Just then, the Black Hawk circled around to the front of the SUV; banking and side slipping so its spotlight could burn through the windshield and illuminate the two men as if they were actors on a stage.
Although Payne was aware of the helicopter, he knew they could do nothing to help him. The stench of burning oil and a thin fog of smoke began bleeding into the car’s interior, stinging his eyes. Through the haze, Scarponi’s eyes were filled with fury. “I treated you like a brother!”
“I was… doing… my job.”
“I’ve got a job to do, too,” Scarponi said. As if the anger had infused him with a sudden burst of strength, he lifted Payne up by the neck and smashed his head against the door.
Pinpricks of agony exploded in Payne’s mind as he fought to maintain consciousness.
“My job,” Scarponi yelled, “is to kill you.”
The Navigator banged and thumped along the rough brush, each jolt forcing Scarponi’s hands deeper into his adversary’s neck. Payne struggled to maintain his own grip on Scarponi’s throat, but he felt his grasp weakening. Thoughts screamed through his oxygen-deprived brain.
Do something now or die
Squeeze harder or pry his hands away
He chose the latter.
But the instant he released his grip from Scarponi’s neck, he realized it was the wrong decision.
With Payne’s arms no longer restraining his head, Scarponi coiled back, then rammed his skull into Payne’s forehead.
74
DeSantos watched with a gaping mouth as he saw the assassin’s hands around Harper Payne’s throat. But not until Waller screamed did he realize just how awful the situation really was.
“Engine’s on fire!”
Flames danced from beneath the Navigator’s hood as the SUV plowed through the dense underbrush.
“How fast are they going?” Knox asked.
DeSantos glanced at his airspeed, which was holding at 70 knots. “About eighty,” he shouted.
Waller leaned into the front seat. “We’ve got to stop it and get Payne out of there before it blows.”
“I’ll bring us about, you take out the tires,” DeSantos said. As the chopper maneuvered alongside the SUV, Waller leaned out the doorway and fired off several rounds, puncturing the radials and sending the vehicle into a frenzy, bouncing hard as it slowed to a still-torrid fifty-five miles per hour.
“Trees!” Knox said.
DeSantos pulled on the cyclic and the helicopter immediately strained skyward. Knox’s face sagged in anguish when he turned and saw the thicket up ahead of the Navigator, seconds away from impact. As they ascended above the height of the trees, DeSantos closed his eyes and waited for the sound of crunching steel, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Knox motioned toward the clearing in front of the thicket. “Get us down, get us down!”
DeSantos lowered the craft rapidly and set it amongst the brush thirty yards from the Navigator. The SUV was a crumpled mass of metal, its engine compartment wrapped around a large-trunked spruce. Smoke billowed up into the soupy night air as flames engulfed the entire front end and seared the lower branches of the neighboring trees.
Knox remained in the helicopter and radioed their position as DeSantos and Waller ran toward the flaming wreckage, guns in hand, anticipating… just about anything.
Waller knew there wasn’t time to follow established procedure, and judging by the look on DeSantos’s face, he was not alone in that thought. They hurdled a fallen fir tree and were immediately hit by a plume of thick black smoke. DeSantos fell to his knees in a coughing fit. Waller stumbled but continued on, approaching the wreck in a crouched position.
He grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.
75
Harper Payne fell out of the SUV’s front seat amidst the deployed airbag, and landed against Waller, who was knocked backward to the ground. Waller gulped a mouthful of air, filling his lungs with smoke. He rolled to his side, attempting to move out from beneath the weight of Payne’s body, knowing that Scarponi could emerge from the interior at any second, firing at will. But his lungs exploded in a fit of violent hacking, and he was unable to move.
Just then, DeSantos appeared through the thick black fog and grasped Payne’s body by the armpits. Freed of the weight on his chest, Waller was able to get to his feet and help pull Payne twenty yards from the wreck, where the density of the smoke was thinner. The cleaner air helped, as Waller’s coughing subsided enough that he was able to catch his breath.
DeSantos groped for his comrade’s wrist to check for a pulse. Satisfied that Payne was still alive, he nodded at Waller and they shifted position, each grabbing one of Payne’s arms and slinging it over their shoulders. They carried him between them another ten yards, toward the helicopter.
“Medevac is on the way. ETA two minutes,” Knox shouted above the noise of the rotors. “He okay?”
“He’s unconscious,” Waller said. “But he’s got a pulse.” They set Payne’s body on the ground, face up.
“I’m going back in,” DeSantos said, disappearing into the black fog in search of Scarponi.
“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Waller said to Knox, the thump-thump-thump of the chopper’s blades nearly drowning out his words.
“I owe Hector the opportunity to prove that he does.”
Waller drew his Glock and kept his back to the Black Hawk, guarding Knox and Payne. Scarponi was still unaccounted for, and although it was unlikely he was in any condition to attack, Waller was not taking any chances.
With a handkerchief acting as a crude — and only minimally effective — filter for his nose and mouth, DeSantos fought through the smoke, groping his way around the interior of the Navigator. His Beretta was in his right hand, ready to fire. He attempted to slow his respirations to maximize the amount of time he could remain in the toxic environment. If all went as he hoped, he would find Scarponi’s dead body, then retreat to safety.
But his desires faded quickly as he found the interior of the SUV to be vacant, aside from a couple of corpses in the backseat that did not fit Scarponi’s description. DeSantos began coughing, his makeshift filter no longer effective. He turned and began running, but tripped on a thick object — a fallen branch? Apiece from the wreckage? A leg?
Waller was crouched next to Payne’s body, again checking his pulse. While standing guard, he performed a cursory exam — from what he could recall of his first aid training — and found a potential fracture of Payne’s left forearm along with fresh abrasions and bruising about his face. His pulse was weak and his skin clammy.
Waller resumed his watch, then felt the rumble of another helicopter. He looked skyward and saw the spotlight of a medevac chopper emerge from behind the canopy of the trees. As the emergency vehicle began to descend, someone came running toward them from inside the swirling plume of darkness.
Waller aimed his weapon — but in that instant a deafeningly loud explosion of heat and light burst from the smoking wreck. Metal pieces blew upward and outward, fiery pieces of the SUV’s interior blasting in all directions as two smaller explosions ripped through the wooded area.
The approaching helicopter retreated, quickly gaining altitude. Waller was using his body to cover Payne while Knox was somewhere to his right, hugging the ground. As the metal and rubber fragments landed, small fires began burning in a scattered pattern throughout the field. A few smoldering pieces struck the idling Black Hawk before impotently falling to the ground.