Blackout (34 page)

“Sweet,” Li said. “Who's better than Pach?”

But Riley didn't answer. He was too focused on the next steps.

They reached topside just as the Little Birds were making their approach. The first one hovered a foot above the aft deck, and Riley, Skeeter, Scott, and Khadi slipped onto its benches. As the chopper lifted off, Riley prayed they'd be in time.

Monday, September 14, 9:02 p.m. EDT

Baltimore, Maryland

“Come on, Gooey, what are you doing?” Riley yelled into his mic.

“I said hang on,” Gooey's frustrated voice answered in his headphones.

“Don't give me ‘hang on'! You know, you're quickly losing your rock-star status! Get a satellite on that building or pass it off to someone who can!” Riley knew he wasn't being fair with the quirky analyst, but it seemed like appealing to Gooey's pride was the one thing that really lit a fire under him.

“If I can't do it . . . ,” Gooey grumbled.

The dark water passed rapidly below as they flew up the Patapsco River. To Riley's left and right were the lights of Baltimore's suburbs. Suddenly the Little Bird dipped down. Riley looked up to see a boat's-eye view of the Francis Scott Key Bridge flash overhead.

“I got it,” Gooey cried out. “Wait, looks like there's a truck that's just accelerating northwest on Monroe!”

“Did it come from the building?” Riley asked.

“I . . . I . . .”

“Answer him, Goo,” Scott ordered.

“I'm not sure,” Gooey cried out. Riley could hear the exasperation in his voice. “There's a Penske truck rental right across the street. It could have been from there.”

“‘Could have' is not good enough,” Riley yelled.
Great! Do we hit the building, or do we follow what might be a wild-goose chase? Come on, no time to think; just make the decision!

“Gilly!”

“Yeah, Pach!”

“I want your chopper to go to the building on Monroe! When you get there, storm it as quickly as you can. Don't take any chances; we don't need prisoners. Just make sure that if the warhead is in there, there's no one left who can set it off!”

“Roger!”

“Goo, where's the truck?”

“It just turned northeast on Washington,” Gooey said, the resentment he felt toward Riley showing in his voice.

“Come on, Gooey, I don't know the streets. Just point us in the right direction!”

Finally Gooey blew. “Listen, if you've got a—wait a second! I've got an idea! Let me patch myself in to the chopper's GPS.”

“You can do that?” Riley asked, impressed.

“Puh-lease,” Gooey gloated, all the frustration out the window with this new challenge. “Evie, follow this truck while I work a little Goo-gic.”

“Goo-gic? Ewww,” Evie said from just beyond Gooey's mic. “Should I be wearing protective clothing?”

“Okay, guys, how do we do this?” Riley asked the other three who were with him.

“We dropped our ropes after the rappel onto the boat, we don't have winches, and dropping onto the roofs of trucks only works in the movies,” Scott said.

“Thanks, buddy. That answers ‘How don't we do this?' Now, if we can get back to my original question . . .”

“Northwest on Carey,” Evie said. Riley felt the chopper veer to the right. Back behind, the second chopper remained on its course.

“We're going to have to set down somewhere,” Khadi said.

“But where?” Riley answered. “If we choose the wrong place, we're toast. Even if we have a vehicle meet us, we're playing catch-up!”

“Can we get the cops to pull it over? No, that might lead to a high-speed chase that could turn out really bad,” Scott said answering his own question.

“Exactly,” Riley said. “And speaking of the cops, we need them to hold back. Our best advantage right now is the bad guys thinking that we don't know where they are.”

“Evie, have Tara tell the police to follow at a distance. We don't want to spook the target,” Khadi said.

Evie did, then said, “He just turned east on Baltimore. He's definitely heading downtown and at a fairly decent rate of speed.”

While that news wasn't necessarily a surprise, it still sent a chill down Riley's spine.
They always have to go for the maximum damage—always have to see just how many innocent civilians they can kill.

Below him, land suddenly appeared. First a freeway, then a rail yard sped by just a hundred feet below.

“You're only two miles out,” Evie said.

“Jefferson, go dark,” Riley commanded the pilot, and the lights on the Bird went out again. “Okay, guys, I think our official plan is, wing it. Let's trust our training and let instinct kick in.”

Riley hated going in without a set strategy, but he also knew that three out of the four of them were former members of the Air Force Special Operations Command. To get to that elite level, you had to train and train and train. And when you were done with all that training . . . you trained some more. It was all about making the unnatural natural—reprogramming instinct. Riley just had to believe that when the time came, they'd know what to do.

Coming into view to the west was M & T Bank Stadium, home of the Baltimore Predators and site of one of Riley's better games during his rookie year. Looking around Skeeter, he spotted Camden Yards on the other side of the freeway. They were both dark, as Riley knew they would be. All sporting events had been canceled indefinitely following last night's New York City attack.

“North on Eutaw,” Evie reported.

Jefferson said, “We're only a half mile back, sir.”

“Cut your speed and drop to rooftop level. Let's see if we can sneak up on him.”

The pilot made two quick turns, then throttled back and actually dropped lower than rooftop, following the street just twenty feet up.

“There it is,” Jefferson said. “Twelve o'clock.”

Riley again looked around Skeeter and saw the moving truck. It was a sixteen-foot, bright yellow Penske.
Hmm, maybe I
could
drop onto the back of that. . . .

But the closer they got, the more foolhardy that idea seemed.

They were just four car lengths back when a man leaned out of the window of the truck and started firing an automatic weapon at them.

Oh, come on! Who am I—007? This is something right out of a Bond movie!

The helicopter quickly pulled up, causing all four of the team members to almost tumble to the pavement below.

“Jefferson, you two okay up there?” Riley asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good! Now keep it together! You almost sent us swan diving!”

“Yes, sir!”

As the chopper began to descend again, Riley could see the truck speeding up. Ahead he could see a bunch of people milling around a courtyard in front of what looked like a giant, enclosed farmer's market.
Just what we need, the truck plowing into a crowd of bystanders!

Think! What now? You're in a helicopter, some maniac is firing at you, and there are people all around. What would Bond do?

“Jefferson, after the truck clears all those people, I want you to drop down in front of it and face it.”

“Yes, sir,” Jefferson said calmly.

“Skeet, you hang on to me. Scott, you do the same to Khadi. When the chopper levels, Khadi, you take out the driver, and I'll take care of the guy with the gun.”

“Shouldn't I be taking the shot?” Scott asked, appealing to his greater training—and probably his masculine pride.

“You're too big for her to hang on to. Besides, she's a better shot.”

Jefferson had taken them up over the truck, and Riley could see the passenger following them with the gun. Suddenly the truck began swerving back and forth in a desperate attempt to make itself a difficult target.

In a movie, this would be when the tunnel magically appears and the helicopter slams into it while you make your escape!
Looking at the open streets ahead, Riley thought,
Sorry, boys, wrong movie!

At the next intersection, the chopper spun 180 degrees and dropped to fifteen feet above the ground.

Instantly, Riley planted his feet on the skids and let his body lean out into open air. As soon as Skeeter's grip on his vest halted his movement, he opened fire with his Magpul. The passenger was firing wildly, and out of the corner of his eye, Riley saw bits of glass poofing up from the Little Bird's front bubble.

Khadi scored a hit on the driver, and the truck pulled wildly to the right. Riley, finally, found his mark, sending the gunman flying from his perch on the doorframe, but not before he heard Scott cry out. Riley looked back through the open chopper and saw that both Scott and Khadi were gone.

As the truck careened into a Food 7 Mart in a hail of brick and dust, Riley called out, “Skeet, pull me in!”

Skeeter did, and Riley scrambled through to the other side of the chopper. Looking down, he saw Scott sprawled out on the asphalt below. Khadi, however, was hanging upside down on the skid by her knees. Taking hold of the side of the chopper, Riley reached down, grasping for her hand. All those years of childhood gymnastics finally paid off for Khadi as she rocked herself back and forth, then swung up and caught Riley's arm. He pulled her back in.

“Get us down!” Riley commanded. “But watch out; Scott's down there!”

Khadi held tightly to Riley as the chopper slid back and dropped. She was shaking and breathing heavily. As much as Riley wanted to comfort her, he instead grabbed her face and said, “Stay in the game, girl! We're not done yet! Check Scott! Skeet and I need to open the back of that truck!”

Khadi nodded an acknowledgment of her assignment.

As soon as the chopper settled, Riley was out, following right behind Skeeter. While Skeeter went to the truck's mangled cab, Riley ran to the back.

“Clear!” he heard Skeeter yell.

As soon as Riley's hand touched the handle for the rear door, bullets started flying out. Pain stabbed the side of his head as he dropped to the ground. Skeeter slid down next to him.

“Do you know whether a bullet can damage this warhead or not?”

“Don't know, sir,” Skeeter said, looking at the blood on Riley's head.

“I'm fine—just grazed my ear,” Riley said, heading off the question before it was asked. “We can't take any chances. Door goes up, you take left, I'll take right; pick our shots, double tap. You ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Skeeter said as he took hold of the handle.

Riley counted down with his fingers . . .
3 . . . 2 . . . 1!

The door flew up. Bullets whizzed past them, and Riley heard a scream from the crowd that was diving for cover on the opposite side of the street.

Okay, ready . . . okay, ready . . . now!
Riley jumped up from his crouch and centered his red dot. With two quick pulls of the trigger, he placed a round in the man's chest and in his head.

Riley and Skeeter jumped into the truck. The bomb was built into a metal frame that was welded onto the truck's floor. Electrical tools were scattered, and Riley spotted a metal plate that looked like it belonged on the device.

“Over here,” Skeeter called out.

Riley swung around to the other side of the warhead and saw an open section. There were wires hanging out. He would have loved to see some digital countdown clock to know whether it was definitely armed or not. But the fact that there were loose wires in the open was enough to strongly suggest that they had made it in time.

Scott!
Riley ran to the back of the truck and jumped out, the night air cooling the blood that had trickled from his ear and soaked into his shirt. Up ahead Khadi was kneeling on the ground with her back to him. She was hunched over, and it looked like she was slowly stroking Scott's close-cut head.

Oh no! Not Scott, too.

As he ran, he could see the crowds filling the intersection. One person called out, “Hey, that's Riley Covington!” Immediately, shouts of “Get 'em, Covington!” and “Go, Riley!” filled the street.

Scott was flat on his back, and his right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. Riley dropped down next to Khadi and grabbed his best friend's arm, checking for a pulse.

Scott's eyes popped open, and a tight grin appeared on his face. “Your adoring public. . . . So no big boom means you got it, right?”

Riley could see that Khadi was smiling widely too, the relief very apparent on her face. “Yeah, we got it.”

Then Khadi twisted Riley's head. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Remembering his bloody ear, Riley chuckled and said in a bad British accent, “I'm all right. It's just a flesh wound.”

Scott replied with an even worse accent, “I've had worse!”

“Listen,” Khadi said, “if you guys are going to start quoting Monty Python, then you can comfort your own selves.”

“Speaking of comfort, what's all the head stroking about?” Riley asked, not quite as casually as he had hoped.

Sucking in his breath through gritted teeth, Scott answered through the pain. “Back off, Jealous Boy. Khadi just feels sorry for me, and I told her that it feels nice.” Looking up at Khadi, he said, “Mix it up a bit so you can comfort my whole head. There's a good girl.”