“Worth a try. These guys say they know how to use them.”
“Two ‘maybe’ missiles against four heavily-armed choppers. Not great odds.”
“No, but I’ve been thinking about something, Hawk. It’s going to sound crazy.”
Calvin outlined his proposal.
“You’re right. It’s brilliant, but crazy.”
“It’s absolutely insane,” Amir said. “There is so much that could go wrong.”
“I agree,” Hawkins said. “But at the least it will create a diversion to get the women and children out of the village. Is there any place close they can hide?”
“The agricultural sheds are not far away and they’re camouflaged from the air. They might reveal themselves under close inspection, but they could work for the time being.”
“Back to you, Cal.”
“I say we go for it. Nobody would ever expect us to do something so nutty.”
Hawkins looked at his wristwatch. “We’ve got fifty minutes to find out if you’re right.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Marzak paced back and forth near the grounded helicopter, stopping before each reverse turn to study the low-lying dun buildings. The suspicions ignited when Saleem said the offer had been accepted mounted as the minutes ticked by with no sign of Hawkins.
His wristwatch alarm chimed. Three quarters of an hour had passed since Saleem’s return from his truce parley. Fifteen minutes to go. Then he’d unleash a storm of death on the village and every one in it, including Hawkins.
More pacing. The watch chimed again, signaling that the hour had gone by. Marzak called the Cobra crews on a hand radio and told them to prepare for an attack on the village. As he clicked off he heard a blatting sound that seemed to come from outside the village. He sprinted toward the chopper. The pilot and co-pilot were sitting in the doorway enjoying a cigarette. He snatched the cigarette from the pilot’s lips.
“Get this thing in the air!”
The startled co-pilot ditched his cigarette and the flight crew hastily climbed into the helicopter and took their seats in the cockpit. The mercenaries who had been lounging nearby got into the cabin with their weapons.
The professor was sitting in the shade of the chopper.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“We’re going to punish Hawkins and his friends.”
The professor paled. “I’ll stay here,” he said. He pointed to his head. “Air sickness.”
“Suit yourself.” Marzak vaulted into the cabin.
The engine cranked into action and the chopper rose into the air and hovered a hundred feet off the ground with its nose pointed toward the village. Marzak put on his communications headset and leaned out the side window. The spinning blades had kicked up a cloud of dust.
He reached forward and clamped a big hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
“Higher. I can’t see a damned thing.”
The chopper lifted higher until it was above the dust.
He was pleased to see that the Cobras were aloft, noses pointed toward the village. He was about to give the command to attack when he saw a strange silhouette clawing its way into the air above the low buildings.
Marzak couldn’t believe his eyes. An ungainly twin-engine biplane of impressive size was slowly circling over the rooftops. It had two sets of landing gear and a British air force insignia was painted on the boxy, chocolate-colored fuselage and mustard-hued wings. The plane was a couple of hundred feet off the ground, flying unevenly, pitching and yawing as if buffeted by a strong wind. Marzak spotted a gunner’s pulpit in the nose, ahead of the pilot. The sun reflected off the metal helmet worn by someone sitting in the cockpit.
Before Marzak could bark a command, the biplane broke out of its circling pattern and did the unexpected. It flew directly toward the chopper, allowing for a clearer view of the man in the pulpit.
He was wearing an odd-looking helmet that covered the top and sides of his head, but Marzak immediately recognized the broad grin on the dark-complexioned face under the visor. Marzak was amazed at Hawkins’ audacity, but pinning his hopes on that old flying crate was going to be his last mistake.
Marzak told the pilot to bring the helicopter around to position his men for a broadside attack.
During the hour Marzak was waiting, Amir passed out the operational Stinger missiles to the two men on the rooftop. He gave them instructions, made them repeat his words, and translated back into English for Hawkins and Calvin.
Moving at amazing speed, considering his age and damaged leg, Amir led the way down the stairs and got in his car with Hawkins and Calvin speeding behind him in the desert vehicle. A minute later they pulled up in front of Amir’s house, which was swarming with armed guards and dozens of women and children who’d gathered there for shelter.
Cait was busy trying to comfort Amir’s granddaughter, who had been crying with fright. The little girl calmed down when she saw her grandfather. Cait waved at Hawkins while Abby stepped off the porch and cut a path through the women and wailing children to greet Matt.
“What’s going on, Matt?”
“They called a truce. They want us to dive on the treasure. I said I would do it.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry; it was only an excuse to buy time. We need you to organize these people and get them ready to move to the agricultural sheds while Calvin and I prepare a distraction.”
“What sort of distraction?” Abby said.
Hawkins knew Abby wouldn’t settle for an evasive answer. “Something that’s risky as hell and may not work, Abby, but we’ve only got forty-five minutes to pull it together, so please don’t press me on this.”
Abby pinioned him with a level gaze. “You’d damn better watch your ass, Hawkins, because I’m going to pull rank and insist that you have dinner with me before anyone else.”
“I never argue with a superior officer,” Hawkins gave her a quick hug.
He went over to the dune buggy and Calvin handed him his CAR-15. Calvin had attached an M-203 grenade launcher — basically a fifteen-inch-long aluminum tube and breech — to the underside of the barrel.
Hawkins waved at Amir to signal that the operation was under way. Amir kissed his family good-bye, conferred with a couple of his lieutenants, then got into his car with the omnipresent bodyguards. The touring car led the way to the Folly of Empire museum.
The group bustled past the weapons display and the Soviet vehicles into the airplane hangar. Amir’s men opened the wide doors leading out to the airstrip. Hawkins looked at his watch.
Thirty-five minutes.
Calvin climbed into the cockpit and familiarized himself with the controls. Hawkins got in the tank-like combat vehicle and started the engine. The sound was throaty but smooth. Maneuvering the massive vehicle was a challenge. Amir directed with waves of his cane and Hawkins drove it out of the hangar, backing it up to the front of the plane. Two cables were hooked up to the vehicle’s rear bumper and the other ends attached to the twin landing gear carriages under the plane.
Hawkins began to accelerate the vehicle slowly, moving the plane inch by inch until it was out in the open. The cables were unhooked and he drove the vehicle to the side and trotted back into the hangar. Calvin was walking around the plane, making a visual inspection.
“Ready?” Hawkins said.
“Amir’s head mechanic assures me that the engines are in excellent working order.”
Hawkins glanced at the grease-stained man talking animatedly with Amir. “Then why does he look so nervous?”
“You don’t really want me to spell it out for you, do you Hawk?”
“No I don’t.”