The Sikorsky was flying away, climbing hard, and already taking fire from the Deltas. There was something strange about the sound though. It took a second before Slade looked down to see his hundred foot long rope reeling out like a mad fishing line.
“Oh shit!”
The chopper snatched Slade off the deck like a minnow on a hook.
CHAPTER 38: Phase Two
Abdullereda Hussein awakened to someone shaking his shoulder violently. He awoke with a start, disturbing the two Western slaves that had serviced him the night before.
“What is it, what is it!” he stammered, covering his eyes, shielding them from the light shining in his face. The light of the room snapped on and he focused on a man, the man shaking him, and the two men in black uniforms behind him.
The girls shrank away in fear, but the man addressed Abdullereda again. He wasn’t angry or judgmental, he was excited. “Captain!” That’s what they all called him. “Captain, it is time! It is time!”
“Time for what?” he complained groggily, looking at the clock. “It’s three in the morning. What can it possibly be time for?”
“Paradise!” the man said emphatically.
“Oh!”
“Come, we’ve brought your uniform,” he said, helping Abdullereda out of bed. “Quickly, go in and shower and shave. We have men getting the aircraft ready as we speak.”
“Excellent!” he said, still groggy. He stumbled into the bath. The girls were herded in behind him.
“Wash him thoroughly,” the man ordered. “He is a Holy Warrior! He must be cleansed for his mission.”
The girls did as they were told, scrubbing him down from head to foot, shaving him, and even brushing his teeth for him. When he was cleaned and dried they dressed him. Only when they had him perfect did they open the door and allow him out.
The man surveyed Abdullereda with satisfaction and nodded, “Perfect! Come with me. It is time to go.”
Abdullereda followed the man outside. There was a limousine waiting for them. The man opened the door and let Abdullereda in first. He got in and sat down. As he did so the sound of two shots could be heard in the house. A moment later the two jihadists came out. They got in. The smell of cordite was strong in the car. As the limousine pulled away Abdullereda could already see flames licking at the windows and smoke rising up into the sky.
They arrived at the airport in twenty minutes. The limousine drove straight to the hanger where guards stood outside the hanger doors. Stopping in front of the doors, the driver opened his window. When the guard approached he said simply, “We have the captain!”
“Allahu Akbar!” saluted the guard and he stepped away.
The hanger doors opened and the limousine pulled into the brightly lit area. A freshly painted A380 sat there in the white, blue and gold of Singapore Airlines. Around the aircraft in orderly ranks were hundreds of jihadists. They drove past the men. The stare of their dark eyes was palpable; he could feel their envy. Every man wanted to be him at this moment. His heart swelled with pride.
The limousine drove him right up to the airstairs. Waiting there were several men and imams. The driver got out and opened the door, standing at attention when Abdullereda stepped out. He went up to the men waiting for him, all of whom he either had met or knew. They offered their best wishes, kissing his cheeks and shaking his hand.
“Everything is ready then,” he said with finality.
“The cargo should arrive momentarily,” the imam said. “We need to be ready to go as soon as it is loaded.”
“I understand,” he answered. He climbed the stars and entered the aircraft. Turning left he walked into the cockpit. Everything was clean. The carpet even smelled new. Everything was as it should be. It suddenly hit Abdullereda that he would never leave this aircraft as a living man.
Slade found himself dangling in the darkness on the end of his rope. Fortunately he wore a five point harness over his wetsuit. If he just had a belt the shock might have broken him in two. As it was the helicopter snatching him from the deck of the freighter qualified as a very nasty carnival ride.
The freighter was dwindling in the distance. Everything else was black. He could hardly see the helicopter. It was flying without lights. The only illumination was the ruddy red glow of the jet exhaust from the twin Pratt and Whitney engines.
Slade grabbed hold of the rope and then splayed his legs out, steadying himself. Slowly he climbed the rope, feeding the line through the brake and working his way back up to the payload. When he finally reached the platform he climbed onto it, but there was little or no rest there. Despite the relatively slow speed of the Sikorsky its forward movement still created a vacuum in the slipstream which constantly tried to pull Slade off the platform.
He had to find a better solution. That turned out to be climbing atop the containers. There was about eighteen inches of room between Slade and the bottom of the Skycrane’s spine. It got him out of the slipstream and allowed him to rest; and to think.
His phone buzzed. Cradling his arm around his mouth to cut down the wind noise he answered. It was the director.
“Slade where are you?”
“I’m on the chopper, can’t you hear it?”
“Are you with the cargo?”
“Yes, I’m lying on top of all three containers. I’m guessing we’re on the way to Jakarta.”
“The Delta’s are leaving the ship and heading to Jakarta,” he said. “They cleaned up the freighter without too much trouble. All the terrorists have been neutralized. The ship is back in the hands of Captain Fletcher and he has a Navy security detail and escort to Jakarta. What’s your plan?”
“Sir, I didn’t know I had a plan.”
“The Delta’s should be waiting for you. There shouldn’t be any more need for heroics. Ride it out and let them secure Nikahd and the cargo.”
“That works for me!”
“We’ll follow your flight,” the director told him. After a long pause the director told him, “Slade, we’re not getting a signal through your GPS.”
“I’m not surprised, the voice transmission is omnidirectional, but the GPS requires line of sight with several satellites. I’m under the chopper’s fuselage on top of the containers. ”
“Can you get me a hit?”
Slade crawled to the edge of the container, warning Gann, “It’s going to get noisy!” He held the phone out from under the fuselage, expecting the noise from the rotorwash to drown out all sound. What he didn’t count on was the force of the rotorwash catching the phone and flinging it out of his hand.
There was a sinking feeling reaching all the way down into the pit of Slade’s stomach. He could only call himself stupid for so long before the business of terrorism and survival focused his mind on the near term future.
He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. The chopper was obviously heading to Jakarta, probably to the loading docks where the cargo would be unloaded and dispersed amongst the Al Qaeda cells. From there the terrorists could attack dozens of cities or venues worldwide with terrible effect.
Nikahd had an ingenious back up plan with the Sikorsky, but it was too late. They’d been found out. When he landed the helo Killer and his Deltas would be there to greet them. Game over. Still, something nagged at Slade. No matter how he analyzed it he couldn’t shake the suspicion that he’d missed something.
Killer scowled. He’d hopped on an Osprey as soon as the fight was over. The Osprey could fly over twice as fast as they Sikorsky so the idea was to get ahead of Slade and be waiting for him in Jakarta.
That part worked perfectly. Killer was in his battle fatigues at seaport; he was an imposing sight. Once the White House talked to the Indonesian President everything was smoothed over and he had the run of the place. There was only one problem, and he told General Mertzl about it.