“The man in the room, was he one of them?”
“I’m pretty sure. They’re all huge.”
There was fresh gunfire. Someone began screaming in pain.
“Stay down,” said Danny. He slid to one knee, steadied the Glock in both hands. It was a small pistol, 22 caliber — nothing against these guys.
Two more quick shots and the screaming stopped.
A bad sign.
“Aim for the head,” he said, raising his pistol.
The man turned the corner. Danny fired instantly, emptying the magazine.
His first shot grazed the man’s face; the second and third hit lower. The man swung his gun in Danny’s direction.
Something exploded in Danny’s ear. Again and again.
The Wolf assassin got off a single, errant shot before falling to the ground, dead.
The Black Wolf heard White go down. He’d been ambushed on the fourth floor.
It was time to abort.
“Blue, Red, we leave by the back,” he told the others over the radio.
“What’s going on?” asked Blue.
“We leave by the back.”
“What about the people in the locker?”
“Leave them. I have a hostage,” the Black Wolf said.
Zen braced himself as the Black Wolf approached, not exactly sure what he was going to do.
“You’re not going to shoot your way out of this, Stoner,” he said. “But I can help.”
“Shut up.”
“Listen, Mark—”
The Black Wolf grabbed the back of his wheelchair and spun him around. He pushed him toward the kitchen. Zen started to reach for the wheels, but they were moving so fast he realized he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“We’re taking a cripple as hostage?” said the gunman in the kitchen when they entered. “We should take someone who won’t slow us down. There’s a girl—”
“I’m a U.S. senator,” said Zen. “I’m worth more.”
Zen felt himself being lifted from his chair from behind.
“Shut your mouth,” growled the Black Wolf, flipping him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes.
Breanna clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking as she lowered the pistol. Her shots had hit the would-be assassin squarely in the forehead.
Danny Freah turned around and looked at her. Neither one of them spoke.
Breanna’s legs trembled as she rose.
“I can’t hear,” said Danny. “My ears.”
“Teri!” said Breanna, turning back to the room.
No one inside had moved. She ran to the bathroom.
“Teri! Caroline!”
“We’re OK!” yelled Caroline.
“It’s all right — you can open the door,” said Breanna.
They cracked the door cautiously, then pushed it open. Breanna pulled both of them close.
“The Czech security forces are surrounding the building,” said Danny, coming behind her.
“Zen — the elevator attendant said he went to the basement.”
Danny pointed to his ears. He still couldn’t hear well.
“Zen is downstairs. In the basement,” said Breanna, pointing downward.
“Zen? They’ll get him. The Czechs are surrounding the building.”
“Here’s a helicopter with troops now,” said General Josef, going to the window. “It’s landing right across the street.”
Zen tried to turn his eyes and brain into a human video camera, recording everything that he saw happening around him, in case it would be important later. Stoner carried him through a narrow, twisting hallway that zigged out from below the building, ending in a set of steps. They were up them in a flash. Light poured over him — they were out in a small open area, moving across gravel.
He’s going to have to put me down at some point, Zen told himself. That’s when I fight.
He’d hit him as hard as he could in any vulnerable area. Then he’d try to get him in a stranglehold.
Zen felt himself thrown against a fence, being pushed upward.
Escape!
He snagged a fence link with his left hand, then another with his right. He tugged — then felt his fingers being torn away. Someone punched or kicked his head. Zen flailed, but was hoisted up from the ground and carried over the fence.
Then he was falling.
He curled, and just barely managed to cover his face as he landed with a thud. The fall took his breath away, but he knew this was his chance — still free, he clawed at the ground, pushing himself like a crab.
Go, go, go!
Suddenly, he started to rise.
“Into the helicopter,” shouted the Black Wolf.
Breanna went to the window as the helicopter landed. It was a Mil Mi–17, an older troop-carrying helicopter used by many air forces in Eastern Europe. Painted in a light brown and green camo, the large helicopter spun its tail around as it set down.
The door at the side was open. Breanna watched, expecting troops or policemen to pour out, but none came.
Three men ran from the road that paralleled the castle grounds, racing toward the helicopter. One of them was carrying something over his shoulder — a person.
It looked like Zen in his old gray sweatshirt.
The man threw him into the helicopter head first. He rolled to his left, trying to push his way out, struggling. He grappled with his arms. One of the other men pushed him back into the helicopter. It started to climb. He rolled in her direction.
“Oh my God,” blurted Breanna. “They took Zen in the helicopter!”
77
“It’s just like a real plane,” said the Czech. “With real fuel and everything.”
“It is a real plane!” said Turk, indignant. He turned to Chief Master Sergeant Crawford, who headed the Tigershark maintenance team. Crawford was nearly red, trying not to laugh.
“You put him up to this, Chief?” Turk asked.
“Hey, not me, Cap.”
The Czech, who’d just finished loading the Tigershark with jet fuel, looked puzzled.
“It’s a real plane,” Turk told him.
“Captain Kirk,” said the Czech. “Star Wars.”
“Kirk is Star Trek,” said Turk.
“Very fast?” asked the Czech.
That was too much for Crawford, who practically exploded in laughter. He had to grab the airplane’s landing strut to keep from falling over.
“Uh, when you’re finished laughing, Chief Master Sergeant,” said Turk, “tell me when my plane will be ready.”
“You can fly it now,” said Crawford. Tears were flowing from his eyes. “Oh, God. Oh, jeez. Real plane. Real plane.”
Another maintainer, Tech Sergeant Paul Cervantes, came over to see what the fuss was about.
“The Czechs,” managed Crawford. “They’re too much.”
“What happened?” Cervantes asked.
“I can’t explain. It’s too much. And Turk—” Crawford started curling with laughter. “Captain Mako. He’s too much, too.”
“Hey, I’m glad I’m part of the entertainment,” said the pilot. He was more baffled now than angry.
“Hey, Cap, Shelly told me your gear’s like A-one ready to go,” said Cervantes.
“Thanks, Sarge. At least someone here is serious.”
Turk checked his watch. The Ukrainian minister wouldn’t be back for another two hours or so, but he had a lot to do — including figuring out who he needed to talk to in order to make sure his flight didn’t interfere with the rest of the air show. He was just about to go look for the show boss when his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, saw the caller ID, and flipped it open.