Drake felt the tug on his body. The wind whipped and whistled around the cabin. The noise was tremendous, like a freight train roaring in his face. It would be easy to let themselves be dragged out, but their escape had to be controlled like any normal jump. He spotted the other marine, Smyth, clinging to a fixed table in the middle of the cabin, eyes steady and locked on to his bosses, awaiting orders.
Good, Drake thought. These men were among the elite of the US forces. The amphibious craft could be released too. They had three CRRC’s, Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, or Zodiacs to use the more popular term. It would take a huge effort…but sure as hell wasn’t beyond them.
The pilot was the problem. They needed—
— a second explosion shook the beleaguered plane to its metal core. A great shrieking, grinding sound spoke of unbearable stress. It rocked and shuddered through every joint. A fireball hit the cockpit, exploding through into the main cabin and taking out the pilot in the blink of an eye.
“Move!” Drake reacted instantly. As the fire died away, he pushed Romero toward the yawning hole. Mai scrambled over to Smyth, using the chair backs as stepping stones, cat-quick and assured.
The Zodiacs were stacked at the rear of the plane, big black inflatables with 55hp, two-stroke outboard engines. Drake knew from experience that a special fuel bladder and storage bag full of equipment would be housed at the front of the boats. He also knew that chasing after a Zodiac through thousands of feet of turbulent air into a raging sea wasn’t exactly the best way to go, but some evil bastard had taken that decision clean out of his hands.
Drake grabbed something solid and made his way slowly toward the inflatables. It would be easy to just leap out of the plane, but that was a big-ass sea down there, and they would need shelter and even the meager security the Zodiacs offered. His head whipped back as a mighty gust of wind slapped him full in the face. A splinter of metal, flapping frantically in the gale, finally tore off and fizzed through the cabin, embedding itself deep into the far wall. Seat moorings began to groan as the pressure grew. It only took seconds, but Drake fought a lifetime to get within reach of the carefully stacked Zodiacs.
Mai was waiting. “Ready?”
“If I’m ever ready to do this shit, that’s when I’ll quit,” Drake yelled back at her.
Then Mai unsnapped the security cables and the Zodiacs shifted. Mai and Smyth manhandled the first to the gap. Drake and Romero struggled with a second. The downward angle of the plane helped them heave the heavy boats into place. Only minutes had passed since the first explosion. Parts of the fuselage were on fire, streaking flames and fuel into the pitch-black night. Drake wondered what the pilot’s last communication had been. Did anyone know they were about to ditch? He double-checked his parachute.
“Any last words?” Romero was breathing heavily at his side, eyes fully focused on the serrated gap that had been blown in the plane.
“Just one.” Drake heaved his Zodiac off the plane. “Bollocks!” And jumped out into the furious, violent night.
The rampant seas swelled, as if reaching up to claim their latest sacrifice.
CHAPTER FOUR
The University of Baltimore had been chosen by Senator James Turner as the ideal place to host one of the most significant speeches of his whirlwind east-coast tour.
By the time Alicia arrived, the crowds were gathering and the stage was in the last phase of preparation. The atmosphere was happy, expectant, the noise a slowly mounting swell. Alicia made her way to the outskirts, a little unsure of how to proceed. The team had still not confirmed any major threat to the senator. She had volunteered to take a quick inspection as much to get her out of the office and into the field as anything. Like Drake and Mai, she was a soldier. Inactivity did more than make her stale; it blunted her predator’s edge.
She made her way to the top of a grassy knoll. The winter sun beat down, making her shield her eyes. A sea of people chattered and bobbed around before her, waving pamphlets and campaign flyers, texting friends and flicking at their iPads. The small stage in front of them was no more than a raised dais, backed by a curtain and fronted by a microphone and a couple of chairs. Senator James Turner required no luxuries. He was famous for his outspoken stance on gun control, his ties to the community and the consistency of his promises. A clever senator, and well-funded.
Alicia could see movement on and around the stage, the senator’s many aides prepping for the speech. She glanced at her watch. About twenty minutes to showtime. Not much time to get up close.
She skirted the crowd as best she could, bought a coffee from an enterprising vendor, and moved in. Any minute she expected a call from Hayden, telling her that they had verified the threat. Her faith in the team was high, and with Karin’s off-the-charts IQ, she fully expected someone to find something.
So, with only three minutes to go, Alicia dropped the half-empty coffee cup and sent a worried gaze across the crowd. Perhaps this threat wasn’t any more substantial than a thousand others Turner had no doubt received. Maybe this wasn’t the time or the place. But the security here was shambolic. Any fruitcake could take a pot shot.
She pulled out her cell and rang Hayden. “Any luck?”
“We’ve got squat at this end. How’s it lookin’ over there?”
“Busy.” Alicia said. “Dangerous.”
“Keep at it. We’re still digging.”
Despite their differences, Alicia trusted Mai’s instinct. If the Japanese woman said her old friend Dai Hibiki hadn’t been turned and was even now still providing dependable information, then Alicia believed her. She studied the stage, wondering if she should just mosey on up there and introduce herself to the guards. But that wouldn’t work. They hadn’t even been issued badges yet.
Not that Alicia wanted one. In her time she’d worked for all sides — the good, the bad, and the motherfucking ugly. This field, this situation, was a little out of her comfort zone. Her usual tactics — intimidation, assault, and taunting wouldn’t work here. She had accepted the job out of curiosity. She didn’t expect to stay long with Drake and his team. Other than Drake himself, the only other person she could identify with was Kinimaka, and he was still in recovery mode, not to mention fawning helplessly over his bloody boss. At last, she reached the barrier that separated the stage from the crowd. Little more than a row of old sawhorses, painted and hung with leaflets and bunting. Not even a low fence. Apparently, the senator was a quick, lively showman. He’d take the stage, warm the crowd up, deliver his message, and be out of there before the dust settled.
Much like most of her ex-boyfriends, she mused.
Then a cheer went up. Men in black suits took to the stage and fanned out to both sides. A couple of aides ran out, smiling and waving. The curtain twitched. People around Alicia started to shout the senator’s name. A tumult of noise greeted the man as he stepped from behind the curtain and took center stage. His aides melted away into the background, still smiling.
The senator basked for a moment before speaking. He was a tall, aging man with grey hair and a wiry frame. Dimples pitted the sides of his cheeks, giving him a cheery demeanor. He raised a hand.
“My friends, my friends, thank you. What a turnout. Even the sunshine has greeted us today!”
Alicia scrutinized the packed bodies as best she could. The sway of the crowd and the excitement of those in the front few rows made it next to impossible to make any kind of judgment. Maybe today wouldn’t be the day…
But the timing of Hibiki’s message was disquieting. Why would the Koreans target such a low-key figure anyway? She shrugged it off, briefly wondering how Drake and the sprite were faring. Lucky bastards.