“Randi!” he accused.
“Shhh. Be nice now.”
He grinned with relief. “Bossy as ever.”
Tall and athletically slender, she was more than a welcome sight. She had changed into dark trousers and a jacket zipped up only a third of the way, which made reaching for her weapons more convenient. There was a black watch cap on her head again, pulled down to her ears to hide her light-colored hair. She also wore dark, wraparound sunglasses secured at the back so they would not fall off if she had to go into action.
As she slipped into the shadow next to him, her face was alert but composed. “Peter’s here, too. Two-person job, you know.” She took out a mini radio and spoke into it: “I’ve got him. We’re on our way.”
“They’re coming.” He nodded back toward the Fort de la Bastille, where the clean-shaved Saudi was pointing toward where they were hidden. He was talking excitedly to Abu Auda. The men were showing no weapons. Not yet, at least.
“Come on!”
“Where to?”
“No time to explain.” She sprinted.
The Crescent Shield broke into a run toward them, spreading out as Abu Auda waved them right and left. Jon counted six, which meant there were five or so others somewhere, perhaps around here. As he rushed after Randi across the park and then higher, he wondered where those other two or three could be.
They ran onward, Randi in the lead, putting more and more distance between themselves and the Fort de la Bastille and the cable cars, as well as between themselves and the Crescent Shield. Breathing hard, he glanced back and could no longer see the terrorists. Then he heard a helicopter. Damn.
“It’s their chopper!” he told Randi as he searched the sky. “I knew all of them weren’t in the park.”
“Keep running!” she yelled back.
They raced on, focused on escape, and then Jon saw itnot the Crescent Shield’s Sikorsky, but another Hughes OH-6 Loach scout chopper. It looked like an oversized bumblebee as it settled down into an open spot twenty yards ahead and to their right. Randi swerved toward it, waving, as Peter, dressed in a black jumpsuit, dropped from the door. Next to Randi, Jon figured he had never seen a more welcome sight. Peter wore a black cap and reflecting sunglasses and held a British assault rifle up and ready.
Jon’s relief was short-lived. There was a shout of anger behind them. From the left, one of the terrorists burst out from among the trees. He had somehow managed to circle more quickly than the others. His raised weapon focused on Randi as she closed in on the vibrating chopper. Peter jumped back onboard.
In a single smooth motion, Jon spun, aimed the flare gun, and fired. It made a huge noise, although it was drowned out by the helicopter. The flare burst out in a trail of smoke and hit the terrorist in the middle of his chest.
The projectile landed with such velocity that it flung the man back into the trees. He dropped his rifle and grabbed for the flare, which protruded from beneath his rib cage. He screamed, and the high-pitched noise sent chills up Jon’s spine, because both knew what would happen next. The man’s face was contorted in terror.
The flare exploded. As the terrorist’s torso shattered, Jon dove into the helicopter after Randi. Peter did not wait for the door to be closed.
He lifted off. Abu Auda and his men abandoned pretense and loosed a fusillade of pistol and submachine gunfire. The bullets slashed around the helicopter, hitting the landing gear and ripping through the walls as Jon lay on his belly, hanging onto the seat legs, trying not to slide out the open door.
Randi grabbed the back of his waistband. “I’ve got you!”
Jon’s hands were cold and sweaty, and he felt his fingers loosen. Even Randi would not be able to save him if he lost his grip. To make matters worse, Peter banked the chopper sharply to the right, trying to avoid the gunfire and get out of range. But the angle sent Jon sliding back toward the open door and certain death.
Randi swore and grabbed him under the arm with her other hand. Jon’s slide paused. Still, the inexorable pull of gravity and the wind continued. Gunfire trailing, Peter pushed the chopper out over the rivers. Jon could feel his fingers loosening again. His breath was a raw rasp as he frantically tried to tighten his grip.
“We’re out of range!” Peter bellowed.
It was none too soon. As Peter began to level the helicopter, Jon’s fingers slipped off the chair struts. He grabbed for them, but all he could find was air. Randi fell on top of him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and seized the struts herself. The helicopter’s angle had improved enough that she was able to stabilize him. He was vaguely aware of her on top of him, her weight firm, reassuring, the muscled legs tight, and somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that under different circumstances he might enjoy this. And then the moment was gone. Terror returned.
Long seconds passed. Gravity shifted, and the pull was no longer on his feet, but along the length of his body. The helicopter was flying level at last. He remained motionless, stunned.
“Thank God that’s over.” Randi’s voice was a hoarse croak as she clambered up, hopped over him, and slammed shut the door. “I’d rather never do that again.”
The helicopter’s interior was suddenly quieter. Jon’s muscles trembled. Feeling weak, he struggled up and fell into the single rear seat. He looked up and saw Randi’s face for the first time since he dove into the helicopter. Color was returning to it. She must have been white with fear.
“Strap yourself in,” she ordered. And then she smiled a smile so broad and relieved that it lit up her whole face.
“Thank you.” His throat was tight, and his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. “That’s pretty inadequate, but I really mean it. Thank you.” He quickly locked his seat belt.
“Works fine for me. You’re welcome.” As she started to turn back toward the front, her gaze caught his. For a long moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, and understanding and forgiveness passed between them.
Chapter Thirty-three
Heading northwest toward Paris, the helicopter left Grenoble behind. There was an appreciative silence inside as each privately acknowledged how close they had come to death. Alone in the back, Jon was emerging from his exhausted trance. He let out a deep sigh, releasing his mind and body of the stress and near-misses of the last few days. He unsnapped his belt and leaned forward between Peter and Randi, who sat in the twin pilots’ seats.
Randi grinned and patted the top of his head. “Nice doggy.”
Jon chuckled. She had an amusing way about her, and right now she seemed the most charming person in the world. There was nothing like friends, and two of his best were right here next to him. She had put earphones on over her watch cap, and her sunglasses moved from side to side as she gazed all around, looking for aircraft that might be following.
Peter wore earphones, too, and was watching his fuel gauge and the directional dials through his dark glasses. The lowering sun was off to their left, a fireball whose slanting rays illuminated the treetops and snowy fields below and ahead. Far ahead they could see the first sweep of the magnificent Rhne Valley, marked with its characteristic patchwork of vineyards.
The old OH-6’s cabin was cramped, so with Jon leaning forward, the three of them were a cozy knot. lie raised his voice above the noise of the rotors and announced, “I’m ready to be filled in. How’s Marty doing?”
“The lad’s not only out of his coma, he’s chomping at the bit,” Peter reported cheerfully. He described their escape to the plastic surgery clinic where he had hidden Marty since. “He’s in good spirits now, once we told him you were, in fact, alive.”
Jon smiled. “Too bad he wasn’t more helpful about the DNA computer and Chambord.”
“Yes,” Randi said. “Now you. Tell us what happened at the villa in Algeria. When I heard the automatic fire, I was sure you’d been killed.”
“Chambord hadn’t been kidnapped at all,” he told them. “He was with the Crescent Shield from the beginning. Actually, they’d been with him, or at least that’s what he claims. It makes sense, knowing what I know now. He also created the deception that he was a prisoner, for Theacute;regrave;se’s benefit. He had no idea Mauritania had taken her, so he was as surprised to see her as she was to see him.”
“Explains a lot,” Peter said. “But how in blazes did they get the prototype out before the missile hit?”