It disappeared as homes got in the way and their own chopper came down hard, skids first, on a wide patch of concrete. Something broke, the metal crunching and shattering with a sickening sound. The whole aircraft bounced about eight feet, finding the air again before once more crashing down. The passengers were thrown against the bulkhead, skulls and shoulders striking bruisingly hard. Dave wrestled with the controls. The chopper tipped first one way and then the other, took off once more and then came down again, this time mostly nose first. Shards of metal sheared off; one of the skids ripped away and then the helo was tilting once more as it came to rest, engine roaring, glass mostly shattered; the entire aircraft so battered it would never again take to the skies.
Alicia shrugged it off rapidly, but only because she had the life experience. Gritting her body and nervous system against all forms of pain and danger, she unbuckled her belt, threw open her door and reached across to check on Dave. The pilot was fine, so she climbed up into her doorframe, gripped the struts and jumped down to the asphalt below. She rolled, trying not to see the world spin as her eyes closed. Again, she compartmentalized, not letting it take control.
She gripped her gun, looked up for the others.
Russo’s big, worried face was staring over the top of the frame. “Are you all right? Where the hell did they go?”
Alicia indicated the ground. “Get down here fast. We have to move!”
Her tone was laden with infectious anger, galvanizing the others. Bleeding and still with their heads spinning, they jumped down and lumbered over to her. Austin was first, glad to be back on terra-firma. Dave was last, staring at two gashes in his right arm.
“Hold tightly on to that.” Alicia nodded at the blood. “We can’t stop here. If we lose them now we kill Crouch.”
“And lose everything else,” Caitlyn murmured.
Dave nodded gamely. “Go, just go. I’ll be right behind you.”
With the burning wreckage behind them, still ticking and shedding metal, glass and plastics, they pocketed their weapons and ran fast, dripping blood and nursing wounds as they went, chasing a deadly enemy and the life of someone they held dear, taking it straight to the enemy once more.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Michael Crouch found that he was gripping his seat hard enough to turn his knuckles white and stop the blood flow to his fingers. He was leaning well forward, trying to catch a glimpse of what had become of Alicia’s helicopter. All he could see was dust and a huge chunk of metal that appeared to hurl itself toward the sky.
Frustrated, he slumped back into the seat.
Across the way, Terri and Cutler regarded him with increased fear. It had been a traumatic trip from St Louis, but every time they reached another destination both of them began to fear it might be the end of the line. Crouch wished he could tell them the final destination, but didn’t dare risk it for now. Out of the two of them, Terri was his best chance; the most switched on. Cutler appeared to be mostly out of it — traumatized by everything that had happened. Crouch wasn’t impressed with the well-built American.
Faith was everything now. The fact was — Alicia and the others had followed him this far, picking up on all of his hastily scribbled clues. He couldn’t let them down now.
Wouldn’t let them down.
Another merc had died back there. That left six in total, the pilot and the boss, Omar. Crouch wondered if this mountainous stop was planned, but the pilot brought the chopper drifting in gently and touched down onto a manicured lawn.
Between the mercenaries, however, there was no calm.
“Damn, we lost ole Vinny back there. That bitch shot him between the eyes!”
“Nah, it was the neck, mate.”
“You sure? I thought it—”
“What does it fucking matter?” another cried. “We gotta move fast. Gonna be a long fucking drive to Vegas with those assholes on our tail!”
Omar leaned over, all six-foot-six of him, elbow draped across the seat as the chopper came to total stillness. “Keep it professional. This is the plan, and we can’t deviate. Driving, flying, driving again, whatever. It was planned and necessary. It’s what the bosses wanted. Our pursuers are… irritating, yes, but to get that pay day we have to earn it.”
“He’s right,” a man seated beside Crouch said as the Englishman sat in absolute silence, as unobtrusive as an ant. “We’re almost there, guys. We’ll hand the banner off to the real terrorists, then let ’em burn it in their fuckin’ propaganda video. And whilst America quakes and moans and burns, we’ll be sipping mai tais on a white sand beach.”
Crouch tried to remain still as a terrible surge of fear and hatred swept through him. Sell the banner to terrorists… let them burn it… no, no, no!
“Beach?” A man laughed. “Nah, boy, I’ll be staying right there in the Stratosphere. Doubling up my dough.”
Laughter greeted that statement as the mercenaries slowly began to extricate themselves from the chopper. “Don’t be an ass, Rick,” someone said. “At least take a vacation before you give it all back.”
“Fuck you.”
Crouch, so far, had gleaned that these men were the hired mercs he had initially thought they were, tasked with grabbing the banner and handing it over to real terrorists. Terri and Cutler were simply extra remuneration — an unexpected payday. The exchange appeared to be happening at the Stratosphere Hotel in Las Vegas, which was the next stop. He played good prisoner as he was pulled out and made to wait for the rest of them. Once they had grouped, Omar looked around.
“There,” he said simply.
Crouch saw a large hotel with discreet signage, something a little more upper class expensive than usual. The parking area was half full, but Omar started off toward the far side, where a pair of black Cadillac sedans were waiting. Inconspicuous, powerful and roomy they would prove ideal for the long trek to Vegas.
“We still on target?” another merc asked.
“Very much,” Omar replied. “We’re two hours ahead thanks to the chase.”
Laughter greeted that one. Crouch understood that these men were only talking about their situation, their current job, and exactly what was coming up. It was natural. Everyone did it. He waited as long as he could for more information, but when it didn’t arrive felt an urge to force it.
“The Stratosphere?” he said quietly. “I can’t do heights.”
It was simple, but in current company, stood a good chance of being effective.
“Shut it, dickhead. And don’t worry, it’s still a couple of floors from the very top.”
He laughed raucously, along with three of the others. Omar was too focused to hear the exchange and, when Crouch begged for a toilet stop, all the mercs hesitated and looked to their leader.
He checked his watch. “Five minutes,” he said, and came along with them. It had been a long flight from St Louis and everyone wanted to take advantage of the break. Crouch glanced back at the chopper’s position, noting the hotel was closest but that there were a couple of houses closer still. It couldn’t matter. His team would figure it out.
Inside, they followed the directions of the receptionist to the nearest set of restrooms. Crouch and Terri made sure they smiled and laughed enough to catch the woman’s attention, joking about a skiing accident to explain away their cuts and bruises. Omar patted his pocket warningly. The mercs refrained from dragging Crouch along but only just.
The ‘gold’ clues were in short supply now. Crouch had a line or two in mind for the clue, but no easy place to plant them. A stroke of luck came when the gender door plaques gleamed a golden color, but it was pretty damn thin.