Threat Level Black

He reached down and pulled Howe to his feet. Somewhere in the back of his head Howe heard a voice tell him to grab for the gun. This was certainly the right time for it: It loomed right in front of his stomach, angled away; it was far from a sure thing but it was a decent chance, maybe fifty-fifty. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. His arms stayed frozen in front of him, weighed down by the handcuffs; his chest refused to supply the energy he needed, and the moment passed.

Alice was out of the car, being pushed toward the building. Howe finally willed himself toward her.

Slow, go as slow as you possibly can, he told himself.

But don’t let them kill her.

Chapter 16

Coward! Coward!

“That was a brave thing you did, saving those kids in the helicopter,” said Somers, helping Tyler up. “Foolhardy, but brave.”

Tyler stared at him.

“Major?”

He turned around. The Ranger captain had a distressed look on his face.

“You okay, Major?” asked the captain.

“Yeah.”

“We have two gunships inbound. We’ve chased the North Koreans out of their hide holes and have a pretty good idea where they were firing from. Mortar fire has stopped. We got their machine gun.”

“Good work,” managed Tyler.

“Everybody’s okay,” the Ranger commander added.

“Yeah, good,” said Tyler. He frowned.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know we fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” Tyler asked.

“We should have found those bastards before they fired.”

“This is war,” said Somers. “You can’t see everything. The other side has a vote.”

“That’s right,” said Tyler.

The Ranger captain had a pained expression on his face; he didn’t believe him. Tyler grabbed his arm. “That’s right. It’s not your fault. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s my fault.”

The man blinked, not understanding, then nodded.

“It’s my fault,” said Tyler.

“Thank you, sir,” said the captain.

“No, I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me talk to the helicopter people and see if they can rig up another sling with the other UAV,” Tyler said. “Get it the hell out of here before we’re attacked again.”

Chapter 17

Howe walked toward the warehouse, his heels kicking against pebbles and broken glass. A railroad track was embedded in the macadam; he stepped on the worn rail, sole scuffing. The gun was now a few feet away, on his left, behind him just enough so he couldn’t see it without turning back to look at his captor. Another of the thugs pulled Alice ahead to the right, heading toward a door. The third was behind him somewhere-but where?

Rusted oil drums sat in a pile at the corner of the building; the other direction lay bare.

He could grab the gun, shoot the thug with Alice, take her around the side of the building.

Guy in the back would nail him, then her.

He turned right, trying to see. The low groan of the highway filtered past the buildings, making its way up the embankment. They were alone here, very alone. He heard a Cessna nearby and realized the civilian airport sat on the other side of the highway.

Someone would see them. Someone.

He heard a helicopter approaching.

“Move it.” The thug on his left took a step forward and smacked him in the ribs with the blunt grip of the gun.

He can’t shoot me that way, Howe realized, and in that second he sprang.

“There-go!” yelled Fisher into the headset. He grabbed at the door of the helicopter, pushing his elbow hard against it, only to have the wind slap him back into the seat.

“How close do you want to get?” asked Maureen Justice.

“Hit them!” Fisher undid his seat belt and leaned forward against the side of the forward panel of the traffic helicopter.

“Hit them? Andy, I don’t owe you that much.”

“You’ll be able to broadcast it live. You’ll be as famous as the helicopter pilot in the O.J. case.” He pulled out his pistol.

“Hey, wait a second,” she shouted. “You didn’t say you were going to shoot somebody.”

“I told you, it’s national security.”

“Andy!”

“Got to get their attention!” said Fisher, firing off two rounds from his revolver.

“Good, they’re taking out guns! They’re shooting at me!”

“Took ’em long enough. Come on, run ’em over.”

“Jesus!”

Maureen swung the helicopter in an arc to the north, tilting wildly as she lurched away from the gunmen. Fisher was sure she’d seen much worse on her daily traffic reports, but there wasn’t time to argue.

“Put me down on the roof!” he told her, whipping off the headset.

“The roof?”

Fisher hung on the helicopter door with one hand, belatedly realizing that the metal was thinner than it appeared. He swung his feet around, searching for the skids beneath. He looked down, saw gray concrete.

Between the wind and the engine noise there was no way the pilot could hear him, but Fisher knew that there were moments in every case when a strategic shout was your best and only option.

“The roof!” he yelled. “The roof!”