“We’re landing in fifteen minutes,” he said.
Stone got up, washed his face and brushed his teeth, then went forward to a jump seat. The sun was up, and the airplane was descending at a much steeper angle than when they had landed in the Azores.
Mike spoke up. “We’re making a steep descent into Baghdad International, in order to give insurgents less chance of hitting us with missiles.”
“Missiles?” Stone asked. “Nobody mentioned missiles.”
“It’s less likely than it would have been a year ago, but we have to treat the place as a war zone. We won’t get off the airplane here, but I think you’ll find it interesting to watch what happens. There are two runways here, one of ten thousand feet and one of thirteen thousand. The airport is about ten miles west of the city.”
Stone couldn’t believe how steep the approach was. He tried to find the rate of descent on the instrument panel, but he was too far away to read it. He reckoned that they were falling out of the sky at the rate of at least eight or ten thousand feet a minute, with everything hanging out—landing gear, flaps, speedbrakes, spoilers, if the airplane had them. He had never seen a view of an airport out the pilot’s window like the one he could see now.
The airplane touched down, and immediately Stone was thrown against his seat belt as the engines were reversed. Shortly, they were off the runway, and Stone could see a fuel truck ahead of them, waiting. The airplane taxied up to the truck and cut its engines, as the tail ramp came down. Stone got out of his seat and followed Mike into the huge cargo bay. Immediately, forklifts began bringing in pallets of matériel. As soon as they were set down, the forklifts went back for more, and airmen secured each pallet with netting, cables, and rope. It was all incredibly efficient, and by the time the tail ramp had closed, the fuel truck was gone and the engines were starting. Stone noticed that the central area of the cargo bay, behind the Airstream, was empty. He followed Mike back to the jump seats.
“Where are we stopping for the extraction on the way back?” Stone asked Freeman.
“I don’t know,” Mike said. “Todd Bacon will tell us when we’re airborne.”
“What’s Bacon’s story?” Stone asked.
“All I can tell you is, he’s one of Lance’s people, he’s, at least, the titular CEO of Airship Transport, and he’s in charge of the extraction.”
“What’s Holly here for?” Stone asked.
“I get the impression that she’s here to watch Bacon,” Mike r
eplied.
The airplane was already rolling down the runway, using a lot more of it than on previous takeoffs. The pilot rotated, and the airplane began to climb steeply. Stone looked out a side window and saw something flying toward them, leaving a trail of smoke. Before he could speak someone yelled, “Missile at two o’clock!”
Stone was thrown hard against his seat belt, and the airplane picked up speed and turned first right, then left.
“Clean miss!” the copilot yelled, and they began climbing again.
“Holy shit!” Stone said. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been shot at in the air!”
“Me too,” Mike said. “I think ‘holy shit’ pretty much covers it for me, as well.”
“Are we safe yet?”
“Who knows?” Mike replied.
The airplane continued its steep climb, and gradually Stone’s grip on the armrests of his seat relaxed.
Todd Bacon appeared in the cockpit. “Okay, everybody in the trailer,” he said.
TWENTY-THREE
Stone, Mike, Holly, and Todd Bacon sat in the reclining chairs, and Todd unfolded a map. The first thing that struck Stone was that it was not an aeronautical chart but a Michelin road map.
“All right,” Todd said. “We’re going to land in northern Spain to extract a longtime fugitive and return him to United States jurisdiction.”
“By extract,” Stone said, “do you mean extradite?”
“Extradition is impossible,” Todd replied.
“How come?” Mike asked.
“All right, I’ll tell you the whole story,” Todd said, “or at least as much of it as I know.”