Page 108 of Enemy Within
“You are okay,” Sergey said. He nodded, smiling down at Sasha. “You are okay.”
Sasha’s eyes darted from Sergey to Scott, and then picked out Jack and Ethan and the burning station. “I was checking the plane. What—”
A new roar blasted over the remains of the station. They ducked down, shielded behind the Beriev. Overhead, a massive dark shape screamed out of the smoke over the burning station. Sleek and devastating, giant fifty-foot rotary blades made spirals out of the smoke as a massive helicopter banked and veered their way, straight above the runway. The pulse and pound of the chopper’s blades shook the air, made the ice tremble beneath their feet. Ethan’s bones shook, rattled inside his body.
“Fuck.” Sasha spoke first. He scrambled to his feet and knelt in front of Sergey, as if he could protect him. “It is a Halo. Soviet design. The largest, strongest helicopter ever built.”
Ethan’s stomach tried to roll itself up, tried to turn tail and run as the Halo screamed toward them. It was far bigger than Marine One back at the White House. As long as a commercial airplane. He’d seen a Halo lift an already-massive Chinook troop transport beneath its belly in Iraq, years ago. The Halo had carried away the Chinook as if it were a child’s toy dangling beneath it. The Halo was more beast than machine. A modern-day dragon.
Scott and Ethan raised their rifles and took aim. Firing on the Halo was laughable, but it was all they could do. “Jack, behind me! We’ve got to get out of here!” Ethan squeezed his trigger after he spoke, and bullets spat from his and Scott’s rifles. Sparks winked off the Halo’s frame, the hardened steel fuselage, their bullets smacking into the chopper and sliding away. Their shots were cute against the mammoth machine. Cute and ineffective.
He could hear Jack’s breathing, hear his fast inhale-exhale behind him. Feel Jack’s fingers grip his waist.
“Everyone into the plane!” Sasha barked. “Now!”
“You want to fly away?” Sergey sounded like Sasha had suggested a trip to the moon. “They are in the runway!”
Sasha ripped open the doors to the Beriev. “Get in!”
Sergey stopped arguing. He slid inside the plane, plopping into the copilot’s seat. Jack followed, hovering behind Sergey as Scott and Ethan kept firing at the Halo.
Ethan’s gaze darted sideways. An oil-soaked, burning shard of steel had embedded in the ice, ten feet away. Enough to cover behind, maybe get a different angle on the Halo. He took a breath, and then another, and then took off. He heard Jack’s voice shouting his name, but he kept going. Behind his footsteps, ice exploded, bullets from a large-caliber weapon chewing through the ice cap. The Halo had a door gunner.
He spun when he got to the burning steel, dropping to one knee and lining up his shot between the jagged, flaming points of twisted metal. The Halo had turned to track him and continued on its spin, a slow, lumbering twirl over the runway. Perfect. The rear rotors were just coming into view.
Scott opened fire the same moment he did, their synchronized shots slamming into the rear rotors and blade assembly. More sparks, and the sound of plinking metal. Were they doing anything?
And then, the Halo jerked, like a string tied to its back had been pulled. She jerked again, twisting off course. The rear rotors groaned, and then a new rhythmic warble sounded, a terrible noise. Something that sounded like rotor trouble.
Grinning, Ethan kept firing, and the Halo veered off, disappearing over the burning station and into the black smoke smothering the sky.
Time to go. He jogged back to the Beriev, sweat from the heat of the burning steel pouring down his face. Sasha ran around the plane, spinning the dual propellers and tearing off thick wads of padding wrapped around the nose.
Jack glared at him but said nothing as he held out his hand, helping Ethan into the cabin. Scott followed, and then Sasha, clambering forward into the pilot’s seat. “This plane has spent days cold soaking, maybe weeks,” he snapped. “Even with the engine blankets, procedure says at least three-hour warm up before pre-flight.”
Sergey stared at Sasha. “We do not have three hours.”
“I know.” Sasha flicked a series of switches on the dashboard. His hands trembled. Beneath their feet, the Beriev started to rumble. He reached for the throttle controls in the center of the cockpit, grasping the heavy handle. “Hold on.”
Sasha shoved the throttle forward, as far as it would go.
41
Washington DC
THE DOOR TO THE Roosevelt Room closed with a hard click. Levi turned the lock, securing the room and its inhabitants.
“What the hell is this?” General Bell growled, glaring at Levi. “I didn’t come up on the first Goddamn flight to DC to be babysat. Where’s the president?”
“You’re not meeting with the president.” Welby, standing at the far end of the table, spoke. “You’re meeting with us.”
Seated on either side of Welby, Pete and Jason squared off against General Bell. Pete looked more menacing than Jason: jaw clenched, a deep scowl on his face, laser-focused eyes that burned with wrath. Jason squirmed as if he were sitting in front of his high school principal.
“And who the hell are you?” Bell snarled.
“You should remember me.” Smiling, Levi gripped the back of the chair at the head of the table. He stared Bell down. “I was the one who wanted to punch your lights out in Tampa. Only, the first gentleman held me back.”
Bell inhaled deep and straightened, tugging on the bottom of his uniform jacket. His lips pursed like he’d sucked the sourest lemon. He said nothing.
