy of the still-spinning blades to arrest their free-fall into a smooth touchdown.
“We’re obliged to act like we’re landing just ahead at the hospital,” Trevor continued. “I’ll be slowing momentarily, and then we’ll make a quick left turn and we’re going to go like bloody hell for the river. According to the navigation display, once I make the turn, we need to stay in the air another two minutes to cross the border. Once we’re in Austria, I’ll be setting this thing down while we still have an engine.”
Everyone in the cabin remained silent as Trevor began slowing the helicopter under the pretense of landing. At two hundred feet above the ground, Trevor killed the lights, banked to the left and accelerated.
Ahead, winding like a black snake through a maze of lights, was the Danube. Donovan could see their position on the moving map display on Trevor’s panel. Their course put them toward the nearest point where the land on the other side of the river was Austria.
“We’re almost there,” Trevor said, it sounded as if he was talking to the engine.
Montero tried to settle lower in her seat and pulled on her harness. Donovan reached over and tightened the straps securing Lauren. Her eyes were open and she gave him a weak smile and closed them again. They’d all gone without sleep, but Lauren had been running for days on end. They’d come this far, and he vowed to do everything in his power to protect her from harm.
The ambient light from the buildings and streetlights on the ground abruptly dimmed and Donovan looked up from Lauren to the terrain. They’d flashed over a road, below them were trees, then a row of what looked like apartment buildings, and beyond that appeared to be the dark water of the Danube.
Donovan felt the subtle shift in the vibration of the airframe. The vibration quickly accelerated and was joined by the sound of screeching, tortured metal which reached a crescendo and ended in a muffled boom that sent glowing hot debris tumbling away from the helicopter. The loss of the engine noise was immediate and total. The only the sound came from the spinning rotor blades.
Trevor dumped the collective and the bottom of the helicopter felt like it collapsed out from underneath them as they dropped toward the ground. He maneuvered the chopper into a descending U-turn in an effort to turn back toward the highway.
“Everyone hang on,” Trevor called out. “This could get a bit messy.”
Donovan held Lauren as tightly as he dared. She turned in her seat and buried her face in his chest. Below them were nothing but trees, but, straight ahead, Donovan caught the sight of lights. Trevor was using street lamps from the thoroughfare to illuminate his touchdown zone.
A different roar reached Donovan’s ears. He had no idea what was generating the sound, only that it was growing louder. A quick search up and down the roadway showed no incoming traffic. Michael, too, was searching for the source.
Trevor pulled on the collective and the spinning blades bit into the air, arresting their drop and slowing the helicopter only seconds befo
re the skids lightly kissed the asphalt. “Everyone stay put!” Trevor ripped off his headset as he reached overhead and pulled on the rotor brake handle. Ten seconds later, the spinning blades creaked to a stop.
“We’ve got company,” Michael said as he popped open the door and the sound of another helicopter roared above them in the night sky. “It’s a Russian-made Mil-35. The Slovakian Air Force flies them.”
Donovan released his harness and then reached across to unbuckle Lauren. Up front, Marta, Trevor, and Michael had already jumped to the ground. Donovan gathered Lauren in his arms and with Montero behind him, stepped out of the chopper. He looked up at the machine; it was military gray and dwarfed their now useless EC-130. The Mil-35 hovered menacingly, bristling with guns, and fully loaded rocket launchers hung from twin weapons pylons. Trevor had set them down on an overpass. There were only two ways to run, and as the gunship lowered its landing gear in preparation for touchdown, their escape route dwindled to one.
Donovan turned and spotted a police car, blue-and-red lights lit up as it rushed toward them. From behind, the helicopter flattened its descent, roared only feet over their heads, and the entire nose of the gunship seemed to erupt with smoke and flames. Tracers arced out from the large-bore cannon and shredded the pavement in front of the police vehicle, throwing huge chunks of asphalt up into the air. The driver braked hard, but couldn’t avoid the deep potholes created by the cannon shells. The front end of the car dropped hard. Donovan saw sparks as the undercarriage hit and then bounced the vehicle into the air. It slid sideways and came to a halt. Donovan saw the officer climb out through a window and take cover behind what was remained of his car. He was well out of small arms range.
Above him the Mil-35 had swung around and was descending again. Donovan put his head down and turned to shelter Lauren, using his back to shield her from the brunt of the massive rotor wash. Once the helicopter was down, the pilot eased off on the pitch of the blades and the hurricane force winds abated. Donovan watched as a fuselage door opened. It was Kristof, cane in hand, motioning for them to hurry.
“Oh, dear God,” Marta cried out as she spotted her father and began to run toward the helicopter.
“It’s Kristof,” Donovan told Lauren as he hurried toward the helicopter. Trevor climbed in first and then turned to take Lauren from Donovan’s arms and lift her aboard. Michael followed Montero, and the second they were inside, Kristof slammed the door closed, and the big helicopter went to full power and lifted free from the bridge.
Marta yelled above the noise. “We need to destroy the helicopter.”
Kristof nodded, spoke into a microphone, and the pilot immediately swung around smoothly until the entire fuselage vibrated as the chain gun sent a barrage of cannon shells into the EC-130. As they swept south, Donovan caught a glimpse of what was left of his multi-million dollar Eurocopter. It was burning fiercely, the rotor blades resting on the ground as if the machine had been swatted like an insect and set on fire. Donovan joined Lauren, where a man had an open first aid kit and was tending to her broken arm.
“I brought my doctor,” Kristof said. “I hoped no one would need him but me.”
Donovan turned and looked into his friend’s eyes. The earlier anger had vanished, filled by a sense of relief, as well as a measure of pain. Donovan didn’t know what to say. He put out his hand so they could shake, but instead he got a hug from his oldest friend.
“I’m glad I made it in time,” Kristof said low enough so only Donovan could hear.
Donovan returned the hug. “Thank you. I’m sorry I deserted you.”
“In many ways you were always with me,” Kristof said. “I’ve been thinking about our shared past all day, and when I became worried, I reached out to William. He’s the one who kept me apprised of . . . events. He’s still on the line. You were in serious trouble, it seems, so I decided I’d use some of my inventory to help you complete your mission. Most of all, I had to make sure you brought Marta home to me.”
“You and William?” Donovan said as he took the Blackphone Kristof offered. Donovan’s mind reeled from the implications of his two oldest friends pooling assets to help him. For a man who’d operated on his own for so long, Donovan’s feelings almost overwhelmed him. He put the phone to his ear. “William?”
“Kristof said he’d found you,” William said. “I gather everyone is safe?”
“Lauren has some injuries, but a doctor is working on her now. I think she’ll be fine.”
“I’m glad. Now listen carefully. There isn’t much time. Kristof is flying you to a remote area in Austria where you’ll be met by members of SEAL Team Two. You’ll be transferred to a CV-22 and flown to the Air Force base in Aviano, Italy. There’s a State Department Boeing 737 standing by for you. The jet is courtesy of a grateful President, his way of saying thank you.”
Donovan kept listening; he liked what he was hearing, but he knew William always saved the best for last.
“Due to Lauren’s retrieval of Daniel’s files, Mr. Quentin Kirkpatrick of the CIA has been relieved of his duties. He was arrested last night and transferred to a federal detention facility for his actions regarding Daniel Pope. I don’t think we’ll hear from him anytime soon.”
“What about Daniel’s daughter?” Donovan asked.
“Daniel Pope’s daughter is recovering nicely, and she was informed personally by the Secretary of State regarding the news about her father, and the fact that he died a hero. Oh, and before I forget, the President also assures me that you and your team are being granted full immunity from any and all crimes committed in the interests of averting this disaster. As far as anyone knows, none of you were in Europe during the time in question. In fact, you’ve all been in Canada. Get some rest. There will, of course, be some debriefings. Calvin and I will do what we can to minimize those necessary evils, and I will, of course, meet you upon arrival.”
“Thank you, William, for everything. We’ll see you soon.” Donovan disconnected the call and handed it to Kristof as he felt the helicopter start its descent.
“We’re here,” Kristof said as a sad expression settled on his face. He patted Donovan on the back as the wheels of the helicopter touched the ground.
“I don’t want to leave like this,” Donovan said. “Me in a mad rush to get out of Eastern Europe.”
“Then don’t,” Kristof said. “Come back and visit. Just don’t wait too long.”
Donovan stepped off the helicopter. Not far away sat a CV-22 Osprey, both engines idling, ready for a quick lift-off. He turned as Michael handed Lauren down and Donovan once again had her in his arms. In a rush, everyone said their goodbyes.
Marta took time to give Donovan a fierce hug and then a quick peck on the cheek. “We’ll see you both soon. We have a deal, remember?”
Marta pulled back and then gave Lauren a gentle hug. “Travel safe.”
“Trevor,” Donovan said, “you’re the best. Thank you.”
“It’s what you hired me to do. I’m happy to help. You did some good work out there yourself.”
Marta and Trevor climbed back aboard the helicopter with Kristof. Donovan carried Lauren toward the CV-22, and they were met by two soldiers, one who introduced himself as Lieutenant Commander Mathews. He turned and escorted them up the ramp into the Osprey where Donovan gently laid Lauren down on a stretcher. A medic immediately buckled her in and then put a headset over her ears.
“Dr. McKenna, I’m going to give you something for the pain,” the medic said as he efficiently started an IV line and inspected the temporary cast on her arm.
Donovan sat next to her as the meds kicked in and the pain etched on her face began to subside. He held her hand as the CV-22 lifted off and rapidly climbed away. When Donovan looked around, he saw that besides Mathews, there were four other SEALs aboard, as well as one other person, who, while wearing full combat armor, was far older than Mathews and his team. Donovan felt the unique sensation of their upward flight transitioning into forward flight,
the engine pylons swiveling and transforming the hybrid aircraft from helicopter to fast-moving airplane.
Across from Donovan sat Michael and Montero. Donovan slid his headphones into place to cancel out the noise, and found the channel quiet. Montero closed her eyes, followed quickly by Michael. Donovan, too, could feel the ebb of adrenaline being replaced by profound exhaustion. The need for sleep was almost overwhelming.
“It happens all the time,” Mathews said. “I’ve seen battle-weary soldiers fall asleep in minutes. I think it’s a combination of being free to let down their guard, coupled with the vibration of the CV-22, that knocks them out.”
The medic positioned the inflatable cast and turned his attention to Lauren’s leg. Using scissors, he cut away her bloody pant leg, removed the soggy dressing, and began to examine the wound. He, in turn, dug in his bag and laid out an antibiotic, gauze, and tape. As Donovan watched, it occurred to him that he and his wife would now have similar scars on their thighs.
In the aisle, the older man was coming his way. He signaled for the SEALs to disconnect their communication systems. As he came to where Michael and Montero slept, he pulled the plugs on their headsets so they wouldn’t wake to what was being said. He stood and looked down at Donovan, plugged his headset in, and asked the medic to disconnect. The medic immediately complied, giving Donovan the impression that this was a common occurrence. He and the stranger were now the only two who were connected.
“Mr. Nash, my name is Kensington. I’m here to answer some of your questions.”
“You’re CIA.” Donovan had no doubt at all who Kensington worked for, and the man made no attempt to deny the accusation. “Just so you know, I’m not very happy with you people right now.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to your wife,” Kensington said. “It was a monumental breakdown at Langley, and we’re taking every step possible to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again.”
“Go on,” Donovan said.
“Was the second Phoenix completely destroyed?”
Pegasus Down: A Donovan Nash Thriller (Donovan Nash Thrillers) Page 26
