The Eye of Moloch (47 page)
The helo had disappeared around the side of the building but it likely wouldn’t be gone for long. Hollis ran outside to the fallen body, took the AR-15 strapped over the dead man’s shoulder and a spare magazine from his pack, and then hurried the length of the warehouse back toward the vehicle bay.
There was a heavy thump from overhead as something hit the ceiling. He ducked behind cover and a second later an explosion shook the place and peeled back the metal roof high above the south side of
the warehouse. Shiny canisters fell through the new opening, spewing sparks and yellowish gas as they bounced and skittered across the floor.
When he reached the others they were taking shelter within the igloo of stacked sandbags, just as he’d asked. He retrieved the respirators from the front seat of the truck and helped the three of them strap on the masks before he applied his own. As the stinging gas began to blow through the space he directed Lana and Cathy back into hiding and then turned to Tyler.
“It’s not much of a chance we’ve got but I need your help!” Hollis shouted through the clear mask. “Follow me!”
The boy nodded without hesitation, and they set off running.
The two of them reached the nearest of the water heaters they’d prepared earlier and Tyler helped steady the heavy cylinder as Hollis put his shoulder to it and lifted it upright so it was standing as designed on its stubby legs. He twisted the thermostat control to its maximum setting, tapped the boy’s arm, and they ran on to the next one.
Another explosion rocked the air from above and another jagged hole tore open in the roof. Rain poured in to mingle with the water already spraying from the overhead sprinkler system, which had been set off by the smoke and drifting gas.
They’d just managed to get the last of the heaters aimed upright and set on high when gunfire erupted from overhead and they were driven again to cover. It wasn’t the big gun that was firing this time; maybe that beast really was out of commission. The helicopter was fighting gusting winds and the three-round bursts coming from the remaining men in back made a lot of noise but so far weren’t proving accurate.
“I don’t know how much time we’ve got before those water heaters blow on their own,” Hollis said, “but it’s not much. Get to the back and get your mom and the girl ready to go. Tell them to stay down and cover their ears tight, and you do the same. This is about to get loud.”
Tyler looked reluctant to leave but he did what was right and took off running for the rear of the warehouse. The gunfire from above shifted to
follow his sudden movement, the bullets clanging in the rafters and ricocheting off the high shelves along his path. Whatever they were using to track their targets, it wasn’t only visual; it seemed as though they could see through solid walls.
As the helicopter appeared through one of the holes in the ceiling, Hollis stepped out from cover and opened fire on it with the AR-15. That seemed to do the trick of drawing attention away from the others; a new barrage of bullets rained down around his position as he ran for the front and then on outside into the parking lot.
Hollis tore the respirator from his face as he crouched behind the metal base of a tall light pole. The helicopter was hovering above the battered warehouse, pivoting around so the men in the cargo bay would have a clear shot at him and the others from a safer range.
He reloaded and readied the rifle, brought the scope near his eye, took aim at the base of the first distant water heater—the one that was almost directly below the aircraft—and then squeezed the trigger.
The cylinder exploded with the force of a healthy stick of TNT, sending the bulk of its chassis rocketing upward through the roof, trailing vapor and debris five hundred feet into the air.
It was a clean miss, but the craft was buffeted by the shock wave and began an evasive sideways drift, left to right across the width of the warehouse. The men in the back were still firing at him, the impacts of their shots working closer to him by the second. He kept his patience, tracked the building speed and movement of the helicopter, and breathed the first real prayer he’d offered in twenty years. He then sighted down on his remaining targets and shot them in sequence, right to left:
1 . . . . . . . 2 . . . . . . . 3 . . . . . . . 4 . . . . . . . 5
The pilot of the craft must have sensed what was in store, because the helicopter had jerked suddenly upward and pivoted toward safety, but his reaction came too late.
Each water heater blasted upward through the roof, one after the other, in a relentless line toward his oncoming flight path, until the last of them just barely clipped the chopper’s aft end. It was just enough; the impact hadn’t looked like much but the tail of the craft was destroyed.
With no force to counteract the torque of the main rotor the helicopter began an uncontrolled spin, whirling faster and faster as it descended toward the far side of the parking lot, where it crashed in a bright, fiery explosion of unspent fuel and armaments.
Hollis pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly toward the burning wreckage, scanning the area for danger as he went, his weapon at the ready. He reached the crash about the time Tyler and the others pulled up beside him in the truck.
In the back of the ruined chopper were the burned remains of three men.
The pilot’s seat was empty.
B
y the time the tiny airfield came into view Noah noticed that the plane’s fuel gauges had dipped to near zero and one engine was running rough.
Though the old C-60 had clawed her way through battering turbulence and ice and lightning strikes and equipment failures, in the end its pilot had endured even more. Despite his brave front Bill McCord was clearly fading and it had become a continual struggle for Ellen Davenport to preserve the weakened function of his heart. The only saving grace was that one way or another, the flight was nearly over.
Ellen watched from the right-hand seat as the pilot eased down the throttle, set the flaps and trims, flicked on the nav lights, and pulled the lever that would hopefully lower the landing gear. There was a grinding and a deep mechanical rumble from behind and below them as the undercarriage descended. McCord took his eyes from the windshield for only a second when the sound had ceased; he checked the status lights of the gear and shook his head.
“Hold on tight,” he said. His jaw was clenched, his voice only a harsh whisper spoken through the unrelenting torture of the shocks from the
pacing. “I don’t know if both the wheels are down, but either way, we’re landing.”
As the throttle was pulled back farther the right engine faltered and then coughed and died with a final wheeze. The plane slowed and yawed perilously and the pilot responded to correct his crumbling descent.
Every minute of his many decades of flying experience must have come to bear in those last few seconds. With utter concentration and some last measure of untapped strength he somehow straightened them out. He eased the craft into a gentle bank that would put the bulk of the weight on the only wheel they were sure was down and locked, and then he held all the battling forces steady under his hands as the ground rose up to meet them.
• • •
“There they are,” Hollis said.
Through his passenger-side window he’d seen the faint lights of an approaching plane wink on against the backdrop of black thunderheads rolling in from the west. All the adrenaline from the battle at the warehouse had deserted him along the ride and the pain and weakness he’d felt before was returning, worse than ever.
Cathy Merrick pulled the truck to a stop as they reached the end of a long dirt road. Just ahead was a little country airfield with no tower, lights, or services, just a grass-lined runway probably used only by crop dusters and private pilots practicing their touch-and-go landings.
They both rolled down the windows and though the sound of the approaching aircraft was just barely audible it didn’t sound right at all. The descent grew unsteady as they came on; they were way too high and moving too fast to land and the wings weren’t fully level. Soon Hollis could see that only half the landing gear was down.
When it passed the far end of the runway the plane settled in and flared, banking subtly as if to favor the side with the missing wheel. It flew down the length of the pavement, holding itself in the air and
bleeding off speed, and then when it seemed the air could support it no longer it lost its lift and dropped the last few inches to the ground.
It rolled out and slowed on that single wheel, the tail came down, and then the unsupported wing tipped and fell into sudden contact with the pavement. The one spinning propeller shattered at impact and threw its blades, the plane skidded and veered, showering sparks and grinding along until at last it skidded into a sharp half turn and came to a silent, smoldering halt.
As they drove out onto the runway Hollis pulled a small fire extinguisher from its clips below his seat. He jumped out before the truck had fully stopped, fell, and got up and ran as best he could to the side at the rear of the fuselage. When he found the door he pulled it open and climbed inside.
Noah Gardner was already helping Molly out of her seat belt and together they brought her out and clear of the wreck. When she was safe the two men returned to the plane and walked up the tilted aisle to the cockpit.
There they found Ellen Davenport kneeling by the side of an elderly man who was slumped and motionless in the pilot’s seat. As they approached, they saw that she was straightening the old man’s disheveled clothes, smoothing a few bits of broken glass from his thin white hair, and gently easing his hands from their steadfast grip upon the wheel.
“When we stopped,” she said, “I looked over, and he was gone.”
The patter of a light freezing rain had just begun, quietly pecking at the metal skin of the aircraft. In the distance Hollis heard the unmistakable sound of sirens on the way.
“Ma’am,” he said softly, “I’m afraid we need to go.”
“I won’t leave him like this.”
“Ellen—”
“You two go on,” she said. “I’ve got my phone. I’ll wait until you’re long gone, and if they haven’t found us yet, I’ll call it in.”
Noah had known this woman long enough to recognize a final decision when he saw one, and he didn’t argue.
“Thanks for everything you’ve done for us,” he said.
Before he could stand to leave she stopped him with a touch.
“This man got us here so you could make a difference,” Ellen said. “Don’t you dare let him down.”
• • •
Once all were safely assembled in the truck and they were back under way Hollis checked the time-to-destination on the GPS. When ten minutes remained he took out the last of their disposable cell phones, punched in a number, and listened. He waited until the phone on the other end picked up and then he pressed the button that ended the call.
Sixty seconds later his phone rang twice and then went silent again. That was the signal that all would be ready up ahead.
Cathy Merrick looked over briefly from the driver’s seat, and he nodded to her.
“That’s it,” Hollis said. “From here on out it’s do or die.”
T
heir insider at Garrison Archives was a young mailroom intern who’d been planted in her job months before.
Like most spies, much of her role up to then had involved simply blending in and waiting. Recently, however, she’d been given three important duties to perform for Molly Ross and the Founders’ Keepers.
First, she’d smuggled out a copy of the internal network architecture documents—it was amazing what low-level employees have access to when they’re put in charge of the shredder and the photocopy room. Next she copied down a few key PIN numbers from a security guard’s crib sheet and ordered a duplicate access card for all the inside doors. Once these things had been gathered she’d addressed a padded envelope to Mr. Thom Hollis, care of HomeWorx, Inc., and forwarded it all to a UPS private mailbox in the nearby town of Butler.
Third, she’d intercepted a special-delivery package when it arrived by courier at Garrison—said package having been constructed and sent by some tech-savvy co-conspirators—and after business hours that same night she’d punched a pattern of holes through the outer cardboard of
the box and placed it as directed, high on a shelf in a utility room near an open vent for the air-conditioning and environment control system.
