Steve instructed the CIA field-ops coordinator to inform the FBI about the yellow crime-scene tape. When the senior Bureau agent advised that he had received the message, Wickham told the OPSCO to have the Marine helo pilots ready to orbit the area on his command. He would direct them to his location when the FBI was ready to storm the home.
If the Bell JetRanger managed to get airborne, they were to force the pilot to land at the nearest suitable facility, preferably Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station, since it was only a short distance away. FBI agents and other law enforcement officers were assembling at the air station and other airfields around the island.
Unfortunately, the communications stalkers in the news media had already detected the unusual activity from the FBI and local law enforcement officials. The word of an impending police action was spreading like a flu epidemic. If the people in the mansion got wind of the situation, the operation would be jeopardized.
Steve told the Langley operations coordinator to again stress an important point to the Marine aviators: don't let the JetRanger get away, regardless of what action they had to take. Wickham was shocked when the OPSCO told him the Huey Cobra gunships were not armed. The helicopters were not allowed to fly over civilian-populated areas while carrying live ammunition.
Driving back to the house, Susan reached into her small purse and extracted her stainless steel Smith & Wesson. She carefully examined the magazine and placed the compact semiautomatic on the seat between them, then glanced at Steve. "Are you armed?"
"Yes. I've got a Beretta tucked away if I need it."
"Good," she replied evenly and closed her purse. "I noticed in your Marine Corps files that you fired expert in both pistol and rifle."
Steve looked surprised. "Well, that was a helluva long time ago."
Suffocating in the heat and oppressive humidity, Marcus Callaway held the damp binoculars steady and watched the sandy-haired man crawl into the cockpit of the camouflaged JetRanger. He appeared to be approximately six feet tall and had a slender build.
The main rotor blades slowly began to turn as the pilot went through his takeoff checklist.
"Damn," Marcus cursed under his breath. "Where's our backup?" He raised his portable radio to his lips. "Tiger Paw, they're about to punt. We've gotta take the field. I repeat, we've gotta go for it now!"
"Move out, Marcus," Susan replied in clipped fashion. "We're on our way!"
Wickham listened to the surge of radio conversations while he called Langley. "Tell the Cobra pilots to come ashore. I'll give them final directions as soon as I have a visual on them."
He paused when the car slid into a turn. "I should be able to see them as soon as they're feet-dry."
Susan drove with a vengeance while Steve braced himself whenever the car swerved on the slippery road. As they approached the edge of the paved portion of the road, he spotted the two gunships.
"The target — a camouflaged JetRanger — is sitting on a tennis court at their one o'clock," he explained. Seconds later the pilots spotted the civilian helicopter and began a steep descent.
When Steve and Susan neared the circular brick driveway, a Nissan Pathfinder barreled straight at them. Susan locked the brakes and slid the sedan sideways, partially blocking the driveway.
"Get down," Steve shouted while he reached for his gun. He recognized the well-dressed Japanese "house-sitter" and the crew-cut enforcer a split second before the rugged Pathfinder plowed into the front of their sedan.
Glass shattered and metal screeched as the car violently spun around, coming to a stop facing down the driveway. Recovering from their initial shock, Susan and Steve leaped out of the car and opened fire at the accelerating Nissan. The blue and cream vehicle lurched from side to side, then disappeared around a bend in the road.
Susan gave her colleagues at the Bureau a quick description of the Pathfinder and tossed the microphone onto the seat.
"Take the right side!" Steve called to her as he ran toward the left side of the home.
Halfway between the driveway and the tennis court, Wickham paused to watch one of the Marine Cobras smoothly maneuver to a position directly over the JetRanger. The civilian helicopter was trapped by the surrounding trees. If the pilot tried to lift straight up in the hurricane of wind, his main rotor blades would disintegrate when they hit the landing skids of the gunship.
Cautiously, Steve started toward the JetRanger and aimed his gun at the pilot. He was prepared to shoot the man if he didn't shut down the turbine and climb out.
Without warning, an assault rifle opened fire. Steve dove for the ground as he heard more high-powered rounds whine through the air.
Marcus stumbled over a rise and spotted the man with the rifle at the same time the Asian saw him. They were about eighty yards apart. The agent dropped to a firing position, but he knew the distance was too great to be very accurate with a handgun.
With great deliberation, Marcus aimed at the man and began squeezing off rounds. He watched in frustration as the gunman fired toward Wickham, then turned his rifle on Callaway.
Hearing high-powered rounds impacting near him, Marcus took careful aim this time and gently pulled the trigger twice. He was about to fire again when he was staggered by a burning blow. Callaway dropped his weapon and felt the moistness of his blood.
Steve belly-crawled toward the side of the house in time to see the rifleman spray the hovering Marine helo with the last rounds in his clip. Clouds of black smoke belched from the stricken Huey Cobra.
Wickham watched in dismay. "Pull up and get the hell out of there," he said to himself.
As if in slow motion, the damaged helo tilted sideways and drifted toward the slender, manicured trees. After passing over the tall barrier around the tennis court, the gunship suddenly rolled on its left side and crashed in an exploding fireball.
Shrapnel from the main rotor blades ricocheted in every direction, forcing Wickham to clasp his hands over his head.
After the jagged shards stopped impacting the side of the house, he tentatively looked up.
Horrified by the disaster, Wickham paused for a moment, then sprung to his feet and started toward the JetRanger. Twenty steps later he rounded the side of the house and confronted the bare-chested man who had decimated the Cobra with his assault rifle.
The slender Asian, who had slipped in a fresh magazine, saw Steve at the same time. He fired two short bursts at him and then raced for the helicopter.
Showered by puffs of dirt and grass, Steve sprawled on the ground and fired seven rounds between the tree trunks. He says, the small man nosedive into the JetRanger as the pilot simultaneously lifted the craft into the air.
Susan quickly joined Steve while they watched in amazement as the second Marine helicopter bore down on the accelerating JetRanger.
The civilian helicopter tried several wild evasive maneuvers to elude the faster gunship, but the Cobra pilot was as tenacious as a pit bull terrier.
"Pray that he doesn't get away," Susan exclaimed and gripped Steve's arm.
Wickham thought about calling for a pair of armed fighter planes as the civilian pulled his helo almost straight up and rolled 90 degrees to the right. The pilot was obviously talented and highly experienced.
The gunship shot straight up beside the JetRanger and hung directly over the helicopter until both craft lost their kinetic energy and quit flying. They plunged toward the ground to gain airspeed, and the Cobra sliced directly over the tail rotor of the civilian helo. The lethal contest went on for another paralyzing minute while the civilian frantically tried to escape.
Steve cupped a hand to shield his eyes while he watched the deadly aerial duel. "The gunship driver is deliberately trying to ram him."