The Finish Line r5-5

by Cliff Ryder

The deceleration caught David by surprise, but he adjusted and set the sight on the heavy machine gun that was already tracking toward them. He got a firm tone, then squeezed the trigger just as the .50-caliber spit another long burst at them. The SUV's windshield exploded, the bulletproof glass fragmenting under the ball ammunition's onslaught. David huddled behind his armored door, praying that he wasn't going to die from either the SUV rolling over or a bullet punching through his gut.

  The clamor of the rounds piercing the upper part of the Range Rover's roof was almost immediately drowned out by the blast of the 25 mm grenade exploding within a yard of the machine gun. The gun immediately stopped firing, its barrel sagging toward the ground.

  Jay poked his head up from underneath the dashboard. "You okay?"

  David clung to his moving barricade, checking to see if all of his body parts were still intact. "Yeah, so far so good. Give me another shot at that SOB, will you?"

  "Sure, if I can drive a straight line!" The Range Rover was wobbling severely, throwing David's aim off each time he tried to draw a bead.

  "Stop the vehicle!" he shouted, slamming into the door barrier as the SUV screeched to a halt. David put his eye to the scope again and aimed at the back of the fleeing van. He waited until he got lock on again, then pumped two rounds at the back of his target.

  The van's cargo area might have survived one detonation, but two were beyond even its reinforced capability. The first round impacted on the rear doors, punching one in and tearing the other off completely. The second one hit low, and blew out both rear tires, sending the back of the van crashing to the ground in a spray of sparks as it ground to a halt about two hundred yards away.

  Through the sight, David saw the brown-haired man stagger out of the van, dragging Maggie with him into a nearby field, where a helicopter was waiting, its rotor already whirling lazily around. He swung over and got a lock on the chopper, but stopped. "They're heading for the helicopter — I don't want to hit it, the shrapnel might take them out, too!"

  "Hold on!" Jay floored the gas pedal again, sending the limping, shuddering SUV off-road. David wrestled himself back into the backseat, leaving the door open in case he needed to get out quickly.

  Although they closed the distance quickly, their targets reached the helicopter first, and David watched the man shove Maggie aboard. "Get closer!" he urged.

  Jay obeyed, gunning the engine, and sending the crippled Range Rover hurtling over the grassy field. David dropped the launcher and jammed the HK pistol into his waistband. They were only about fifty yards away, but the helicopter's blades were whirling even faster now, as the man climbed in and pulled the door closed behind him. Through the window, he grinned wickedly at them, and shook his head as he tapped the pilot on the shoulder.

  "Faster, Jay!"

  "This is all she's got!"

  The chopper's rotor sliced through the air, straining to haul the aircraft aloft. David knew there was only one chance left. "Drive underneath it!" Opening the door again, he climbed onto the roof, spread-eagled to maintain his position. A wrong jolt or bump at this speed would send him flying, and probably kill him on impact.

  The helicopter had gotten enough lift, and slowly rose off the ground. Somehow, Jay managed to coax an extra burst of speed out of the laboring SUV, and brought the vehicle right below the rising aircraft. The downdraft from the rotor flattened David against the roof, but he got to his knees in time to wrap his arms around the landing skid just as the helicopter cleared the Range Rover's roof and accelerated into the air.

  41

  Kate rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the graininess out of them. Her palms weren't much help. Now up for more than thirty-four hours, the world had taken on that slightly surreal aspect that she had never liked with sleep deprivation. It was as if everything around her were one tenth of a second off — just enough lag to notice, but not enough to be able to focus on and fix. Blinking, she considered mainlining another shot of espresso, but decided to hold off for now.

  An insistent beep from her computer slowly drew her attention. Answering it brought another young hacker on-screen. Automa8 had logged off after a full day of demanding duty, but only at Kate's direct order. He would have much rather stayed on until the mission was completed, but she had insisted, wanting her people as fresh and alert as possible. Unlike myself, she admitted.

  Still, at least her avatar projected the composed, confident aura that Kate usually wore like invisible armor. "Yes."

  "I've got Jay on the line for you. He's already passed our security check."

  "Put him through." The man called Jay was, in actuality, Jonas Schrader, Room 59's Eastern European director. While normally his attention would have been directed on the reemerging, post-Cold War Russia and other former Soviet Bloc countries, Kate had needed someone she could absolutely trust to get the job done in Brussels, and had tapped him. Although almost sixty years old, he had the body of a man fifteen years younger, and was still incredibly capable. A founding member of GSG-9, Jonas was also an accomplished sniper. That skill probably wouldn't come in handy on this mission — at least, not as far as she knew, but from what had happened up to this point, who could tell anymore. However, he had many other talents that had probably already come into play. Kate's fatigue fell away as she heard his calm voice.

  "Primary, this is Jay. There have been some complications on this end."

  Kate sighed. "Jay, that is not how I expect your reports to begin."

  "There was little choice in the matter. We moved to reacquire the target at a meeting house, but encountered the other hostiles there, who tried to set up an a ambush. We took out one, and had one of our own injured. I think he'll be all right, but we'll have to get him and Julio out of the country."

  "That's the least of our worries right now. Go on."

  "Mr. Vert and I pursued the hostile into the countryside — no doubt there will be a report on the local news about it shortly — where they pulled a heavy machine gun on us. It was built into their vehicle."

  "Jesus — are you okay?"

  "Ja, I'm still breathing. Mr. Vert disabled the gun with a well-placed grenade and then stopped their vehicle, but they managed to make it to their escape helicopter. Mr. Vert decided to follow."

  Kate nodded in relief. "So he's aboard, as well."

  "In a manner of speaking — he grabbed on to the landing gear as they took off."

  "Oh, God." Headlines sprang unbidden into her mind: Secret Agent Splattered Over Belgian Countryside. "Where are they headed?"

  "Toward the coast. I expect the hostile is headed back to his base of operations, once he shakes off his unwanted passenger."

  "What about you?" Kate asked.

  "I set the SUV to self-destruct. It was too heavily damaged to keep using. I proceeded on foot into the nearby fields. I'm about a quarter-mile away from where I last saw Mr. Vert on the helicopter. They were traveling north-northwest on a heading of 295. I'm still moving, and will circle back around into Brussels and withdraw from there."

  Kate rubbed her temples and checked the virtual screen for David's locator chip. It still glowed a steady green. "Well, he's still alive, I can tell you that, so I can only assume he's trying to gain control of the aircraft. We'll try to get a fix on him, but you just concentrate on getting out of the country right now. We'll assist your other team members immediately. If Julio can be moved, we should have him back in our care as soon as this evening."

  "Thanks, Primary. Anything else at this time?"

  Only my wish that you were up there assisting David, Kate thought. "No, Jay, we'll get your full debriefing later. Keep moving, and good luck."

  "One last thing, Primary."

  About to log off, Kate paused. "Yes?"

  "Don't count Mr. Vert out. From what I've seen of him, if there is a way to get this job done, I believe he'll find it."

  "I hope you're right, Jay, I really do. Primary out." Kate disconnected the call and brought up the VR ops room again, bringi
ng the screen with David's chip on it, which, knowing the circumstances, was currently moving much faster than she would have liked over the Belgian-French border.

  42

  Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea, David thought.

  He had managed to pull himself up to where the skid met with the strut that attached to the underside of the aircraft. At the moment, however, that was about all he could do. The buffeting wind stream felt as if it were clawing at him with a thousand icy fingers. His hands were already turning numb in the frigid atmosphere, and every second he stayed outside was one more that he risked falling to his death.

  It was at that moment that the door above him opened, and David saw the now familiar face of the brown-haired man as he extended a leg to kick him off the skid. He quickly scooted backward down to the rear strut and out of range. However, the man brought a pistol up in his hand and took aim at David, who had nowhere to go.

  His fingers scrabbled for his own pistol, yanking it from his waistband and bringing it up as he hooked his leg around the strut and swung under the fuselage, only exposing a small part of himself. His injured arm quivered with the strain, feeling the pain even through the numbing stimulant. David waited, knowing that the man would either blow off his kneecap or come out to try to shoot him face-to-face. He hoped it would be the latter, as unlikely as that seemed.

  A spark flashed off the metal of the strut as a bullet came within inches of his leg. The bastard's toying with me! David looked down to make sure he hadn't been grazed by a ricochet, as the drug he'd taken could block nerve impulses enough that he might have been injured and not know it. Not only was he unhurt, but he also saw the safety strap from the SUV, with its sturdy buckle, was still around his waist.

  Wrapping his uninjured arm around the strut, David aimed his gun near the passenger's compartment, but not into it or near the rotor. He fired several rounds to keep his opponent's head down. He tried to see if the man was still outside, but didn't want to risk leaning out far enough to expose himself again.

  Tucking his pistol into his pants, he turned around so that he was sitting facing the strut. Using his injured arm, he ran the strap between his body and the skid to hold it in place in the energy-sapping wind. Once it was around the thick metal tube, he clicked it back in place, securing himself to the metal bar. Far below, the Belgian landscape, a patchwork of fields, trees and small towns, seemed so very far away. David figured they had to be at least five thousand feet high, give or take a few hundred. More than enough to kill him from sudden deceleration trauma, as his Marine buddies had joked more than once about falling out of helicopters back in Afghanistan.

  The passenger's door opened again as the helicopter turned right and dived steeply, the pilot obviously trying to shake him off. Ignoring the flare of pain in his side, David drew his legs up and turned around so that his back was to the strut. He managed to wrap his legs around the skid as the helicopter leveled off. The sudden altitude changes, dips and swerves were making his head spin. Groping for his pistol, he drew it as the man leaned out the door again, his own gun in hand, and now secured to something inside the helicopter, as there was a safety harness visible around his chest. Even with that, he kept a tight grip on the helicopter's door frame.

  Their eyes met. In that second, David knew it was likely he was going to die. It was only a matter of whether he would get his shot off first. He lined up the pistol and brought pressure down on the trigger with his numb fingers, praying he could fire before taking the bullet he knew would be coming for him.

  * * *

  Huddled in the corner of the helicopter's seat, Maggie wavered on the edge of near catatonic shock. The events of the past few minutes had rushed over her in a frightening blur — Aragorn's betrayal and his almost casual execution, the assault on the house, their subsequent flight. She still saw that man's face in her mind's eye as her captor had run him down like a stray dog, with bullets chipping at the windshield, and her screams stuck in her throat…During the hurried chase down the road, whatever weapon he had been firing made such an earsplitting racket that all she could do was cover her ears and try to shrink even further from the emotionless, unstoppable killer holding her prisoner.

  When the back of the van had blown up, a part of Maggie had almost cried with relief, because she'd figured they would stop running, that they had finally been caught. She almost didn't believe it when he'd pulled her out of the wrecked vehicle and dragged her to the helicopter. By that time, she was too far gone to even try to resist, couldn't muster up the will to attempt to escape, couldn't do anything but go along with him since the alternative would have been far worse. She had stumbled to the aircraft and collapsed into her seat as they took off, registering the thump of something hitting the aircraft's underside, but not really caring.

  Her captor did, however, muttering under his breath and opening the door to step outside for a moment, then coming back in and rummaging under the seat for something.

  The pilot got the man's attention, and they had a hurried, shouted conversation over the roar of the engine, most likely, Maggie thought, about why the man had stepped out of the helicopter. It was apparently resolved to their satisfaction, as the pilot suddenly put the helicopter into a steep dive that threw her against her seat belt, which she didn't even remember buckling around her waist. The man came back to his seat and found the thing he was looking for, an orange woven-nylon harness that he buckled around his chest. When he glanced at her, Maggie looked away, even as a thought rose in her head, one that she hadn't allowed herself to think, but which now cut through the fog of terror and shock to focus her mind.

  That man killed my brother.

  It was an inescapable fact. She hadn't seen the face of the man who had coldly placed three bullets into her only living relative, the one person she had relied on for the past thirteen years. But she was sure it was him. It was in the way he moved, with a singular, ruthless efficiency. It was in his eyes, his stance, his casual brutality. He was a man who used violence like other people used a spoon — as an effective tool to get the results he wanted, and one of the casualties had been Ray.

  He was preparing to open the door again, having secured the safety harness to a metal ring that he had raised from its recess in the floor. While seeming to stare at the floor in front of her, Maggie watched him out of the corner of her eye, that one thought looming larger and larger in her mind.

  That man killed my brother.

  Her fingers went to her bruised and tender jaw, gingerly exploring the swelling there, feeling the cracked bone and the space where her tooth had been. She felt the flash of pain that accompanied her touch. Instead of impeding her, the sting did the opposite, clearing her brain of the numbing cloud that had settled over it, and letting her think clearly for the first time since she had left the house where her brother had died.

  The man opened the door. The wind filled the cabin, rippling Maggie's clothes and making her squint her eyes at the sudden force buffeting her.

  She had been running from him for the past thirty-six hours, but wherever she tried to go, he was there. St. Pancras, Paris, Belgium. I'll never be free of him, Maggie thought, until one of us is dead.

  Almost without realizing it, her hands stole to the seat belt buckle, and she slowly unlocked it, careful not to make a sound, even though there was little chance she'd be heard over the helicopter's engine. The man's back was to her as he leaned out the door, about to shoot something outside. Maggie placed the two pieces of the seat belt next to her, her gaze alternating between the man and the ring his harness was locked into.

  She edged out of her seat, crouching on the floor, only three feet from the ring. She reached out for it, her hand creeping closer and closer. She touched the smooth, cold metal, her fingers unfastening it from the metal circle.

  The scream burst from her lips as she leaped forward, hands reaching out to shove him through the door, every synapse, every fiber of her being wanting to push him out into th
e cold air and watch him fall, helpless, until he hit the ground.

  Her hands contacted his back, and she pushed with all her might, throwing him off balance and down toward the lip of the door frame. Even in the buffeting wind outside, Maggie was aware of something blurring past her head, then, before she could follow up and heave him the rest of the way out, the man reared up, throwing her off like a rag doll.

  Staggering across the passenger's compartment, Maggie cracked her head on the roof and fell back into her seat. Blinking back tears of pain, she looked up to see the man standing over her, his face a mask of raw fury. Then he was upon her, and she could only curl up and try to cover her face with her arms as the merciless blows rained down.

  43

  David wasn't exactly sure what had happened. As if in slow motion, the man had leaned out, raised his pistol and put a bullet into David's shoulder, the already injured one, making him shout and drop his pistol even as he had fired. The man had smiled grimly and aimed at David's face, about to put a bullet between his eyes, when he had suddenly lurched off balance. His second shot had gone wild. Then he was gone, vanishing inside the helicopter with a roar of rage. The door slammed shut behind him in the wind turbulence.

  Clutching his injured shoulder, blood oozing between his fingers, David leaned against the skid and gasped for breath in the tempest under the helicopter blades. He was trying to get his battered body under control again. He wanted to rest, to close his eyes for just a moment. It was overwhelming, but he knew he couldn't give in. Instead, he unbuckled the strap around his waist and tied it to the skid, forming a slipknotted loop on the other end that he could put his leg through.

  Holding on to the cold fuselage, he eased along the helicopter's side until he was at the door, tensed to react to it opening again. He wasn't sure what he would do if it did. He slowly reached for the handle, straining against the wind, and got his good hand on it. He yanked the metal release and pulled the door out with all of his remaining strength, forcing it open enough to wedge his body inside.