The Grenade Left The Barrel With A Rush Of Air And A Very Loud Pop. The Launch Knocked The Platform Backward With A Sharp Jolt, Causing Downer To Slide Against The Mesh Siding. He Lost The Grenade Launcher, Which Hit The Platform With A Ringing Thunk. But He Kept His Eye On The Projectile As It Cut A Thin, Offwhite Contrail Through The Sky.
The Grenade’s Flight Took Three Seconds.
It Struck The Cockpit On The Port Side And Exploded. There Was A Bright Cotton-Ball Burst Of Red And Black Smoke, With Slivers Of Fire Close To The Core. The Smoke And Glass That Blew Upward Were Dispersed By The Main Rotor. A Moment Later, The Helicopter Listed To The Starboard Side And Began To Roll Over. There Was No Secondary Explosion.
Then, With The Crew Dead Or Disabled, The Helicopter Simply Nosed Down And Plunged Earthward. It Reminded Downer Of A Shuttlecock With Busted Feathers On One Side. The Police Helicopter Spun In A Lopsided Way As The Tail Rotor Pulled It First To One Side And Then Another. It Was Almost As Though The Small Propeller Were Single-Handedly Trying To Keep The Crippled Chopper Aloft. Meanwhile, Georgiev Had Reactivated The Pulley That Raised The Cable Holding The Platform. Downer Finished His Journey To The Open Door. He Handed The Bulgarian The Grenade Launcher, And Then Barone Extended A Hand To Help Him Back In. Vandal Helped Georgiev Pull The Platform Inside.
Barone Continued To Hold Downer’s Hand. The Uruguyan’s Expression Was Taut With Anger.
“I Should Have Pushed You The Other Way,” Barone Said.
Downer Glared At Him. “What You Should Have Done Was Say, “Nice Shooting, Mate.” “You Broke My Concentration Down There With All Your Talk!” Barone Cried. He Angrily Released Downer’s Hand. “Didn’t Take Much, Did It?” Downer Said. “I Know Soldiers Who Can Do Your Job In Their Sleep.” “Then I Suggest You Work With Them Next Time,” Barone Snarled. “Enough!” Vandal Said Over His Shoulder.
Georgiev And Vandal Had Been Watching As The Police Helicopter Crashed Into A Block Near The River. There Was A Small, White Explosion. A Muffled Boom Reached Them A Moment Later. They Began To Shut The Door.
“An Arrogant Ass,” Barone Muttered. “That’s What I’m Working With. An Arrogant, Australian Ass!” Before Georgiev And Vandal Could Finish Closing The Hatch, Reynold Downer Suddenly Slapped Both Hands On The Front Of Barone’s Uniform. The Australian Grabbed It So Tightly That His Fingertips Sank Into The Meat Of The Smaller Man’s Chest. Barone Screamed In Pain As Downer Swung Him Around And Pushed Him Toward The Still-Open Hatchway. He Leaned Barone Back So That His Head And Shoulders Were Hanging Over Paris. “Jesus!” Barone Yelled.
“I’ve Had Enough Of This!” The Australian Shouted.
“You’ve Been Riding Me For Weeks!” “Stop It!” Vandal Shouted. He Ran Over To The Men. “I Spoke My Mind Is All I Did!” Downer Said. “I Also Did My Job And Took Down The Bloody Damn Chopper, So Climb Off!” Vandal Forced Himself Between Them. “Get Away!” He Said As He Grabbed Barone’s Arm With His Left Hand.
At The Same Time, He Used His Right Shoulder To Nudge Downer Back.
Downer Pulled Barone Inside, Then Stepped Away Willingly. He Turned And Faced The Bags Stacked Against The Other Side Of The Cabin. Behind Him, Georgiev Quickly Shut The Door. “Everyone Calm Down,” Vandal Said Quietly. “We’re All Excitable Right Now, But We’ve Accomplished What We Set Out To Do. All That Should Matter Now Is Finishing The Job.” “Finishing It Without Any More Complaints,” Barone Said. He Was Shaking With Anger And Fear.
“Of Course,” Vandal Said Calmly.
“It Was A Bloody Observation,” Downer Said Through His Teeth. “That’s All It Was!” “All Right!” Vandal Said. He Remained Between The Men And Glanced Back At Downer. “I Would Like To Remind You, Both Of You, That In Order To Complete This Part Of The Mission And Move On To The Next, We Need Every Member Of The Team. Now, We All Did Our Jobs Here, And Did Them Well. If We Take A Little Extra Care In The Future, We’ll Be Fine.” He Looked Back At Barone. “Even If Anyone Heard His Voice, I’m Confident That We’ll Be Out Of The Country Before Anyone Can Figure Out Which Australian That Accent Belongs To.” “Which Australian With Commando Experience To Pull Off A Job Like This,” Barone Shot Back.
“They Still Won’t Find Us In Time,” Vandal Said.
“If They Heard Him, The Police Will Still Have To Go To Interpol, Which Will Check With Authorities In Canberra. We’ll Be Long Gone Before They Even Have A List Of Possible Suspects.” Cautiously, He Moved From Between The Men. He Looked At His Watch.
“We’ll Be Landing In Ten Minutes, And We’ll Be Airborne Again Before Nine O’clock.” He Forced A Smile. “Nothing Can Stop Us Now.” Barone Was Glaring At Downer. He Looked Away And Angrily Smoothed The Front Of His Uniform.
Downer Took A Long Breath And Then Smiled Back At Vandal. The Frenchman Was Right. They Did Do Well. They’d Gotten The Money They Needed To Pay For Bribes, For The Plane, And For The Documents They’d Need For The Next Part Of The Operation. The Part That Was Going To Make Them Wealthy.
The Frenchman Relaxed And Walked Toward The Cockpit. Barone Turned His Back Toward Downer And Kept It There. Downer Sat Down On A Stack Of Money Bags And Ignored Baroneonce More.
When The Australian Reached The Combustion Stage, He Burned Hot But Fast. He Was Cool Again, No Longer Angry At Barone Or At Himself For Having Screwed Up.
Georgiev Locked The Door And Walked Over To The Cockpit. He Didn’t Make Eye Contact With Downer As He Walked Past. It Wasn’t An Intentional Snub, Just Another Habit That Came From Years Spent Working For The Cia. Always Try To Remain Anonymous. Vandal Was Once Again In The Copilot’s Seat, Monitoring The French Police Radio Communications. Georgiev Stood Behind Him In The Open Cockpit Door. Barone Was Looking Out The Window In The Sliding Cabin Door.
Downer Shut His Eyes. He Enjoyed The Soothing Vibration Of The Floor. He Enjoyed The Soft Bed Of Money Beneath His Head. Even The Slamming Loud Noise Of The Rotor Didn’t Bother Him.
He Allowed Himself The Pleasure Of Forgetting The Details They’d Had To Remember For This Morning. The Armored Car’s Route, The Timing, Alternate Plans In Case The Police Got Through, An Escape By The River In The Event The Chopper Didn’t Make It. A Deep Feeling Of Satisfaction Came Over Him, And He Savored It The Way He Had Never Enjoyed Anything In His Life.
Four Chevy Chase, Maryland Friday, 9:12 A.M.
Under A Bright Sky, Paul Hood, His Wife Sharon, Their Just-Turned- Fourteen-Year-Old Daughter Harleigh, And Their Eleven-Year-Old Son Alexander Eased Into Their New Van And Set Out For New York.
The Kids Were Hooked To Their Respective Discmans. Harleigh Was Listening To Violin Concerti To Get Herself In The Mood For The Concert; Every Now And Then, She Would Sigh Or Mutter A Mild Oath, Awed By The Composition Or Discouraged By The Brilliance Of The Performance. She Was Like Her Mother In That Respect. Neither Woman Was Ever Satisfied With What She’d Accomplished, Harleigh On The Violin, Sharon With Her Passion For Healthy Cooking. For Years, Sharon Had Used Her Charm And Sincerity To Lure People Away From Bacon And Doughnuts On A Half-Hour Weekly Cable Tv Show, The Mcdonnell Healthy Food Report. She Had Left The Show Several Months Before To Devote More Time To Putting Together A Healthy-Eating Cookbook, Which Was Nearly Finished. She Had Also Wanted To Spend More Time At Home. The Kids Were Getting Older Faster, And She Felt They Should All Spend More Time Doing Things As A Family, From Having Dinner Weeknights To Taking Vacations Whenever They Could.
Dinners That Hood Had Missed More Often Than Not And Vacations That He’d Had To Cancel. Alexander Was Much More Like His Father. He Liked Personal Challenges. He Enjoyed Computer Games-The More Complicated, The Better. He Liked Crossword Puzzles And Jigsaw Puzzles. As They Drove, He Listened To Some Flavor-Of-The-Month Singer And Worked On An Acrostic Puzzle. Beneath The Puzzle Book, On His Lap, Was A Short Stack Of Comic Books. To Alexander, There Was No Outside World Right Now. There Was Just What Was In Front Of Him. Paul Couldn’t Help But Feel Proud Of The Kid. Alexander Knew His Own Mind.
Sharon Hood Was Sitting Quietly By Her Husband’s Side. She Had Left Him A Week Before, Taken The Children, And Gone To Stay With Her Parents In Old Saybrook, Connecticut. She’d Returned For The Same Reason That Hood Had Resigned From Op-Center: To Fight For Their Family. Hood Had No Idea What He’d Do Next In His Career, And He Wouldn’t Be Putting Out Feelers Until They Returned To Washington On Wednesday. He’d Cashed In Some Stock He’d Bought During His Years As A Broker, Enough To Run The Household For Two Years.