57
STONE TRIED to think of something, but he could only concentrate on keeping the helicopter in the air.
Billy Bob slipped on a headset and handed Stone one. "We're going back to Times Square," he said.
Stone put on the headset. "I've never flown a helicopter before. I don't know if I can make that kind of turn without dumping this thing."
"Well, you seem to be doing okay," Billy Bob replied. "Let's give it a whirl. Say, where's the boy?"
"I lost him trying to turn this thing. He was trying to keep you inside, and he went out."
"And I had grown so fond of the little shit," Billy Bob said. "To think he gave his all for me. Hey, why aren't you turning?" He nudged the back of Stone's head with the assault rifle.
Stone started a right-hand turn, keeping it shallow. He was making a wide arc to the east, now, and they were over Fifth Avenue before he was headed south.
"You know," Billy Bob said, "there are an awful lot of cops around Times Square, and they probably have snipers set up by now. Maybe a nicer spot would be Rockefeller Center, and you're right on course."
"Oh, shit," Stone muttered.
"I can put a grenade right into the skating rink," Billy Bob said. "The area will be jammed with tourists this time of year."
"Why are you doing this?" Stone asked. "What's in it for you?"
"I know I'm not getting out of this alive," Billy Bob said. "I may as well make a splash."
"Look, I can fly this thing to Teterboro right now. Don't you have an airplane out there?"
"Not anymore, Stone."
"Then hijack one. There are always a dozen jets on the ramp with their engines running, waiting for passengers to arrive. Take one and get the hell out of here."
"And where would I go?"
"Iceland doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States." This wasn't true, but maybe Billy Bob didn't know that.
"Iceland doesn't have an extradition treaty? I've never heard that."
"Few people know about it, but it's true."
"Bullshit. I don't believe that for a moment."
"Then…" Stone was about to make another suggestion, but he was interrupted by the sound of the engine sputtering and dying. The helicopter began to descend.
"What the hell is wrong?" Billy Bob shouted.
"I don't know," Stone replied. He was scanning the instrument panel, looking for a warning light or some other reason. His eyes stopped on the fuel gauges: One of them showed full, the other empty. He found a lever and shoved it sideways, changing tanks. The engine came back to life, as if it had never been starved for fuel.
"Good work, Stone."
But now they were low over Fifth Avenue. Stone eased the throttle forward, and the chopper began to climb again. "What's wrong with Mexico?" he asked.
"Too far. They'd shoot me down before I could get there."
"Then go offshore and head for South America. They can't shoot you down over international waters." This was a lie, too.
"You know, you might have something there."
"So, we'll head for Teterboro?"
"Yeah, but not yet; first I want to lob a couple of these grenades into Rockefeller Center, see how they perform. Call it a test."
"You do that, and they'll never stop looking for you, Billy Bob. Come on, you've got money offshore, right? Head south and lie low. Find some nice spot and buy a house and a few girls. Eventually, they'll get tired of looking."
"You make it sound so inviting," Billy Bob said.
"It'll never happen if you fire those grenades," Stone said. "The cops will blow us out of the sky; they'll be finding pieces of us around midtown for days. But, right now, they're standing off. We can make Teterboro."
"That's a very tempting thought, Stone," Billy Bob said.
"Turning right for Teterboro," Stone said. He eased the chopper into a right turn. Then he felt the gun barrel at the back of his head again.
"I don't think so," Billy Bob said.
"Come on, why not?"
"Because I'm tired, Stone. I've run out my string, and this is going to be my last day on the planet. Yours, too. You know, I'm really sorry about the boy; he was a sweet kid."
Stone leveled out heading west. He wasn't going to be complicit in this. If he and Peter were going to die today, then they weren't going to take hundreds of others with them. If a grenade had to go off, then the Hudson River, he decided, was the best place for it to happen. He didn't think Billy Bob would have time to fire one and reload from the case before he could dump the helicopter into the icy river.
"Hey, you're headed in the wrong direction," Billy Bob said.
"No, I think you really want to go to Teterboro; that's the best deal." They had crossed Sixth Avenue, now, and Seventh was coming up fast. Five more crosstown blocks, and he'd make the water. Stone pushed the throttle farther forward and adjusted the trim to keep the chopper level, so it would pick up speed. He watched the airspeed climb from eighty-five to a hundred knots.
Billy Bob rapped him sharply on the head with the barrel of the assault rifle. "You're not paying attention," he said.
Stone felt a warm trickle of blood run down his scalp to his neck. "There's something I've got to do before we go back to Rockefeller Center," Stone said.
"What do you mean, there's something you've got to do?" Billy Bob demanded. "This is my party, and we'll go where I say."
"Yeah, well you're going to have to say it to that police helicopter on our tail. Those things are equipped with rocket launchers, you know, but if we can get across the Hudson, they can't touch us. They'll have to scramble Jersey State Police choppers on the other side, and that will take time." He was coming up on Twelfth Avenue, now, and the river was just ahead.
"What police chopper?" Billy Bob asked. "I don't see it."
"It's dead behind us, and gaining," Stone said. "But we can make Jersey, and we'll be okay. The chopper crossed the banks of the Hudson at a thousand feet, and then Billy Bob did something that Stone would always be grateful for.
He stepped back, transferred the assault rifle to his left hand, grabbed a handgrip bolted to the airframe and stuck his head into the slipstream, leaning out and looking behind them for the police helicopter.
Stone yanked back on the throttle, whipped the stick to the right and the chopper went into an impossibly steep right turn. He looked back to see Billy Bob hanging out of the helicopter, still gripping the rifle, hanging on to the handgrip for dear life. Stone kicked the right rudder, and the chopper's roll became even steeper. It was more than Billy Bob's grip could handle. His grip failed, and Stone watched him begin his plunge toward the icy Hudson a thousand feet below.
But Stone had no time to relish the moment, because the helicopter continued to roll. Stone could see the George Washington Bridge, in the distance, and it was upside down. Stone had a sensation of falling from the sky, and he closed his eyes. Then a huge explosion rocked the helicopter, and Stone knew Billy Bob had tested his grenade.
58
THE HEAT from the explosion caused a huge thermal, and the helicopter rode it upward, threatening to roll again. Stone got hold of himself and got hold of the stick. The airspeed had bled off to sixty knots, and he was afraid of stalling again. He shoved the throttle forward, and held the stick centered between his legs, hoping aerodynamics would do the rest. But now there was something new-a thumping vibration that rhythmically shook the chopper.
The instrument panel was a vibrating blur, so he looked outside to orient himself. He was flying up the river toward the George Washington Bridge, and he didn't have enough altitude to clear it. He pushed the stick down, and a moment later, the bridge passed over him. He eased back the stick, trying to gain altitude without advancing the throttle. He thought he must have lost a rotor tip in the explosion, and he didn't want to put any more strain on the machine.
Finally, he was at the top of the Palisades, the high cliffs overlooking the Hudson, then he managed to gain another couple of hundred feet. He remembered that Teterboro was southwest of the bridge, and he eased the chopper into a shallow left turn. The vibration increased, but soon, he was on the right heading. Then he saw a big business jet a few miles ahead, making an approach, and he followed its line of flight toward the runway. He had the airfield in sight.