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At three hundred feet, both front tires on the right landing gear explode when I put twelve bullets in each wheel well. India seventeen swerves right and then left, careening off the runway toward a shallow ditch. The left wing dips, scraping the pavement, and the plane jerks into a sideways slide for another four hundred feet until she tips and buries her left wing in the grass on the runway’s shoulder.
Sheridan grabs me, hauling me back into the SUV as our brakes lock and we slide out of control, screaming beneath India seventeen’s engine so close I could reach out and touch it. Our SUV teeters on two tires, then one, and for a moment I think we’re going to go over, but Sheridan wrestles us back down. We end up burning rubber in a triple pirouette, finally gliding to a stop facing India seventeen’s tail and, beyond that, the army of red-and-blues on top of black SUVs still barreling down the runway.
“India seventeen,” the radio crackles. I recognize that voice. It’s Nuñez. “This is the United States Secret Service. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded.”
The cavalry has arrived.
* * *
There isn’ta peep from the plane for ten minutes.
Sheridan and I drive our smoking SUV across the tarmac and join up with the others. Nuñez has taken charge of the Secret Service reinforcements, and she’s brought at least a hundred backup vehicles from the Secret Service, the FBI, DC Metropolitan, and the airport police. Fire trucks and ambulances are standing by. There are so many flashing lights it seems like the world has been repainted in flaring red and rotating blue.
Secret Service snipers watch the plane through binoculars and scopes, trying to get a look inside the cockpit or through the cabin windows.
“All window shades are drawn. We have no visual contact.”
“Cockpit is dark. No movement.”
Nuñez has the schematics for the Boeing 707 spread out on her tailgate, the papers held down by spare ammunition and a pair of NVGs.
“Standard hostage rescue procedure would be to send a breach team in through the emergency exits with maximum force. There’s an assumption of risk with that plan, though, sir. Not every hostage may survive a forced breach.”
“Unacceptable. We cannot lose the president. We also can’t do this one by the book. We’re going up against Henry, and he knows all our tactics.” Wind whips through my hair as I study the schematics. Nose to tail, wingtip to wingtip. “What’s the internal setup of this plane? Do we know?”
“She was originally a passenger liner, but now she runs cargo. Everything aft of the first-class cabin has been converted. Behind the wings, she’s one big open bay.”
“Are they heavy?”
“No. The flight plan says they’re flying mostly empty. Only two pilots, five crew, fifteen passengers. We reached out to our Iranian diplomatic contact. He claims to have no idea what this flight is, so good money says everyone is Russian.” She hesitates. “They also list ‘diplomatic cargo’ on board.”
Diplomatic cargo. My nails bite into my palm. Brennan, hold on. I’m coming for you. “We need to assume they’re all Russian, and all loyal to Kirilov.”
“And Henry,” Sheridan growls.
Nuñez’s gaze sweeps over Sheridan. He looks worse than hell, bloody and bruised with his wrists black and blue. He shed his dress shirt when we tumbled out of our vehicle, but there’s a large bloodstain soaking the front of his undershirt. Dried blood still crusts his face, down from his nose and across his chin.
“One thing is for certain: they’re not going anywhere,” Nuñez says. Not with the plane tipped on her left wing and the tires blown to shit.
My BlackBerry rings. The melody is out of place on this wind-whipped runway. I pull it out and stare at the screen.
Every muscle in me locks up.
It’s Henry.
At the last moment, I stab the screen and pull it to my ear. I don’t say a word.
I hear him breathing. “Reese.”
“You motherfucker. You fucking—”
“Shut up. You don’t want to talk to me that way.”
“You have no idea what I want to do to you, Henry.”
“Let me rephrase. You don’t want to talk to me that way while I have my weapon pressed against your precious president’s face.”
I swallow and say nothing.
