He powers up.
The Loach rises quickly. ‘Whoa!’ Judd’s yanked skyward and his left hand slips off the hook—
Wham. His right hand grabs it.
From the rear cabin of the Tyrannosaur, Bunsen pulls out the long black bag, unzips it, extracts the two sections of an SA-7 Grail man-portable, shoulder-fired, low-altitude surface-to-air missile (SAM) and snaps the warhead into the firing canister. With a high explosive, one-and-a-half-kilo warhead and passive infrared homing guidance system, the Russian-designed rocket has more than enough firepower for this job.
This SAM and four others just like it were stolen from Gaddafi’s personal weapons depot in Libya after he was overthrown and Bunsen bought all five, at a million bucks apiece. Yes, they were expensive, but they were just the insurance policy he needed after the RPG’s range proved ineffective when he stole the bunker busters. He knew the SAMs would come in handy, though the fact he’s firing one at a world-famous astronaut as he dangles at the end of a rope beneath a canary yellow Huey Loach, is quite a surprise.
He hefts the weapon to his shoulder and aims at the rising chopper.
‘What is that?’ Lola peers down at the man on the baseball diamond. ‘There’s a guy down there with a — is that — he has a rocket launcher!’
Corey scans the surrounding area, takes in a cluster of skyscrapers to the far left and nods to himself.
Lola looks at him. ‘Why are you nodding?’
‘Because I have a plan.’
‘Did you hear me when I said the thing about the rocket launcher?’
‘That’s why I have a plan.’
Lola’s eyes flick back to the baseball diamond. ‘The guy he’s, he’s — oh — he fired it!’
Horrified, she watches the missile zip low across the baseball field, trailing thick white exhaust behind it. Then it changes direction abruptly and shoots upwards, directly towards the Loach. ‘It’s coming straight at us!’ Her voice cracks in terror.
Corey glances in the side-view mirror and sees the missile approach. ‘Fasten your seatbelt and hold on.’
She does up her belt then looks around the cabin. ‘You keep saying “hold on” except there’s nowhere to hold on to except the doorframe —’
Corey wrenches the controls and the Loach tips into a steep dive.
‘Ohsweetbabyjesus!’ Lola grabs the doorframe and grits her teeth.
‘Faark!’ Judd holds the hook tight as the rope swings him back, then jolts him forward. It’s like he’s riding a flying fox from hell.
He sees the missile hiss towards him. Man, it’s quick. It’s like he’s watching it in fast forward. He points the pistol at it and fires.
Bam. It has no effect whatsoever. He jams the gun into his belt and seizes the hook with both hands as the rope swings him back, then jolts him forward again.
The roadway rushes up to greet him.
‘Oh, damn.’
Corey yanks on the controls, pulls the chopper up just twenty metres above the road.
Which means Judd is only five metres above the ground at the end of the rope. He hurtles towards a burning fire truck that’s directly in front of him. ‘What the hell? Pull up! Pull up!’
Corey can’t hear or see him. His eyes are locked on the rear-view mirror and the missile that follows. It’s close, just thirty metres away.
Spike’s head is pushed out the rear of the pilot’s door and he looks down. He barks.
‘What?’ Corey looks forward and sees the fire truck below. ‘Judd!’ He pulls the chopper up and tips it hard left.
‘Yaah!’ Judd is jerked right and swings out like he’s at the end of a pendulum. He pulls his legs up so they don’t spank the burning fire truck, can feel the heat as they pass through its flames.
‘Is he okay?’
Spike looks down and barks.
Corey lets out a relieved breath. ‘Good.’
The Loach shoots along a narrow street, fifty metres above the ground, skyscrapers towering on either side.
The Aussie glances in the side-view mirror. The missile is still there, fifty metres away and closing. Fast.
Spike barks.
‘I see it!’
Oh, damn. Corey realises he’s been talking to Spike. He glances at Lola to see her reaction, but he’s sure she didn’t hear anything. She’s hunched over, her eyes are jammed shut and her face is drained of colour, one hand clamped to the doorframe and the other gripping her seat.
‘You okay?’
‘I’d like to go home now.’
‘It’s going to be fine.’
‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘You’re already doing it. Now come on, eyes open! I need you to navigate. I don’t know these streets.’
In the short time she’s known him, Lola’s never heard Corey speak like that. His tone is gentle but tough and compels her to snap out of it. She takes a breath, opens her eyes and nods stoically. He shoots her a reassuring wink. It’s incredibly corny and completely genuine and makes her feel better.
‘Find me a tall building.’
‘How tall?’
‘Biggest you got.’
She nods, thinks about it for a moment. ‘Take the next left.’
On the street below, an intersection quickly approaches.
‘This one or the next-?’
‘This one!’
He yanks on the controls and the chopper tilts hard right, makes the turn down a narrow road.
‘Ohmijeez!’ Judd swings out — holds on for dear life as a building brushes past his feet just a metre away. He’s almost horizontal to the ground, hangs there for what seems like an eternity — then swings back down.
He looks up the rope, realises the higher up he is the better his chance of not being thrown off, or hitting one of these buildings. He puts his right hand above his left and hauls himself upward.
Corey stares at the missile in the side-view mirror. It’s not as close as it was.
‘Where now?’
‘Third street on the right.’
The missile closes in and he loses sight of it. ‘Need a visual on that rocket. It’s in my blind spot.’
Spike and Lola both look back. Spike barks as Lola says: ‘Twenty metres away.’ Corey hears the information in stereo.
The Loach thunders past the first street.
‘It’s getting closer!’ Lola’s voice rises as she says it.
Corey tries to increase power but the chopper is already at its maximum speed. ‘If this bloody thing was any slower it’d be going backwards.’
‘Really close now!’
‘Does it have to be the third street?’
‘The third!’
Corey looks in the side-view mirror again. The missile hoves into view, fills the mirror.
‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely!’
They pass the second street.
The missile surges closer.
The third street approaches fast.
Judd heaves on the rope, drags himself up, then again, gets his feet on the hook. He feels as secure as he can considering the situation. He looks back.
The missile is so close he can see the rivets on its casing. It’s just five metres away now. They won’t outrun it. It’s only a matter of time before it—
The Loach jinks hard right, turns down another street. The missile turns too but not as fast. Suddenly it’s twenty metres behind again.
‘Whoa!’ Judd grips the rope white-knuckle hard as he swings out again, even wider than before, more than horizontal this time — hangs there like he’s in suspended animation—