Raven Strike

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Текст книги "Raven Strike"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

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Политические детективы

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

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Chapter 11

Washington, D.C.

Ken glanced to his left and right as he opened the car trunk. He’d found it necessary to steal the car to get here easily; the trade-off was paranoia that someone would spot it and know it was stolen. As highly unlikely as that might be, he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

The trunk smelled of fuel. No wonder: the can he’d packed had tipped over while he drove, sending the liquid all over. But no harm done: There was still plenty left.

He took the small robot airplane from the rear of the trunk. Cradling the two wings under his right hand and holding the body in his left, he managed to push the trunk lid back down. Then he walked up the short flight of steps from the schoolyard to the back of the building.

The athletic field was empty. It was starting to get dark. He was two hours behind schedule; he’d planned to launch much closer to five but had last minute problems loading the program into the plane. He was sure it was going to work—sure that the guidance system knew it was supposed to target Christine Mary Todd, the Satans’ President, and knew that her primary location was the White House, which was just over the next hill about three-quarters of a mile away. He’d entered the information about the President—in fact, nearly everything he could find on the Internet about her personal habits, her vehicles, her aides, the Secret Service—everything. He’d found several human interest stories and entered them as well. The program interface had taken it eagerly.

Whether it would actually work—whether his guesses about the software program were correct—that was impossible to tell.

The bomb he had embedded in the fuselage of the aircraft would definitely go off, of that he was certain.

He assembled the wings. The UAV was a simple and ingenious aircraft, a perfect weapon. Anyone who saw it in the air would believe it was a police monitoring device. The camera was still attached, in fact—it had to be, as it helped guide the aircraft.

Wings attached, Ken stood back and pressed the ignition on the controller to start the plane.

The engine started right up. He turned, wondering if he heard someone coming up behind him.

There was no one there. By the time he turned back around, the aircraft was racing across the field, bouncing as it became airborne.

It seemed to have a mind of its own, as if anxious to complete its mission.

Go! he thought. Go!

It did—for about sixty seconds. Then suddenly it veered to the right, zooming high into the clouds.

Ken stared in disbelief. Not only was it going off course, but it was flying away from the city.

He was a failure.

Angrily, he slammed the knapsack that contained the laptop to the ground and kicked it several times, even jumping on it in his anger. Finally he got control of himself. He had to dispose of the thing; it was evidence.

He’d find another way to strike. For now, he had to follow through on his plan to escape.

Ten minutes later, crossing the bridge on Route 1, the smell of the fuel in the trunk gave him an idea: he should stop and throw the car into reverse, cause an explosion that would at least kill someone.

But he wasn’t a martyr at heart. His death had to mean something. And it wouldn’t. Not yet.

He crossed the bridge and found a place to park. Then he walked back down to the river and with a heave tossed the knapsack and laptop into the water.

When he was sure it had sank, he turned and began walking in the direction of the Pentagon Metro stop. Before the night was through, he’d be on an Amtrak heading for Florida.

After that, who knew?

Chapter 12

Nationals Park

“Radio says you created quite a traffic jam on the way over,” said Zen, wheeling past the Secret Service agent to greet the President as she arrived at the game.

“Getting through Washington by street is always fun,” she told him, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. “If it wouldn’t have caused such a fuss, I would have come by helicopter.”

“Given the pitchers tonight, you may want to leave by one,” said Zen. “And soon.”

“Oh come on.”

Zen nodded at the President’s husband, who, though not as hardy a fan of the Nationals as Zen had become, was nonetheless a fellow sufferer.

“Who are your friends?” asked the President, gesturing to the small entourage Zen had left back by the entrance to the President’s suite.

“A very good friend of mine, Mark Stoner,” Zen told her. “He was a CIA officer—”

“Oh, that’s the man who tried to kill you,” said Todd. “And you saved his life.”

“He was sick.”

“I know the history well,” said Todd. She had sent Zen to the meeting where he had inadvertently become Stoner’s target. “Is he OK?”

“He’s still recovering. He has a long way to go. He’s with one of his doctors, and my bodyguard. Baseball seems to be helping bring him back.”

“I’d like to meet him.” The President glanced at the head of her security detail. “OK?”

“I think it would be fine,” said Zen.

The Secret Service agents were wary, but the head of the detail nodded. Zen wheeled back a bit.

“Hey Mark, Doc, come on. Simeon—you too.”

The men, along with two more Secret Service escorts, came into the suite box. Just then, the National Anthem began.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” said the President. “I always sing with the anthem. I hope my voice won’t offend you.”

Stoner gazed around the box, taking it all in. The President and her entourage were behind a thick plate of bulletproof glass, looking out at the stadium. There were two rows of seats in front of the box; these belonged to the suite and were unoccupied, except for two Secret Service agents who surveyed the crowd. Zen had hinted they might be able to sit there during the game; the view was actually not as good as from his seats, he claimed, but there would be free waiter service.

Stoner’s gaze moved out beyond the windows. There was another police UAV above the stadium, flying over the area where the parking garage was. It circled the stadium, its wing dipping erratically.

It looked like the one from the night before. And yet, as he studied it, he noticed several differences. Its nose was bigger than the other one. It was flying differently—the other had orbited endlessly; this one weaved, as if looking for something specific.

Stoner took a step forward, then another.

The aircraft turned. It was coming for them.

No . . .

Yes.

He leapt forward. One of the Secret Service agents put a hand up to stop him. Stoner tossed him aside, then jumped up and grabbed his fingers into the wooden panel of the ceiling, using them to swing his feet up against the glass. It broke with a splatter and he sailed into the seats overlooking the ball field. He tried to roll onto his side as he flew but couldn’t quite make it; his elbow smacked hard against one of the seat backs.

It hurt. That was a new sensation.

Stoner rose, saw the aircraft, and leapt straight out at it, his bionically enhanced legs giving him the leverage of an Olympic pole vaulter.

He caught the wing of the aircraft with his right hand, pushing it as violently as he could before falling straight down into a black, black hole.

Chapter 13

Nationals Park

Zen gasped as the air in front of the suite erupted in fire. Something burst in his face. He and his wheelchair flew backward against the wall. The next thing he knew he was on the ground in the dark. Something was on top of him. It was a piece of the ceiling. He pushed it off, then levered himself upright in time to see two Secret Service agents with drawn Uzis pulling the President from the suite.

“What the hell!” yelled Zen.

Someone grabbed him and jerked him up.

“What the hell is going on!” he yelled, taking a swing with his elbow.

He and the man who had picked him up fell down.

“Sir, we’re with the President,” yelled another man. “We’re taking you to safety. Just come!”

Someone else was yelling, “Go, go, go!”

Zen was picked up again. This time he didn’t fight.

Two and a half minutes later he was deposited in the back of a black SUV. President Todd was next to him.

“Are you OK, Jeff?” she asked.

“I—I guess so.”

“There was a bomb in a plane,” Todd told him. “They’re just getting the details now. I have to go back to the White House.”

“My friends—”

“They’re upstairs.”

“I want to stay with them.”

“Jeff, this is very serious.”

“I have to stay with them,” insisted Zen.

Todd rapped on the window separating her from the front.

“Let the senator out. He wants to be with his friends.”

“Ma’am—”

“Considering that one of them just saved my life,” she said, “it’s the least we can do.”

By the time Zen reached Stoner, he had been loaded onto a stretcher and was being taken out onto the field where a medevac helicopter was waiting. One of the attendants who had worked on him after he fell into the crowd looked at Zen and shook his head.

“Is he dead?” Zen asked.

“Which one?”

“The guy who fell from the box up there,” said Zen, pointing.

“No, sir. But I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Zen turned his head as the helicopter lifted off with Stoner inside.

“He will,” Zen said. “I’ve seen him die before.”

Chapter 14

Washington, D.C. suburbs

Breanna ran to the door as Zen’s van pulled up. She hesitated, unsuccessfully trying to stop her tears before opening the door.

“Hey,” he said as he wheeled toward her. “What’s up?”

“Oh my God, Zen, how can you be so goddamn cool?” She ran out and threw her arms around his chest. Her sobs erupted into a body-shaking tremor.

“Hey, I’m OK,” he protested. “Hardly even a scratch. I was more worried about my wheelchair.”

“Jeff, Jeff,” she said, over and over again. “God. My God.”

“Hey guys!” Zen waved.

Breanna turned around to see Teri and Caroline in the doorway. Two local policemen and the department chief loomed behind them; the chief had taken it upon himself to come over to protect them.

“I don’t know what all the fuss is,” he said as the girls ran to him. “But I’m not proud—I’ll take kisses.”

When she managed to calm down, Breanna asked what had happened.

“I’ll give you a rundown as I change,” Zen told her, glancing at Teri—an indication he didn’t want her to hear all of the details. “But I gotta go over to the hospital. Mark’s there.”

“Mark?”

“Stoner. He saved the President’s life.”

None of that had been in the media reports.

“Is he OK?” Breanna asked.

Zen glanced at Teri again.

“I gotta go. Help me change, OK?”

Breanna suppressed a shudder, then followed her husband into the house.

About Dale Brown

DALE BROWN, a former U.S. Air Force captain, was born in Buffalo, New York, and now lives in Nevada. He graduated from Penn State University with a degree in Western European history and received a U.S. Air Force commission in 1978. He was still serving in the Air Force when he wrote his highly acclaimed first novel, Flight of the Old Dog. Since then he has written a string of New York Times bestsellers, including most recently Shadow Command, Rogue Forces, Executive Intent, and A Time for Patriots.

For more information, visit Dale Brown at www.dalebrown.info.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

Praise for DALE BROWN

“Dale Brown is a superb storyteller.”

W.E.B. Griffin, Washington Post

“[Brown] gives us quite a ride.”

New York Times Book Review

“The novels of Dale Brown brim with violent action, detailed descriptions of sophisticated weaponry, and political intrigue. . . . His ability to bring technical weaponry to life is amazing.”

San Francisco Chronicle

“A master at creating a sweeping epic and making it seem real.”

Clive Cussler

“His knowledge of world politics and possible military alliances is stunning. . . . He writes about weapons beyond a mere mortal’s imagination.”

Tulsa World

“Nobody does it better.”

Kirkus Reviews

“Brown puts readers right into the middle of the inferno.”

Larry Bond

Also in the Dreamland Series

(with Jim DeFelice)

Black Wolf

Whiplash

Revolution

Retribution

End Game

Satan’s Tail

Strike Zone

Razor’s Edge

Nerve Center

Dreamland

Titles by Dale Brown

A Time for Patriots

Executive Intent

Rogue Forces

Shadow Command

Strike Force

Edge of Battle

Act of War

Plan of Attack

Air Battle Force

Wings of Fire

Warrior Class

Battle Born

The Tin Man

Fatal Terrain

Shadow of Steel

Storming Heaven

Chains of Command

Night of the Hawk

Sky Masters

Hammerheads

Day of the Cheetah

Silver Tower

Flight of the Old Dog

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

RAVEN STRIKE. Copyright © 2011 by Air Battle Force, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition DECEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780062116765

Print Edition ISBN: 9780061713026

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