‘I might be able to take a shot,’ he said, ejecting the Desert Eagle’s magazine to count the remaining rounds. Four, including the one already chambered. ‘If the Israeli Apache is like the British one, then the window right over the pilot’s head is regular Perspex rather than bulletproof. I can shoot the bastard — if I can get to the right angle.’ He slapped the mag back into place, then gave his companions a grim look. ‘Problem is, to get to that angle, someone’ll have to keep ’em busy.’ He quickly explained his idea.
‘That’s suicide!’ Dalton objected.
‘Then you’ll be glad to know I wasn’t expecting you to volunteer.’ He turned to Jared. ‘Sorry, but you’re the best bet.’
The young man straightened, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. ‘I’ll get it done.’
‘Eddie, he can’t,’ Nina protested. ‘He won’t be able to move fast enough!’
‘I can’t get him to do it,’ said Eddie, with a contemptuous jerk of his thumb at Dalton, ‘and I’m not bloody letting you try. Not with our baby on board.’
‘I can do it, Nina,’ Jared assured her.
‘And we need to do it now.’ The helicopter had moved back over the valley to watch the open end of the cleft. ‘Okay, Jared, wait until I’m almost at the top and then show yourself. Hopefully that’ll keep ’em occupied long enough for me to get into position.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’ asked Dalton.
‘Then I’ll chuck you off the cliff into their rotors!’ Ignoring the grey-haired man’s outrage, he went to Nina. ‘Okay, love, I’ll get going now. Whatever you do, stay safe.’ He kissed her, then gently placed one hand against the swell of her lower body. ‘Both of you.’
He hurried back to the narrowest part of the passage and began his ascent, arms and legs spread to give himself support on each side of the fissure. The climb was quick at first, but before long the strain of holding his full weight started to slow him. He twisted to brace one shoulder against a wall, taking some of the pressure off his arms, and looked up. About thirty feet to go; halfway there.
He resumed his climb. Each step crunched against the limestone, dust and grit falling away from his feet. His breathing became heavier as he shuffled upwards. A chimney climb would normally be made in a crack in the face of a cliff, giving him three walls where he could find handholds and support, but here there was nothing but air on two sides.
And the cleft was gradually widening the higher he went. He could no longer use his shoulders for support, instead having to push his palms against the wall behind him. If his arms weakened, or his feet slipped on the crumbling surface, he would plunge straight back down.
To his death, from this height.
Fifty feet. Just ten to go. He glanced down, seeing the others watching. ‘Jared, get ready!’ he called.
Five feet. The rock, now fully exposed to the elements, became rougher. More grip, but it was also more fragile.
He looked towards the valley. A dark shape was visible through the rippling heat haze, the Apache drifting lazily sideways as its crew watched the entrance to the crevice. Shit! It was too high; they would spot him the moment he reached the clifftop. ‘Go now, now!’
Jared heard the call. ‘Okay, wish me luck,’ he said, starting down the passage.
Nina watched his limp grow more pronounced with each step. ‘Jared, you can’t,’ she said, hurrying after him.
‘I can’t let you do it,’ he replied.
‘I can’t let you do it! You can hardly walk, never mind run. You’re about to deliberately put yourself in front of a machine gun — if you can’t move fast enough, it’ll kill you!’
‘Nina, you’re pregnant—’
‘Yeah, I’m pregnant. But as Eddie reminded me, I’m not an invalid, and even with a baby inside me I’m still quicker than you.’ To prove her point, she darted past him. He tried to block her, but the mere effort of pivoting on his wounded leg caused him to gasp and stagger. ‘I’m not going to let you kill yourself just because you want to prove how tough you are.’
‘No, don’t!’ he cried, hobbling after her, only to clutch at the rock for support as he almost fell again. ‘I promised Eddie—’
‘I promised him more, when I married him,’ Nina replied, glancing back up at her husband. ‘But I never promised that I’d always do exactly what he told me. Seriously, what’s that all about?’ She composed herself. ‘Now get back and watch Dalton. I’ve got a feeling I’ll need as much room to run as I can get.’
Before Jared could object, she scurried on, a curve in the confined channel taking him — and Eddie — out of sight. The gunship’s engines became louder as she crept to the final corner and peered around it.
The opening was no longer a vertical crack, a ragged chunk of rock having been blasted from one side as if a giant had taken a bite from the cliff. The helicopter was out of sight, but getting closer. From what Eddie had said, the gunner would have his sights fixed upon the cleft. She would only have a few seconds between making herself visible and the first shells landing — if she was lucky. If the man in the chopper had razor-sharp reactions, she might not even get one second.
The brutal aircraft drifted into view against the empty sky. It was higher than her position, the cannon under its nose pointed down at its target. She needed it to descend for Eddie’s plan to work.
There was only one way to make that happen.
Nina steeled herself… then stepped into view.
Eddie was still straining to hold himself just below the top of the crevasse, his eyes locked on the gunship. He couldn’t risk climbing out into the open, but nor could he stay where he was for ever. ‘Come on, Jared,’ he whispered. ‘Give me my shot…’
The Apache continued its lazy motion — then suddenly the engine note changed.
Nina stared up at the helicopter for what felt like an eternity, the insectile machine’s silhouette burning itself into her vision. Then movement from its gun turret snapped her back into the moment.
The chain gun’s muzzle flashed with fire as she turned and ran back down the passage. The first shell hit the ground where she had been standing, the anti-armour round ripping deep into the limestone before exploding and showering her with fragments. She shrieked, but could no longer hear her own voice over the pounding of thirty-millimetre fire.
The gunner tracked her. Even though she was out of his direct line of sight, the shrapnel from the shells bursting on the walls was as dangerous as a direct hit. Terrified, she sprinted for the next bend—
Red-hot agony seared into her thigh as a metal shard tore through skin. She screamed, falling.
More shells blasted the walls, the detonations closing in—
The cannon fell silent.
‘Cease fire, cease fire!’ Brik ordered. He had slipped the Apache sideways to maintain a firing angle down the tight ravine, but the person he had briefly glimpsed had made it back into cover.
From gunfire, at least.
‘Switch to rockets,’ he told the gunner. ‘I’ll bring us to firing position.’ The gunship’s missile pods were fixed, requiring the whole aircraft to be brought into line with their target.
‘Two degrees to port,’ the gunner told him. Brik applied pressure to a rudder pedal, turning the aircraft. A vertical line superimposed down the centre of the gunsight bisected the entrance. ‘Okay. Bring us closer, descend ten metres.’
The colonel began the manoeuvre, the cross hairs slipping down towards the base of the cleft.