Strategic Moves (Stone Barrington 19)

“We have only a twenty-eight-hundred-mile range, is that right?”

“Yes, and that’s plenty.”

They cleared the coast of Portugal, and Stone saw the copilot reach up and turn off some switches. He looked out the window and no longer saw the wingtip strobe and nav lights.

Stone put on his headset again.

“Other aircraft sighted,” the copilot said, checking his radar, then he looked out the windscreen and pointed. “Two o’clock and three miles,” he said, “at our altitude.”

The C-17 entered a steep bank to the right, and Stone tightened his seat belt.

TWENTY-FOUR

Stone watched from his jump seat through the pilots’ windows as the big aircraft turned into position behind the airliner, then began to catch up. Gradually the airliner grew larger in the windscreen, until Stone thought they would ram it from behind.

Stone unbuckled his seat belt and moved up behi

nd the copilot. “How do you know when the other airplane will slow down?”

“We don’t, exactly,” the man replied.

“Swell,” Stone muttered.

“Don’t worry; we’re trained for formation flying for in-air refueling. The second he begins to slow, we’ll pop our speedbrakes, and that will keep us apart.”

“Good luck,” Stone said. He returned to his seat and strapped in tightly. He thought about fetching a parachute from the bin in the cargo bay, but he figured if they rammed the other aircraft, he wouldn’t have an opportunity to use it before he was hamburger.

Stone was still sitting rigidly in his seat when suddenly he felt the aircraft slow down, with the attendant turbulence of extended speedbrakes. The airliner grew larger in the windscreen, but only for a moment, and he saw the speed indicator tape on the pilot’s instruments begin to wind down for the approach into La Coruña. The lights of a big city were ahead. They would join the Instrument Landing System momentarily, he knew.

Then, as the airliner banked to join the approach, the C-17 banked in the opposite direction. Stone figured they were at around three thousand feet, and he knew there were high mountains, the Pyrenees, to the southeast. They flew in that direction for a few minutes, climbing a few thousand feet, then the airplane banked left again, then leveled its wings and began flying northeast and descending.

Stone stared through the windshield, willing something to happen that would tell them they were on course for landing. They were descending rapidly now, and Stone could see the stars disappearing behind mountains on either side of them. They were in the valley. Then, miraculously, he saw a pair of strobe lights ahead of them on the ground—red on the left, green on the right.

Todd spoke over the headset. “If either light goes out, the pilot will know we’re off-course and he’ll correct.”

It didn’t sound like any landing system Stone had ever heard of. Then he noticed that on the flat glass instrument panel, a picture of the ground had appeared. The airplane was equipped with synthetic vision, a computer-generated map of the earth’s surface, showing major features. A road appeared on the screen, and a moment later the flashing strobes disappeared underneath them and the airplane touched down.

“Yeah!” Todd yelled.

Stone yanked off his headset, his ears ringing from the shout. Engines were reversed and brakes applied, and the aircraft came to a halt. Immediately, two fuel trucks appeared ahead of them, rushing toward the airplane. They were wearing red flashing beacons on top, like an airplane. The pilots shut down the engines and refueling began. It didn’t take long, but where was the extractee?

As the fuel trucks pulled away Stone heard the whine of the tail platform lowering. He got up, walked back to one side of the trailer, and looked aft. A car was racing up the highway behind them, toward the airplane. With a screech of brakes, a black Mercedes drove up the tailgate and stopped behind the trailer, and the ramp began to close. Simultaneously, the engines began to start, one by one. Stone went back to his jump seat and strapped in.

The copilot shoved the throttles forward, and the engines began to spool up for takeoff, but above the noise came a sound Stone had not expected to hear: the firing of automatic weapons.

The pilots released the brakes and the airplane surged forward, and the sound of gunfire was left behind. But out the pilots’ windows Stone could see the flashing red beacons on the two fuel trucks, still ahead of them on the road, and the airplane was catching up fast.

“The trucks have to get to an exit to get off the highway,” Stone said aloud to nobody in particular.

“Pray they do,” Mike replied over the headset, “and soon.”

The trucks were, no doubt, unaware of the airplane behind them, but then the copilot switched on the landing lights and they were illuminated. The aircraft had reached a point where Stone could read the license plates on the trucks when the pilot rotated, barely clearing the two highly flammable vehicles.

“Now all we’ve got to worry about is the mountains,” Todd said.

“Yeah?” Stone asked. “Why don’t we worry about what the people shooting at us might have hit?”

“Okay, that, too,” Todd said.