He longed to return to that incredible challenging mountain terrain. There your ass was on the line every second of the day. Even when you were asleep, those tricky, fierce bastards could figure some way to get to you. In Afghanistan , you were either a man, or you were dead. In a way he loved those tough rebels who fought like stubborn terriers and kept him on the razor's edge, every nerve throbbing with awareness. But most of all he loved to find them scrabbling over the rocks in the high country, in places where it was impossible to fly, where the passes were too narrow, the air too thin, the cross winds too vicious. He would fly there anyway! He would find them, bring his great machine whining up over a ridge, catch them in his sights, and rip them to bloody shreds.
And so what was he doing now? Flying off a ship in the middle of the flattest, most boring god-awful expanse of ocean known to the mind of man. The mindless routine was driving him absolutely berserk. Stop in the ocean, lower the small boats, rig the large aluminium plate between them, sail around trying to see if something coming out of the sea would punch a hole in the plate. Naboyev, now he was really lucky. He got to take off, fly in a lazy circle about the small boats below, not see a goddamn dung, then land back on the ship, so they could sail a few hundred kilometres and then perform the same idiotic routine the next day. Well today, by god, he was at least going to find out a little about what was coming out of the ocean.
The rumours making the rounds were that they had got pretty good at positioning the plate so whatever it was came up and made the silly little hole. Since that was the only action around, Naboyev was determined to play the game and find out what they were all up to. He'd just kind of break formation at the right time and fly on over that plate and see what he could see.
He went into his standard circular pattern, listening to the radio traffic. He had learned to time the scattered information that came over his frequencies and knew when to kick the rudder and head for the platform. He wanted to get there in time to hover over the platform at a couple of thousand feet for thirty seconds or so before the hole got punched. That way he would have time to get stabilized and oriented before anything happened. With any luck there would be a circus. There would sure be one when he got back on ship. To hell with them!
Naboyev listened to signals being relayed to the small boats carrying the plate from some sonar installation in the mother ship. When he heard the call for them to hold position, he broke off and headed for the knot of boats. He took up position over the boats and peered down. He saw a small turbulence and a rising plume in the water next to one of the boats. If that's what they were after, he thought, they missed it today. He strained, but couldn't see anything else, nothing came up in the air towards him.
The helicopter bucked and Naboyev felt he had been hit by a shell. His craft began to shake as if caught in a gigantic paint mining machine. Naboyev fought the controls of the ship like a madman. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a half-metre long slab of metal go arcing gracefully out and down towards the ocean below. Without knowing how it happened, he recognized that the tip of one of his rotor blades had been sheared, and that the vibration from the imbalance of the rotors would make it impossible to land even if the chopper didn't shake itself apart.
Naboyev throttled down to reduce the centrifugal force on the blades. He changed the pitch to decrease the lift and the machine dropped like a rock. The shaking was eased minutely, but the ocean came up with terrifying speed. At the last possible second, Naboyev restored the pitch and opened the throttle. The craft halted its plunge ten metres above the gentle swells, but began to vibrate more fiercely than ever. Naboyev kept a death grip on the stick with his right hand, and opened the hatch door next to him with his left. He took his feet off the pedals and stuck his butt out of the door, leaning, straining to keep the wobbling ship on even keel with the stick. He got his feet on the rim of the hatch as the craft began to rotate, and then in one swift desperate movement, he released the stick, kicked it with his foot, and used the leverage to eject himself out the doorway. The effect was to knock the stick to the right as he buried himself to the left. The helicopter followed the lead of the stick and lurched to the right as Naboyev fell clear, hurtling to the water below.
He curled into a ball and felt the blistering blow as he smacked into the ocean. He uncurled and opened his eyes, struggling to orient himself as he heard and felt the great churning of his wounded, pilotless machine plunging into the water twenty metres from him. He swam for the surface and broke through to the pure sweet air, shouting to himself as he broached.
Death! You rotten bastard! I've looked into your putrid eyes. And I've won again!
Isaacs stood near the door, watching the mad confusion as some members of Jason tried to leave the room past the clutter of chairs and lingering people. After Runyan's projection of the destruction of the earth, if not the sun itself, by his hypothesized black hole, Phillips had called a halt to give time to think and evaluate. They would reconvene the next morning.
Isaacs recalled Runyan's fatalistic shrug when Phillips suggested their free time should be spent seeking a different solution to the problem. Isaacs recognized that Runyan was sincerely convinced he had the correct interpretation, however wild the idea, whatever the gaping questions left unanswered. But a black hole! Isaacs could see no immediate weakness in Runyan's argument; it made a certain sense. But it violated every professional instinct. Somehow, Runyan had to be wrong. Isaacs determined to have a quiet, serious talk with Phillips.
Danielson noticed that Isaacs was not moving to leave immediately. In attempting to get out of the way, she did a brief Alphonse-Gaston routine with Zicek before retreating into the cranny between the desk and the sofa. Runyan edged along the blackboard and then in front of the sofa to get behind Zicek, Fletcher, and Noldt. Out of a sense of propriety for his temporary quarters, only Gantt remained seated in the swivel chair at the desk.
As Danielson watched Noldt, the last of the first group to leave, she was startled to feel a grip on her elbow. She looked around to see Runyan, whose mood was transformed by an infectious smile of mirth and well-being.
'You see what you and your boss have done?' he asked merrily. 'Put me through the wringer! What I need now is the company of a pretty lady for dinner. Do you have any plans?'
Her smile which had been spontaneously induced by Runyan's radiating good spirit brightened further. Runyan's revelation had left her shaken, the idea was too strange, too new for her to readily cope with it.. Her immediate reactions were much more personal. She was exhilarated that her work and risks had paid off. These men of Jason had given her the ultimate accolade by taking her analyses seriously. Besides listening to her, Runyan had deeply impressed her with his mind-boggling explanation of her discoveries. She was delighted at the chance to prolong these feelings with an evening in Runyan's company.
'I'm not sure what Mr Isaacs has in mind,' she said.
'Well, let's just see,' Runyan cut her off. Without releasing his grip on her arm, he led her around Gantt to Phillips and Isaacs.
'Gentlemen. I propose a few drinks and a good meal in pleasant company as therapy for our weighty problems. Will you join us?'
Isaacs noted with irony that Runyan had appointed himself and Danielson the core of the action, as if Phillips and he were the peripherals. Danielson had comported herself very well through everything today, thinking on her feet, picking up quickly on the lack of scorching, a point he should have stressed. More evidence of her good prospects in the Agency. His glance fell on Runyan's possessive hand on her elbow. Isaacs was still nervous about Danielson consorting with these academics, particularly Runyan, coming on fast this way. She was a grown woman, though, and deserved some recognition for her excellent work of the past few months. He looked at the expectant smile on her face and smiled himself in acquiescence.