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The main door was nearly fully open but none of the Pakistanis were visible as he ran across the shop floor and took cover behind the same machine Coleman’s attacker had. He laid his friend on the concrete and pulled the magazine from Maslick’s rifle, quickly slapping in a fresh one as he watched the shadows of the men moving around in front.
They didn’t seem all that anxious to enter, and he used the time to dial Irene Kennedy on his satellite phone, patching it through his earpiece.
“Mitch!” she said upon picking up. “I’m getting reports of a firefight in downtown Faisalabad.”
“That’s me. Most of the terrorists are dead and Maslick’s in the air with the nuke.”
“Where are you?”
“Pinned down in a warehouse. You need to get on to the government and tell them to pull their men back. So far I’ve been shooting wide but if they move in on me I’m going to start dropping them.”
“I’ll do it right away. Where’s Scott? Is he with Joe?”
A small metal canister came sailing through the open door and bounced a few times before starting to spew tear gas.
“He’s with me. He couldn’t make it to the chopper.”
“Why? Is he injured?”
“Sooner would be better than later on that call, Irene.”
He disconnected the line and used Maslick’s rifle to shoot out some of the still-intact windows near the ceiling—more to put the fear of God into the men considering charging him than out of concern about the gas. The building was too large and well ventilated for it to have much effect.
A weak hand gripped Rapp’s leg and he looked down to see Scott Coleman’s eyes fix on him. The injured man managed to speak but when he did, a thick mix of blood and spit drooled from his mouth.
“I’m done, man. Get out of here.”
Rapp shook off memories of Stan Hurley, who had looked up at him in a similar condition a few weeks ago. The difference was that he’d been an old man dying on his own terms. Coleman wasn’t.
Rapp knew that any hint of concern or sympathy would just weaken his friend fur
ther. He was a soldier. One of the best in the world. And that’s the way he deserved to be treated.
Rapp pulled the pistol from his waistband and slapped it into Coleman’s limp hand. “Quit whining and make yourself useful.”
CHAPTER 19
JOE Maslick was lying on the metal floor of the chopper with his head hanging out the open door. He’d been raised by dirt-poor parents in a trailer park tucked into the mountains of South Carolina. When he graduated from high school, he’d never been out of the state. Never eaten Chinese food. Never seen the ocean, except on his family’s static-ridden TV.
Thinking back on that made him wonder how the hell he’d ended up in Pakistan, staring down at an atomic bomb. That cashier’s job at the local gas station was looking better and better.
“This thing’s swinging really bad,” he said into the mike attached to his headset.
“You want to come up here and fly, asshole?” was the predictable response.
The man at the controls was Fred Mason, a retired navy pilot who now flew search-and-rescue missions out of California. Coleman brought him in when second-best wasn’t an option.
“It’d just be good if it didn’t go into the tail rotor, you know?”
“I didn’t remember you being the nervous type, Mas.”
They climbed out of range of the cops and soldiers below, but Maslick could still make out detail around the warehouse. The front entrance was open and there were at least ten cops and soldiers lined up next to it. Smoke was curling from the bay doors but none of the men appeared to have masks on. The general impression was that no one was in charge. That should play in Rapp’s and Coleman’s favor.
The nuke settled down and he started to use the winch to reel it up. When it got close, the copilot came back to help him wrestle it inside. Even with the two of them, it was a herculean task. In addition to the weight, there wasn’t anywhere to get a good grip. They got it partway in the door a couple of times but it always hung up and fell back onto the cable.
The pilot heard all the swearing and glanced back for a moment. “Watch your asses, boys!”
The left side of the chopper suddenly dipped, slamming Maslick into the back of the door gun and rolling the nuke up onto the skid. Then the floor dipped right, tossing him into the other wall. When the aircraft leveled out again, the weapon was inside and rolling lazily toward a cargo net hanging from a set of eyebolts.