“Bethesda,” came back.
“Okay,” Jake said. “Steinmetz lives in Bethesda. He didn’t show at the Pentagon or the White House today. If he left from home, would he drive through Washington, or away from it?”
“Away,” everyone answered together.
“So, Frederick.”
General Peter Steinmetz’ armored limo pulled into the hanger with the Learjet 75 waiting inside.
“As soon as the family jet takes off, you can go home,” Steinmetz said. “Let the night crew know they have some time off, as well. I’ll call you when I’m ready to return to Washington. Until then, enjoy your vacation.”
“Yes, sir,” the head of Steinmetz’ security detail replied.
The General collected his briefcase with his computer inside and climbed up the steps into the plane.
“Let’s go,” he said to the pilot.
He heard the jet engines starting to rev up as he poured a glass of Boudreaux for himself and settled into his seat. He took a long sip of the wine and looked out the side window. As soon as the solar storm has done its job, I’ll step into the top military position on the planet. In the middle of all the destruction and chaos, our soldiers will quickly subdue any resistance that remains.
The jet moved out of the hangar and taxied to the far end of the runway. As the jet paused, ready for takeoff, he watched the bulletproof limo, with his security detail inside, leave the hangar. He smiled and raised his glass to them, knowing he would never see them again, at least not alive.
Ken Bartholomew strained to see through his side window as the Black Hawk helicopter approached the airfield from the southeast.
“Is that it?” Jake asked as he watched a jet takeoff from the Frederick Municipal Airport and climb into the sky. “Did we miss it?”
Ken Bartholomew used his hands to shade the glare on the window. He studied the markings on the body and tail section of the jet as it flew overhead.
“I don’t think so. It looks more like a Gulfstream to me, not a Learjet.”
“So where is it?”
“Brett has three traffic cams with Steinmetz’ limo heading in this direction. We’re in the right place,” Honi reported.
“I think it’s the one lining up on the runway now. Can we land in front of it and block it from taking off?” Ken asked.
“Can do,” the pilot replied.
As the Learjet 75 paused at the beginning of the runway, the Black Hawk dove and swooped in over the runway in front of it.
“Is that the right jet?” Jake asked.
“When we land, you can go over and ask them,” the pilot said.
As the Black Hawk was about to land, Ken unbuckled, took off his helmet, and opened the side door. He grabbed his H&K MP5, ready to jump out and secure the jet on the pavement.
“What the hell?” the driver of Steinmetz’ limo shouted. “They’re after the General!” He spun the wheel, stomped on the gas and raced across the grass and onto the runway.
“It’s an army chopper,” his partner said. “We need to wait.”
“It just looks like an army chopper,” the driver said. “If it was a real army chopper, they would have called the General and he would have returned to the hangar. They’re trying to kill him!”
The armored limo raced down the left side of the runway, turning to the right at the last second to collide with the Black Hawk and push it off the pavement, clearing a path for Steinmetz’ jet to take off.
The impact of the armored limo with the left rear side of the Black Hawk violently jammed the helicopter forward and to the right, spilling Ken out of the open door and onto the crumpled hood of the limo, where he slid off, falling to the asphalt pavement below. His right knee hit first and hard. Because of the pain of impact, he lost his grip on the MP5, which skittered across the runway coming to rest fifteen feet away.
The tires of the limo screamed and burned, heading toward Ken’s side as it pushed the Black Hawk to the side of the runway. Ken rolled away from the smoking tire, as he yelled in pain from his injured knee.
The Black Hawk tipped suddenly to the left. Jake grabbed the harness strap to keep from falling out of the open door. He glanced down to see Ken disappear behind the limo as the back of the vehicle swung to his right, shoving the helicopter off the runway. He fired his M-16 into the roof of the limo on full auto, hoping to stop the people inside, but the bullets seemed to have little effect.
As the Black Hawk tipped, the blades sliced downwards toward the limo, striking the pavement in front of Ken, slashing up pieces of asphalt in the process. The blades struck the rear fender of the limo, both opening wide sections of the vehicle and shattering the rotary wings. Ken covered his head, waiting for the impact of the next blade to hit him.
Jake fell forward landing just inside and against the left side door, which was in the process of slamming shut. Part of Ken’s seat harness was hanging out of the opening. When the side door hit the harness strap, it jammed. As the helicopter came to rest, Jake tried to open the left door, but it wouldn’t budge.
As the limo cleared the runway, Ken looked behind him. The Learjet 75 was taking off, coming right at him. I’m in the middle of the damned runway! He watched the tires on the landing gear. The front tire was going to miss him, but a rear wheel wasn’t. He glanced at his MP5. If he rolled away from his weapon he could avoid the wheel and the jet exhaust. But by the time he could get to his weapon the jet would be long gone. As the front tire rushed by him, Ken rolled toward the MP5. The jet passed over him as he covered his head with his arms, tucking both hands under the shoulders of the bullet-resistant vest.
The blast of searing heat flooded over him like a giant blowtorch for two to three seconds. As soon as the heat lessened, Ken rolled again toward his MP5, grabbing it and swinging the extended stock to his shoulder. He fired a burst at each rear tire and then focused on the jet engine pods. Two hundred yard effective range. He thought as the jet raced down the runway away from him. Got to aim higher! He fired the last of his 9mm rounds high over the engines.
Honi and Stafford were still strapped in their seat harnesses. As the Black Hawk came to rest on the side of the runway, Stafford yanked the right side door open, released his seat harness and followed Honi out and down to the ground. The two front doors of the limo opened and the occupants emerged, firing from between the open doors and the windshield support column. Stafford shot at the driver, who ducked behind the bulletproof door window. Honi saw Stafford raked by a burst from the passenger-side shooter. She aimed her MP5 and pulled the trigger. The shooter fell in a cloud of pink spray as the passenger side rear door opened and another shooter emerged. The man and Honi exchanged direct gunfire at each other. Her shots hit the man in the head, but she was also hit in the chest. The force of the impact knocked her over backwards and onto the ground. As she looked up she saw a fourth man scoot out of the open rear door and take aim at her on the ground.
Jake scrambled across the floor of the helicopter in time to see Honi go down. “No!” he shouted. He swung his gaze back to the open passenger doors on the limo in time to see the next shooter rush around the door and take aim at Honi. Jake dove forward, aiming his M-16 at the shooter and pulling the trigger, while he was still in the air. His burst of bullets hit the shooter, knocking him sideways toward the ground. Jake hit the floor of the helicopter with the bulk of his body outside the compartment. He tumbled forward and down, landing on the back of his shoulders and rolling forward to a crouched position.