Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“What is it?” Timonovski asked.

“Metal shavings in the oil pan. The main rotor—its transmission is coming apart. We need to put this bird down.”

Timonovski heard the strain in the engineer’s voice but shook it off. “We’re almost there,” he said.

He could see the outline of the runway up ahead. Blackjack 2 was there, no longer covered in the shroud of netting and tarps that the Birdcaller had wrapped around it. Another aircraft was there on the runway as well. A small turboprop.

Ignoring the warning lights, Timonovski brought the orange helicopter and the stolen American spacecraft over the last line of trees and down toward the hard-packed airstrip. A man on the ground flashed a light at them in Morse code.

“So the Birdcaller tells the truth, for once,” he said. After so many lies and tricks, Timonovski half expected to be met by American agents or perhaps the Chinese. “Contact them on the low-frequency channel.”

The flight engineer dialed up the correct frequency and engaged in a rapid-fire conversation. “They want us to land the Nighthawk on top of the bomber,” he told Timonovski. “Can we stay airborne that long?”

“I would rather put it down on the side of the runway, but once we land this helicopter, it will never take off again.”

“That’s what I thought,” the flight engineer said. “What should I tell them?”

Timonovski didn’t hesitate. “We chance it.”

He angled toward the sitting bomber, pulled up next to it and put the helicopter into a sideways slip. With a deft touch, he eased them over the resting bomber until they were centered and began to lower the American craft toward it.

The first attempt ended in failure as the swirling downwash of the rotors continued to twist the suspended craft. The second attempt was no better.

“I can’t keep it lined up,” Timonovski said.

“We need to put it down,” the flight engineer said. “We’re going to lose the gearbox any minute.”

“One more try,” Timonovski said.

This time, as he moved in, the men from the ground crew appeared on the back of the bomber. They grabbed the Nighthawk with their bare hands, hooked ropes around the nose and tail and used their combined weight to arrest the twisting motion. With their help, Timonovski steered the Nighthawk into position and felt it bump softly against the armored spine of the bomber.

“Down and locked,” the flight engineer said. “I’m releasing the cable.”

With an audible snap, the cables were disconnected. The Air-Crane rose quickly in response—and did so with dark smoke pouring from the transmission housing.

A horrible grinding noise soon drowned out the roar of the engines and Timonovski knew they’d lost the gearbox.

“Hold on,” he shouted, angling away from the bomber, the Nighthawk and the ground crew.

The smoking helicopter peeled off with what little power remained and then began to fall. Timonovski did what he could to counter the loss of control, but the craft had become unstable. They hit near the shoulder of the runway.

The impact bent the right landing strut and the Air-Crane went over. The rotors struck the ground and shattered into deadly fragments, most of which flew mercifully into the trees.

As the helicopter came to rest on its side, Timonovski shut down the engines and cut the fuel. He turned to see the flight engineer bailing out through the door.

By the time Timonovski pulled off his seat belt and caught up with the engineer, half a dozen members of the ground crew had closed in around them. One was spraying foam from a fire extinguisher toward the engine compartment. Black smoke belched from the vents, but there was no flame.

“Evil things,” said a voice among the crowd.

The Major spied Constantin Davidov. To have the head of the directorate out in the fi

eld was a rare sight indeed. The old warhorse was beaming as he rushed forward.

“Evil things?” Major Timonovski asked. “What things would those be?”

“Helicopters,” Davidov explained. “Unnatural, noisy and ugly. Little more than torture devices, in my opinion.”

The Major didn’t know about Davidov’s long ride from Kamchatka to the cruiser Varyag in the Carrier Pigeon. But he knew better than to question the boss. “If you say so.”