Amir had finished talking to his mechanic and hobbled over.
“My mechanic says he will ask Allah to protect you. In case He chooses not to, gentlemen, and your plan goes awry, what do you suggest as a back up?”
“It’s a win-win situation, Amir,” Hawkins said. “Whether we go down in flames or not, the distraction will allow you to get the villagers to the shed. Have your men lay down the heaviest fire possible. If they can nail a couple of the choppers, the others will turn tail. Sorry I can’t give you better odds than that.”
“They are better than I expected.” Amir glanced at his watch. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
Hawkins said, “I have a strange request to make, Amir.”
Nothing these two Americans did would surprise Amir. He listened, simply nodded his head and ordered one of his men to carry out the request.
They shook hands with Amir and climbed onto the lower wing. Calvin got into the cockpit while Hawkins snugged into the tight forward pulpit and placed the CAR-15 between his knees.
Two men had been designated to start the propellers. The man on the right wing pulled the blade down, putting all his weight into the motion. Calvin fed fuel to the engine with the throttle. The man jumped out of the way as the wooden propeller rotated in a lazy spin that rapidly picked up speed. The man on his left went through the same exercise. The engines were attached to the fuselage only a few feet from the open cockpits and their sound was brain-scrambling.
The man Amir had dispatched to carry out Hawkins’ request climbed onto the wing and handed him the Macedonian bronze helmet from the small arms exhibit.
Hawkins handed him his cap and pulled the helmet on. It was tight, especially around the nose guard, but it fit. The helmet would offer protection from the wind blast in the pulpit, but he was hoping at the same time that he’d benefit from its warrior spirit. He was going to need any edge he could get.
He raised his thumb in the classic OK. Calvin mimicked the gesture and fed more fuel to the carburetors. The plane crept forward. Calvin had difficulty balancing the three-hundred-sixty-horsepower Rolls-Royce engines, and the plane zigzagged in a crab-like fashion as it rolled toward the start of the landing strip. He didn’t want to lose momentum, so he gunned the throttles as soon as the bomber was pointing, more or less, at the landing strip. The plane rumbled ahead at a fast run.
Hawkins put his sunglasses on to block the air blasting in his eyes. As the plane picked up speed, he bounced up and down on the hard seat as if he were sitting on a diving board. He squinted down the length of the landing strip. The plane had eaten up at least half the distance, but it seemed reluctant to leave the safety of the ground. They were bearing down on the end of the airstrip when the hundred-foot-span wings caught the air and the wheels lifted.
The plane was slow in gaining altitude and cleared the tops of the hills at the end of the runway by just a few yards. Calvin managed to keep the nose at the right pitch to allow for a climb without stalling and they were a couple of hundred feet in the air by the time they passed over the village. Hawkins had a good view of the four helicopters placed around the town. He saw figures running for the Blackhawk.
The mechanical obstacles of getting an ancient aircraft aloft and keeping it there were minor compared to Hawkins’ skill at judging human nature. He had bet their lives on the guess that Marzak would want Hawkins all for himself. And that he would want to make the kill at close range, maybe even toy with him, before he blew him to pieces. He almost shouted for joy when the Blackhawk lifted off the ground. He signaled Calvin to break out of their circle.
The bomber made an agonizingly wide and very slow banking turn, waggling its wings like a gull testing the updrafts, and straightened out so that it was on a course for the rising helicopter. As the dust cleared, Hawkins saw a figure on the ground where the helicopter had been. Hawkins was close enough to see that it was Professor Saleem. He had his doubts about the professor, but he was glad the man was not on the Blackhawk, because he intended to blow it out of the sky.
The Blackhawk pivoted, presenting its side in an easy target. Calvin had added a separate sighting system that snapped onto Hawkins’ rifle. Hawkins wrapped his right hand around the magazine and tried to steady the weapon as he squinted down the barrel at the helicopter.
Looking through his binoculars, Marzak saw Hawkins raise the CAR-15 over the cowling and his grin of triumph immediately faded as he recognized the dangerous significance of the thick tube slung under the barrel.
“He’s got a grenade launcher!” he yelled at the pilot. “Evade! Evade!”
The pilot acted immediately, moving the control stick to the right. The chopper leaned over into the start of a roll a second before a puff of white smoke blossomed at the front of the bomber. The projectile missed the tilted belly of the chopper by inches.
The pilot’s reaction had saved the aircraft, but the helicopter banked at a dangerous angle and he fought to get it under control. As the chopper regained stability, Marzak called the Cobras on his hand radio and ordered them to call off the impending attack on the village. The Blackhawk turned and flew away from the village.
“Where are you going?” he shouted at the pilot.
“I wasn’t hired for aerial combat,” the pilot said.
Marzak drew his pistol from its holster and held it to the pilot’s head. “You can sign a new contract when we’re through. I want you to attack.”
“Shoot me and we all die,” the pilot said.
“I don’t care,” Marzak said.
The pilot offered no further argument, and brought the chopper around again so it faced the village.
The Cobras leapt into the air on three sides of the village. Marzak ordered them to go after the new target. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as bringing Hawkins down himself, but he’d have a ringside seat for his enemy’s last moments.
The helicopters flanking the slow-moving plane hovered in a hold for a moment, allowing the bomber to fly between them, and then they accelerated into a flaring climb. The tactic, called a stern conversion, would put them in position for a fast diving attack from the rear. But as they slowed to swivel into a turn, they were prime targets for the Stinger missiles that streaked into the sky from rooftops at the edge of the village.
Two Cobras exploded in bright yellow and red bursts of flame, disintegrating into fiery showers of charred metal that rained down on the village. The bomber was closing on the third, approaching it nose-to-nose.
The surviving Cobra suddenly veered off its trajectory, and darted away from the confrontation, rapidly becoming a black dot against the sky as it flew off toward the horizon.
The bomber lumbered on through the smoke-filled airspace that the gunship had occupied only seconds before.
Marzak watched as the plane made a big circle, passing over the professor. He saw Saleem wave at the big plane and noticed the return wave from Hawkins before the bomber arced back toward the village. A scowl crossed his face. He hadn’t trusted the professor from the moment he had met him.
Marzak was tempted to attack the biplane, but there could be dozens of Stinger missiles ready to be launched from village rooftops and their fuel was running low. As much as he wanted Hawkins, his first priority was self-preservation. They would meet again and the next time Marzak would not be hindered by fools like the professor.
He would make sure of it right now.
Marzak told the pilot to turn back toward the figure below, and when the helicopter was in range, he stuck his rifle barrel out the window and fired. The professor, who had been waving at the approaching chopper, grabbed at his chest and crumpled to the ground.