He tucked his arms at his sides and chucked all his rules about planning. This was one of those things like a shot from the key: either you made the basket or you didn’t.
He removed his gloves and let them drop. He undid the metal clasp which held him to the line which girdled the tail boom. He waited for the LongRanger to stabilize again, and then he dropped.
August reached out at once. Free of the chopper, he was blown backward. But not so far backward that he couldn’t reach the rear strut of the skid. He hooked it with his left arm, quickly reached over with his right, and struggled to pull himself over. The wind was intense and he hung down at a forty-five-degree angle, slapping against the baggage compartment as he fought to haul himself in.
Now he saw the pilot look back at him. There was someone between the seats of the flight deck, on the floor, struggling to rise. As the pilot turned away, he tried to throw the chopper into another dive. The cable held, both vehicles shook, and then the pilot looked back again. This time, though, he was not looking at August but at the cable.
Slowly, he began backing the helicopter up. With a flash of terror, August realized what he was trying to do. He was attempting to use the rotor to cut the cable. If he couldn’t get away he was going to take everybody down.
August scrambled feverishly to drag his leg up over the skid. As soon as he was standing, he reached for the cabin door and literally yanked it open. He hurled himself into the passenger compartment. With two strides he was in the open flight deck. Stepping over the semiconscious man on the floor, August cocked his arm into a tight jujitsu chamber, with the elbow waist-high, straight back, and punched the pilot in the side of the head. With piston-like speed, he hit him a second and third time, then pulled the dazed man from the seat.
Dropping into it, August held the control stick steady while he turned to the man on the floor.
“Hausen? Get up! I need you to fly this damn thing!” The German was groggy. “I… I tried to steady it for you… twice.” “Thanks,” August said. “Now c’mon—” Slowly, Hausen began to drag himself into the copilot’s seat.
“A little faster, please!” August shouted. “I have very little idea what I’m doing here!” Wheezing, Hausen flopped into the seat, dragged a sleeve across his bloody eyes, and took the stick.
“It’s okay,” the German said. “I… I have it.” Bolting from the pilot’s seat, the Colonel angrily threw Dominique into the cabin, then went back to the open door.
He leaned out. Boisard was manfully making his way to Manigot.
“We’re secure in here!” August yelled. “When you have him, undo the cable!” Boisard acknowledged and August ducked back inside.
“You okay up there?” the Colonel shouted to Hausen.
“I’ll be fine,” the German said wearily.
“Keep it steady until you get the word,” August said.
“Then we’ll head back to the factory.” Hausen acknowledged. Bending over Dominique, August picked him up, plunked him into a chair in the cabin, and stood in front of him.
“I don’t know what you did,” August said, “but I hope it was bad enough so that they put you away forever.” Dazed and bleeding, Dominique managed to look up at him and smile. “You can stop me,” he said through loose teeth, “but you can’t stop us. Hate… hate is more bankable than gold.” August smirked. And punched him again. “There’s interest on my account,” he said.
As Dominique’s head rolled to his right, August went back to the open hatch. His arms shaking from exhaustion, he helped Manigot inside. When Boisard was finished unhooking the cable, August assisted him in as well. Then he closed the door and fell heavily to the floor.
The sad thing was, the bastard was right. Hate and hate-mongers continued to flourish. He used to fight them.
Used to be pretty good at it. Still was, he had to admit. And though it took a while for his brain to catch up to his heart, he knew that when he landed he had a call to make.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE Friday, 12:53 A.M., Toulouse, France
The men of the Gendarmerie had secured the factory by the time the Osprey returned. The New Jacobins had been rounded up and handcuffed. They had been separated into groups of two and placed in office cubicles guarded by two men each. Ballon believed that martyrs and heroes were either exhibitionists or wind-up toys. They were less likely to do anything if no one was there to see or provoke them. The quick collapse of the New Jacobins reinforced something else which Ballon also believed. That they were cowardly pack animals with no stomach to fight when left on their own or faced with equal or superior numbers.
Whatever the truth of the matter, there was no further resistance as local police vans were summoned to cart the captives away. Ambulances were also called, though Ballon insisted on being treated at the site and remaining there until the Osprey and LongRanger had returned. Along with the others, he’d watched the distant struggle. Until the Osprey pilot radioed that Dominique had been taken, no one knew what the outcome had been.
When the Osprey landed, followed by the LongRanger, Colonel August personally took charge of Dominique. They exited side by side, August holding Dominique in a forearm lock. The Frenchman’s forearm was facing up, resting on August’s. His elbow was tucked into August’s armpit and his hand was turned up and back toward his body. If he tried to escape, August would simply bend the hand toward his body, causing excruciating pain in the wrist.
Dominique didn’t try to escape. He could barely walk.
August immediately turned him over to the Gendarmerie. He was placed in a van with Ballon and four of his men.
“Tell Herr Hausen he can have the headlines,” Ballon told August before they drove away. “Tell him I will write them myself!” August assured him that he would.
The Osprey pilot had called ahead for the NATO medics.
Though the cuts and bruises Boisard and especially Manigot had suffered were mostly superficial, there were a lot of them. And Manigot had fractured two ribs.
Hausen was in the worst shape. In an effort to remain conscious and focus his energy during the flight back, he had talked to August. He said that Dominique had tried at first to strangle him. And each time Hausen had rallied and tried to wrest control of the helicopter, Dominique had kicked or beaten him again. As soon as the helicopter landed, Hausen slumped over the control stick.
Hood entered the LongRanger so he could be with the Deputy Foreign Minister until he was evacuated. Hood sat in the pilot’s seat beside the German as they waited for the NATO medic to finish with the assault casualties.
Hood called his name. Hausen looked over and smiled faintly.
“We got him,” he said.
“You got him,” Hood replied.
“I was willing to die if I could take him with me,” Hausen said. “I… didn’t care about anything else. I’m sorry.” “No need to apologize,” Hood said. “It all worked out.” The American got up and stepped aside as a medic and her assistant arrived. She examined the wounds on Hausen’s neck, temple, scalp, and lower face to make sure there was no need for hemorrhage control. Then she checked his eyes and heart rate and made a cursory spinal examination.
“Mild neurogenic shock,” she said to her assistant.
“Let’s get him out of here.” A stretcher was brought over and Hausen was carried from the LongRanger. Hood walked out behind them.
“Paul!” Hausen shouted as he was lifted down the steps.
Hood said, “I’m here.” “Paul,” Hausen said, “this is not finished. Do you understand?” “I know. We’ll get that regional center going. Take the initiative. Now don’t talk.” “In Washington,” Hausen said as he was placed in the ambulance. He smiled weakly. “Next time we meet in Washington. Quieter.” Hood smiled back at him and squeezed his hand before they shut the door.
“Maybe we ought to invite him to a budget hearing,” Matt Stoll said from behind him. “This’ll seem like a day at the beach.” Hood turned. He squeezed his associate’s shoulder.
“You were a real hero tonight, Matt. Thanks.” “Aw, it was nothing, Chief. It’s amazing what you can do when your ass is in danger and you’ve got no choice.” “Not true,” Hood said. “A lot of people panic under fire.
You didn’t.” “Bull,” Stoll said. “I just didn’t show it. But I think you’ve got other unfinished business. So I’m just going to tiptoe away and have a nervous breakdown.” Stoll left. Nancy was standing directly behind him, in the shadows.