The hole in the huge window caused a violent whirlwind around the room. The lights flickered, objects were flying everywhere. The noise was tremendous.
Things began getting sucked out as the difference in air pressures caused a great vacuum effect. One of the air pirates went first, screaming as he was unwillingly drawn out into the night. A Family thug and his moll went next, their desperate attempts to grasp on to something — anything — failing. Calypso was the next victim of the vortex — his large frame slamming against the jagged edges of the glass, ripping his jugular as he went out the window and plunged to a bloody death. Dominique, although close to the hole, was prevented from being drawn to it as she was still secured to the rape chains.
Everywhere in the room, people were screaming, holding on for their lives. Other windows started bursting. Two of Calypso's men were slowly drawn out a new, smaller hole, though the slow suction made it a long and painful prelude to death. One of the storm troopers, vainly holding on to the edge of the sill, finally weakened and allowed himself to be sucked out, but not before letting out a chilling scream. Another Family moll followed right behind him.
The minijet sat in the middle of the confusion, its jets still smoking and sparks from its engine starting small fires around the room. The canopy popped and Hunter came out, his helmet visor down, his .357 Magnum blazing. He took out two of the Circle storm troopers first, then spun around and shot a Family goon right between the eyes. Storm troopers out in the corridor had recovered from his bursting in and started to return fire, but they were shooting so wildly, they were hitting some, of the guests instead of Hunter.
The noise inside the room was like a tornado. More windows were exploding.
More people, some no more than bloody masses of pulp, were being sucked out.
Glasses, bottles, lamps, ashtrays were whipping around the room like missiles, striking people before disappearing out of one of the broken windows.
Hunter quickly jumped down from the minijet and made his way toward Dominique.
She had fainted by this time. Hunter reached her by carefully crouch-running from one secured object to the next. Another couple of windows exploded, showering the already bloody guests with more sharp pieces of glass.
Hunter knew that every window that exploded served to balance the air pressure, reducing the danger of being sucked out into the night. He had to move quickly. Rescuing Dominique was his first priority, but getting the black box ran a close second. He was also looking for Viktor, but in the darkness and confusion, the man was nowhere to be seen.
Hunter reached Dominique and two quick blasts from the Magnum busted her chains. She fell into his arms, and at that moment, in the swirl of blood, flame of death all around him, he tenderly held her close to him. "I've got you," he whispered to her.
Her eyes opened weakly and she saw him for the first time in years. "Hawk?" she cried faintly. "Is it really you?"
He momentarily opened his helmet's visor. "The original, honey," he said, winking.
Hunter had flown to New York in the F-16, carrying the collapsible mini-jet on one of the jet's underwing "hard points," the place where weapons would normally be attached. He had landed at the abandoned JFK airport, hid the '16 in a remote hangar, then had taken off in the minijet for Manhattan. He was armed only with his sophisticated electronic eavesdropping device, the one he carried in the U-2 and later into the Badlands. He had adjusted it so as to listen in to conversations anywhere within a 50-foot radius of his position — even through building walls. This was how he had planned to recover the fifth and last black box. Eavesdrop on the whole fucking Manhattan until he tripped over a clue.
It had been a bold plan — an improvised, one-in-a-million shot. But it had gone better than clockwork. Using the tip from Tracy back in the Grand Canyon, he had nailed down who Calypso was. After Hunter had iced the Russian patrol he happened upon, he spent the good part of the night floating around Calypso's 'scraper, monitoring everything the decadent slob said and did. But, as always seemed to happen to him, Hunter was really in the right place at the right time, almost as if he sometimes forced fate to take over. The fact that the night he picked to take on Calypso also happened to be the night that Viktor was in town with Dominique was another in a long line of complete flukes. His life had been full of them. Bolts of divine intervention? Incredible coincidences? Synchronicity? Hunter preferred to think of it as something in the middle — maybe someone, somewhere in the ether, was gulling for him. What ever it was, he was the first to admit that at crucial times in his life, he was the luckiest bastard on earth.
But now he still had to get Dominique and himself out of the skyscraper in one piece. She had thankfully lapsed back into unconsciousness as he gathered her up and started to plot his escape. Then luck hit again. Next to where she had been chained lay the black box. He would never have seen it except for its tiny blinking red light. And beside it was the gold case which held Calypso's secret map. Having listened in on Calypso for the past few hours, Hunter knew about the map's existence, although he didn't have any idea where it led or what would be found once a person got there.
But he was going to try like hell to find out…
He draped Dominique over his shoulder and started for the door. The inside of the room was quickly filling with smoke. Human shapes were moving through the flames. His wrecked mini-jet being the center of the conflagration. He hated to see it go — it had served him so well. But he had no time to get sentimental. It was getting too fucking hot!
He made it to the corridor and found that whatever guards had been stationed there had long since fled. Smoke was filling the top floors of the sky-high building. He had to get out — quick. He pushed the elevator button and crossed his fingers. Instantly no less than 10 of the available twelve doors slid open, amidst of great ringing of bells. He wasn't all that surprised — the elevator call button was activated by heat — the slight amount on the tip of a person's finger normally did the trick. But the heat of a fire ironically called all the available elevators to the scene of the blaze. "Ah, technology," he said, stepping into the lift.
He took one last look into the devastated room for Viktor. Did he get sucked out into the night? Did he perish in the flames? Did he escape? Hunter had no time to ponder the questions. He pushed the down button.
He didn't know what to expect when the elevator reached the bottom floor.
Dominique was still out, her face oddly showing a slightly contented look. He watched the floor numbers slide by. He saw other elevators were also descending from the top floor — possibly containing some surviving guests, possibly some storm troopers as well. Maybe even Viktor himself. But Hunter's elevator would win this race, but he still had to worry about what — or who — would greet him when the lift stopped at the bottom. By the fifth floor, he had Dominique back over his shoulder and his hand cannon up and ready for gunplay. But when the doors opened he was surprised to find the gunfight had started without him.
It was confusing at first to determine who was fighting whom. The whole bottom floor of the building, as well as the plaza outside, was being raked with rifle and automatic weapons fire. He saw some Circle storm troopers, plus a very few Calypso soldiers firing in the direction of some darkened buildings near by. Hunter took advantage of the confusion to run out behind the enemy troops, and leave the building by a side door.
Dominique was coming to and, though woozy, she was able to stand on her own feet. She refused to let go of him however, as he hurriedly moved in the shadows toward the front of the WTC. Whoever was fighting against the storm troopers was getting the worst of it. "My enemy's enemy is my friend," he thought. He had to help out.