It appeared that the plane belonged to the Chinese, and they were attempting to fly the Switchblade Whisper out on it. As the Chinese fought to board the airplane, Mordet’s men fought to stop them. Even though Mordet’s men outnumbered the Chinese, the Chinese held their ground, battling for their lives.
Standing beside the hangar, Chris was too close to see if there was a sniper on top of the building, and the situation was unfolding too fast for him to do a detailed recon of the area. His gaze darted around, landing on an SUV whose tailpipes emitted thick exhaust fumes. The SUV’s location corresponded with the location of the Switchblade Whisper icon on Chris’s GPS.
When the fighting increased in intensity, he’d use the distraction to break cover and run behind the Chinese to the SUV. He hoped the two groups would be too busy combatting each other to notice him. Or if they did notice him, they’d have a difficult time breaking engagement to chase him. Nerves gripped his body. It would be risky, but letting the Chinese or Mordet get away on a plane with the Switchblade Whisper was unacceptable. He’d never be able to track them once they were airborne. If he was going to make a move, now was the time.
As soon as Chris sprang forward into action, his nerves settled. More often than not, it was the waiting before the action that caused him the most anxiety. Chris approached the SUV, and a Chinese driver with cropped hair became visible through the tinted windows. The vehicle’s electronic locks clicked. Continuing forward, Chris brought his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The SUV window blew out, and Chris’s bullets pinned the occupant to the interior. His rifle only emitted the noise of compressed air, blanketed by the chatter of the AKs. Another Chinese man sprang up inside the rear of the SUV. Chris blasted him through the glass.
Two hisses of air came from behind, and then two bullets whipped past him.
Somebody got the drop on me.
Neither of the shots seemed to have hit him, but it was possible he was too jacked up on adrenaline to notice. The source of the rounds was too quiet for the 7.62 mm enemy rounds; it sounded more like friendly fire from a sound-suppressed weapon. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted someone advancing toward him, rifle aimed forward and shooting.
Hannah! Her shots dropped a Chinese shooter who’d been aiming at him. Then she hurried toward the SUV.
Chris reached through the busted driver’s-side window and opened the door. Then he unceremoniously dumped the driver on the tarmac before scooting over the console and taking his place in the passenger seat — he was primed for more shooting. The key already rested in the ignition, and the engine was running, ready to go.
Hannah hopped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. In the back of the SUV, something bulky lay hidden under a blanket. Chris crawled into the back to make sure the Switchblade Whisper was indeed where the GPS showed it to be. He lifted the blanket and saw the piece of wing and black box — the Switchblade Whisper.
“It’s here.” Then he shoved the bullet-riddled Chinese body out of the vehicle.
A hole blasted through the windshield, the bullet just missing him. Hannah shifted into drive and burned rubber. Chris returned to the passenger seat. The wind whistled through the hole in the windshield.
“You know your way out of here?” he asked.
“No.” She drove south. “You?”
“Not yet.” He examined his GPS and spotted an exit in the southeast corner of the runway. He pointed out the window. “There.”
She veered southeast and departed the runway.
“Turn right.”
She cranked on the steering wheel, and the SUV squealed around the corner.
“Take the left fork.”
Hannah swung the SUV left. The road cut straight through wide-open farmland for half a klick.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.
“Did you miss me?”
He pointed to a street on the right, directing her. “I did. I was worried, but I hoped that if I found the Switchblade Whisper, I’d find you.”
She turned down a long farm road, picking up speed easily. “I went back to the mountain to search for you, but the place had turned into a war zone. I was afraid something happened to you, but I figured you’d stay with the mission and track down the Switchblade Whisper, too.”
Chris looked behind to see if the Chinese or Mordet were following them, but they weren’t. He exhaled in relief. “I was lucky to meet you in Iraq,” he said softly. “And I was lucky you walked into my church in Dallas.”
She grinned. “Was it luck?”
He checked his GPS to see how close they were to the nearest US embassy. “I still hope we can put the world on pause someday.”
She smiled and pressed harder on the accelerator. “Me, too.”
The road they were on curved widely to the west then connected to the main artery, Ozal Boulevard, south of the airport. There was still no sign of the enemy behind them.
“I can navigate to the Embassy in Ankara,” he said. “We’ll see if they can transport us out of here with the Switchblade Whisper.”
“Let’s do it.”
“How’d you track it?” he asked. “I had the GPS.”
She pulled out a tracker similar to the one Chris had taken from Victor. “On the mountain, when I carried the wing, I planted my own tracking device. She paused for a moment and glanced over at Chris. Her eyes mellowed. “I told Jim Bob and Victor to wait for you, you know. But they wouldn’t. Then back at the resort, they invited me to their room, but the whole situation made gave me an uneasy feeling, so I told them I had to use the restroom first. Instead of going to the restroom, I bugged out.”
“Like a true ninja.”
She tilted her head at Chris’s GPS. “How’d you get that?”
Chris explained his trek down the mountain and back to the yacht, where he found Wolf murdered.
“Those bastards,” she blurted out. “Wolf was a good friend, and he saved my bacon more than once. Tell me you killed them both. Tell me you killed those bastards!”
Remembering what he’d done to Victor and Jim Bob brought no remorse or joy. “I killed them both.”
“Good.”
They passed the gecekondos, condos constructed hastily on the edge of Ankara, and after half an hour, they reached the heart of the city and passed mosques and government buildings until they reached the turnoff to the embassy. They pulled into the entrance and stopped in front of a large black security gate that remained closed.
“Do you have appointment?” a Turkish police officer asked. Another cop stood next to him. Both were dressed in black, wearing Turkish police insignia on their ball caps and shirts. Each wore a utility belt with pistol, ammo, radio, and other items. Just outside embassies around the world, the host nation was responsible for protecting the premises.
“Yes, we’re here to meet with the ambassador,” Hannah said.
“Do you have copy of appointment?” the officer asked.
“No,” Hannah said.
“What time is appointment?”
“Five minutes ago. We’re already late, so if you don’t mind…”
He looked at his clipboard and shuffled through papers. “What is your name?”
“Hannah Smith.”
The officer glanced through his papers before pointing to his clipboard. “I sorry, I don’t have appointment here.”
“There must be some mistake,” Hannah said. “Call him, please.”
“May I see passport, please?”
Hannah handed it to him.
“You, too.” He pointed at Chris.