Scott looked up from the enhanced satellite photographs of the Mianyang complex and studied the view through the windshield. "The forward visibility is zero point zilch, and it's raining harder."
"I know, but I can see the ground."
"What do you think?"
"Press on." She dimmed the interior lights to see the terrain better. "We'll just take it easy."
"Flying low at night in rainy conditions in unfamiliar territory ain't the smartest thing to do — not to mention that we're well below the tops of the ridge on our right."
"We're paralleling the ridge."
"We think we are."
"We'll be okay as long as we slow down," she said calmly. "Back me up on the gauges and I'll try to stay visual."
"You got it. Too bad we can't get a clearance, climb to a safe altitude, and go direct via the GPS."
"Yeah, then we drop off the radar at the restricted Mianyang complex," she said. "We might as well call them and let 'em know we're coming."
The rain intensified, causing Jackie to slow the Agusta even more. She concentrated on keeping the helicopter level.
Scott stared into the dark void and again had second thoughts. This really isn't looking good, especially if there's a tower out here that isn't on the chart.
She took a peek at the GPS and visualized where they were in relation to Mianyang. "The railroad should be coming up anytime."
A minute passed, then another, as they began to feel ill at ease.
Scott decided not to wait any longer. "You know, we may have flown past it and never saw the—"
"There it is," she interrupted. "I see the track."
Still concerned about their close proximity to the ridge, Dalton could barely make out the single-track railroad. "Yeah, that's it — let's come port forty-five degrees and get away from the ridge."
"Coming left to a heading of three forty-five." She began a smooth turn and a controlled descent.
"Not too low," Scott cautioned, feeling uneasy about trying to remain in visual flight conditions. Were off to a bad start and making it worse. "If the rain gets any heavier, we need to abort and try later tonight."
"If the rain gets worse, it'll mask the sound of our rotor blades better."
"How much rain does it take to mask the sound of a crash?" Scott asked.
They flew in silence, each contemplating the unknowns awaiting them. Without warning, two blinking strobe lights appeared in the dark. A second later, powerful landing lights flicked on. Moving very rapidly, the bright lights startled Jackie and Scott into action.
"Descend!" Scott said, fumbling for the exterior lights. "Hit the searchlight — they're almost on us!"
The unlighted Agusta appeared almost dead ahead to the pilots of the Air China International Boeing 737–300. At the same instant the powerful searchlight turned night into day, the Air China captain abruptly pulled the airliner's nose up and banked sharply to the right, abandoning his approach to the Shuangliu Airport.
Caught completely off guard, Jackie held the controls firmly as the Agusta was violently rocked in the turbulence generated by the Boeing's wingtip vortices.
"Sweet Jesus," Jackie said, extinguishing the searchlight and exterior lights. "That was close."
"Ah, Mother of mercy," Scott said, and took a deep breath. "We don't want to ever know how close."
"I'd better monitor the radio."
"That might be a damn good idea. We're going through an approach corridor and no one knows we're here."
They remained quiet while Jackie listened to an air traffic control supervisor at the Shuangliu Airport reassure the Air China International pilot that the controller didn't have any radar returns in that sector — except the 737 airliner.
Scott unrolled the high-resolution photographs of the Mianyang complex. He studied the landing spot behind a tall hill in the valley close to Mianyang's on-site living quarters. Next, he took a long look at the recent photograph of Dr. Richard Cheung. I sure as hell hope he's there.
A few minutes later, Jackie spotted the primary road from Chengdu to Mianyang and then saw the rail line on the west side of the road. Cloaked in darkness, she banked the Agusta to the right to follow the tracks northeast to Guanghan and then to Deyang.
She switched radio frequencies to monitor approach control at the Mianyang Nanjiao Airport. "As long as we stay low, I don't think they'll get a primary target."
"Let's hope not."
The rain subsided as they neared Luojiang, allowing Jackie to increase the airspeed. Less than ten minutes later, she lowered the landing gear and began her visual approach to Mianyang. The GPS was incredibly accurate. It placed the Agusta in the exact position Scott had circled on the satellite photographs.
"Any doubts?" she asked without taking her eyes off the scattered lights on the ground.
"Doubts, are you kidding? If I had any brains, we'd be doing something rational — like having a nice dinner at a fine restaurant where they don't allow firearms."
"Do you think we need some kind of counseling?"
"Counseling? No way — this is perfectly normal behavior," he said with a nervous laugh.
The rain increased, causing Jackie to lose sight of her ground reference points. She kept her instrument scan going as she eased the helicopter down. Finally, in near zero-zero conditions, she glimpsed the muddy field and began her approach.
Scott made a final check of his weapons and gear. "You keep the engines running, and we'll stay in touch by radio. If anyone comes near you, get the hell out of here and we'll work something out."
She nodded. "If you find him and he doesn't want to—"
"If he doesn't want to go, he won't be of any further use to the Chinese — end of story."
When Jackie began her flare for the landing, some of the lights in the Mianyang compound began to disappear behind the hill. As the Agusta touched down in the mud, all the lights had vanished from sight.
"Good luck," Jackie said, and squeezed his hand.
He reached for one pair of the night vision binoculars and a set of large bolt cutters. "Thanks — keep your eyes open."
"I will."
Scott stepped out into the cold, driving rain and hurried toward the isolated housing area. He stopped for a radio check after he had rounded the hill that obscured the helicopter.
"Eggbeater, how copy Nighthawk?" he asked while he panned across the area with the enhanced binoculars.
"Loud and clear."
"Same with you." Scott cautiously approached the complex. He dropped to the wet ground and began crawling toward the back side of the housing units. There were bright lights at each corner of the compound, one shining inside and two others casting beams of light into the darkness outside the compound.
He stopped and raised the binoculars to check on the poorly lighted areas on both sides of the housing complex. He didn't detect any movement and continued to crawl toward the living quarters.
About fifteen feet from the high chain link fence, Scott froze when he saw the glow of a cigarette. The sentry was sitting in an unlighted guard-shack near the rear entrance to the compound. The simple structure reminded Scott of a firecracker stand.
Approaching the wooden shelter, Dalton drew his K-Bar knife out of the sheath. When he was about three feet away from the guard, Scott started rising to his feet. After he was upright, he stepped on something that snapped. "Shit!"
The sentry spun around and Scott lunged at him, driving the knife deep into the chest of the Chinese guard. The soldier silently slumped to the ground. Dalton sheathed his K-Bar and then grabbed three keys off the wall and opened the gate with the second key he tried. He tossed the bolt cutters on the ground and wiped mud off his fatigues and body-armor vest.