Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“Come to the right,” Paul said.

“How far?”

“Ten feet.”

Joe eased the Air-Crane over to the right, staring through the clear Plexiglas foot well at the ground below.

“That’s it,” Paul said. “Let her down slowly.”

“No time for that.”

Joe relaxed the pressure on the controls and allowed them to descend, trying to lower the Nighthawk gracefully and quickly. It was a partial success. The craft hit with a minor crunch, landing harder than Joe had hoped. The lines went slack and the strain on the engine was reduced.

“Nighthawk on solid ground,” Paul said.

“Cut it loose.”

Paul disconnected the line and metal cable fell to the ground.

The Air-Crane rose upward in response. Freed of all the weight, it felt nimble. Joe powered back as soon as he could, but the yellow warning lights continued to glow. “We need to get on the ground or we’re going to void our warranty.”

Easing away from the Nighthawk, Joe aimed for the far edge of the clearing and brought the Air-Crane down for a landing.

The wheels hit with a trio of thumps. Joe powered down to idle but kept the engine running until it had cooled enough to bring the temperature down.

“Hot damn,” Paul said. “Let’s go take a look.”

Joe checked the temperature gauge one last time. It was settling nicely. A second light that would warn of metal shavings in the oil system had never come on. The engines were undamaged. One break in their favor.

He shut everything down, unbuckled his harness and followed Paul out the door. Cutting across the clearing, they found Urco, crouched beneath the aircraft’s nose, clearing mud from the landing gear. He looked up as they approached.

“How’d we do?” Paul asked.

“Excellent,” Urco said. “Exactly as I hoped you would.”

There was something odd about the response. Before Joe could put his finger on it, he saw movement in the tall grass. His first thought was that it was Kurt and Emma coming up from the beach, but, instead, a handful of men pushed through the high grass and out into the clearing. They held weapons in their hands, rifles and shotguns.

Joe turned to make a break for it. But it was too late. A second group of men had come in from behind them.

“Don’t fight,” Urco said, standing up and leveling a pistol in Joe’s direction. “There’s no need for you to die.”

41

Kurt had been pulled

back into the water, a surprising sensation. He’d recovered by kicking hard and pulling his legs clear. No sooner was he free than he felt something heavy wrap around his neck and pull tight. At first he thought it was a metal chain, but he came to realize it was a diver’s weight belt.

He grabbed at the belt and pulled, but it was being twisted tight by whoever had swum in behind him. As he struggled with the first attacker, a second diver moved out of the shadow beneath the Zodiac. This one wore a gray wet suit and a squared-off mask. He carried an eight-inch knife, which he thrust toward Kurt.

Using the man behind him as leverage, Kurt twisted to the side. Instead of puncturing his rib cage, the knife only skewered his buoyancy control device, or BCD, sending a flood of bubbles into the water. Before the man could strike again, Kurt kicked him in the face, shattering his square mask and knocking his regulator free. A second kick caught him in the teeth and sent the man fleeing toward the surface.

One down, Kurt thought, one to go.

The weight belt was choking him.

As he struggled, both Kurt and his assailant were sinking fast. They grappled all the way to the bottom, where they crashed into the sediment with surprising force.

With somewhere to plant his feet, Kurt gained back some control. He fired an elbow backward into his attacker. The grip loosened but the man grabbed Kurt’s main air line and ripped it free.