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Lisa shakes her head, amazed at how quickly everything has changed from just a few minutes ago.Then:safely and quietly and happily flying in civilian airspace.Now:thrust back into a war zone, only one hard choice left before her.
She swallows hard. “Joe, Amy, I’m going to jump ahead about half a mile and let you off. Then I’m going to fly back, get as close as I dare, and land on the tracks. I’ll jump out right before the train hits. Hopefully we’ll derail the son of a bitch.”
“Won’t work,” comes Amy’s voice through the earphones. “No. You’ve got a twenty-ton locomotive hauling about twenty thousand tons of freight behind it. At this speed it’ll crush your chopper and just keep on going.”
Lisa snaps back, “You got a better idea?”
Amy sighs. “I do. You’re going to land on top of that locomotive, let me off, and I’m going to stop the damn thing.”
Chapter116
HIS DAUGHTERDeniseis crying, and never has Tom Cornwall felt so helpless, so goddamn foolish.
If only he had listened to Amy! Then he and Denise would be safe at Uncle John’s home on Staten Island, instead of being swept up and nearly crushed in this surging mob of people crowding Fulton Street.
Tom’s been in panic situations before—once in Sudan when a trampling crowd of starving refugees swarmed over an unexpected UN airdrop of food and trampled him, spraining an ankle and breaking a rib—but that was in Africa, not here!
“Daddy!”
“Hold on to me, Hon;—don’t let go,don’t let go!”
If he was alone, he would have options for escaping the madness: to punch and break his way free, even to climb one of the park trees. But no, not with Denise depending on him, huddled up close.
Tom knows he can’t fight against the crowd, wasting energy and perhaps being pushed down. So he does his best to move with the jerky, violent flow, holding one arm against his chest to give him breathing room and using his free hand to keep hold of Denise’s shirt collar.
They’re getting closer to West Street, and he’s hoping that—
A woman screams, falls to the ground.
More screams.
Shouts.
The far-off sound of sirens.
A deepthump,and another, as a truck or car runs someone over.
“Daddy…”
“Right here, Hon—right here.”
An elbow smashes into his left eye, blinding him there. Denise is crying. He won’t let go.
He won’t let go.
It must open up on West Street—it has to open up.
Just get to West Street.
He moves with the crowd.
“Hey!”
Who was that?
Even with the crowds shoving, pushing, poking, he sees a taller, bulkier man just yards away.
It’s one of his watchers.
