She felt her heart jump into her throat as the body of the helicopter suddenly shifted forward and to the left. The arc of the blades descended toward the tarmac as she instinctively hauled back on the cyclic stick, raising the blades even as the motion continued, then suddenly stopped. The blades were still whirling without obstruction, with the lowest point of the arc mere inches above the concrete.
Kat slowly let the rest of the collective down, reducing the lift to zero. She reached out, then, and cut off the fuel, shutting down the turbine engine rotor as the blades slowed and stopped.
“You okay?” Robert asked, watching her breathe hard, her hands still welded to the controls, and her head caged straight ahead. He saw her eyes flick over to him, then a smile began to play around her mouth. There was a nod, followed by a tremendous sigh of relief.
When the rotor blades had stopped, Dallas, Graham, Dan, Steve, and Pete Phu began helping one another up to move across the tilted floor toward the left door. A loud crack reverberated through the helicopter, throwing them farther to the left as part of the mangled skid gave way, leaving the Huey with the left forward part of the fuselage resting on the ground.
A military jeep was approaching fast. Kat found the release on the pilot’s door and climbed out, jumping to the ground in time to summon Pete Phu, the translator.
“Pete, this is very important. Whoever these guys are, explain to them what happened, that we were attacked, and the major… the pilot… was killed. Explain that the attackers got into a midair collision with us and damaged this helicopter. Do NOT, please, tell them that the attackers are from that Global Express over there, okay?”
He nodded. “No problem.”
“If he wants us to go in somewhere and — I don’t know, fill out reports or something bureaucratic, tell him we’ll do so in an hour. Not now.”
“You want to stand here on the ramp for an hour?”
“No. Tell them that’s our airplane, the Global Express over there. We need to check out something onboard first.”
A strange expression clouded Pete’s face, but he nodded anyway and turned toward the occupant of the jeep, a Vietnamese Army captain. A certain amount of arm-waving and examination of the damaged Huey ensued, the captain looking at every bullet hole and the shattered window before speaking into his walkie-talkie.
“What’s he saying?” Kat prompted.
“A lot of reports are needed,” Pete said. “Government property has been damaged and the pilot is dead. But he wants to know who these people are.” He motioned to the survivors.
“Tell him…” Kat hesitated, thinking fast. “They are survivors of the airline crash, and all are American citizens under my protection. Ask him if he needs to talk with the ambassador in Hanoi about this.”
Pete grinned. “I don’t think he will.” He turned to relay her words, watching the eyebrows of the officer suddenly rise when offered the option of checking.
“No, no, no! You will all wait here. My colonel says everyone must wait here,” he told Pete in Vietnamese.
“May they go over to check on their jet?” Pete asked the officer. “Remember, these are guests of our government in Hanoi. I don’t think your colonel is going to want to get in trouble with Hanoi.”
The captain thought for a second as he looked at the Global Express, then nodded. “Okay. But wait at the airplane.”
As the exchange continued, Kat moved to Robert’s side and motioned Dallas over, speaking quietly. “I’m going to go over to the Global Express and try to secure it. I don’t know why it’s open, and I don’t know if they left anyone behind. Stay here, and if you see the landing lights blinking on and off, bring everyone and come get aboard. I’ve held off the local officials for a few minutes, but if we don’t get in motion rapidly, we’re going to get stuck here.”
“Why?” Dallas asked.
“Somebody let those cutthroats park their jet undisturbed this morning and let them take a very expensive helicopter, and I’ll bet you anything it was all without customs or immigration or diplomatic clearance. That means a lot of money changed hands, and the recipient’s going to be very nervous right about now over all that’s happened with the crash, and now this damaged chopper. He’s very likely to do unpredictable and dangerous things, using his official position.”
“Understood,” Robert said, and Dallas nodded in agreement.
“Please bring my bag when you come,” Kat added. “I’m going to… get something out of it now and leave the bag with you.”
She moved into the Huey and retrieved a 9mm pistol from the dead pilot. She opened her shoulder bag and rummaged quickly for the plastic flex cuffs she always carried, verifying she could pull them out quickly.
The short walk to the business jet was a circuitous affair. It was a Global Express, the latest of the rarified breed of multimillion-dollar business jets that could span almost seven thousand miles without refueling. It sat delicately on its tricycle landing gear, its wingtips turned up in fuel-saving winglets, a vision wholly out of place with the impoverished backwater that post-war Vietnam had become.
With the sun hanging low on the horizon and shining in her eyes, Kat circled casually off to one side and came up behind the aircraft, invisible to anyone inside. She walked the length of the fuselage just to the right of the belly, and slipped around and up the entry stairs as quietly as she could.
She stopped near the top of the stairs, hearing someone snoring rhythmically inside. Quickly glancing around the cockpit bulkhead, she spotted a Caucasian male in a white pilot’s shirt snoozing in the right seat.
Kat took a deep breath to steady herself, checked behind her, then looked to the right, into the cabin. The interior was beautiful, empty, and typical of an executive jet. She could smell the aroma of rich leather from within.
Kat backed through the cabin, keeping her eye on the cockpit as she checked the bathroom and rear cabin. Both were empty. She slipped off her shoes, kept her gun at the ready, and moved forward again through the cabin and past the entry, stepping gingerly into the alcove just behind the cockpit. With a sudden movement, she leaned forward and jammed the barrel of her gun against the pilot’s head with one hand while flipping out her leather ID wallet with the other.
“FBI! Freeze! DO NOT MOVE!”
The shouted command brought the wide-eyed pilot bolt upright, and his head crashed into the overhead panel. “Ow!” he said, trying to turn to his left, but freezing at the sound of the 9mm being cocked. His eyes finally found her, and he raised his hands to the ceiling. “Okay, okay! What is this, a joke?”
“On the ceiling! NOW! Put your palms flat against it!”
“What’s this all about? Where are the others?”
“As if you didn’t know, scum. You’re under arrest for the murder of over two hundred civilians, among other things.”
“Mur… murders? I’m just a corporate pilot!”
“Sure you are. Understand this clearly. This is a hair trigger and I have every incentive to blow your miserable brains out, so please, go ahead and give me an immediate reason. Go ahead. Flinch, try to move, say something smart-ass.” He didn’t move or speak. “All right,” Kat continued, “you’re going to keep both those hands touching the ceiling as you ooze slowly out of that seat and walk back here, kneel, and put your hands behind you.”
“Yes, Ma’am!” he said forcefully, his head bobbing up and down. “Please, don’t get trigger happy! What is this, a problem with rival factions in the Bureau?” The pilot was in his forties and extremely nervous. Sweat covered his brow, and his eyes were wide as he complied precisely with her orders.