The Storm

  “I agree,” she said. “We must warn them.”

  Kurt continued to flick through frequencies until he’d set 122.85 in the display window. “This is the one.”

  He listened for a second, heard nothing and then pressed the transmit switch. “Aqua-Terra, this is Kurt Austin. How do you read?”

  Nothing.

  As Kurt spoke, he kept his eyes on the descending transports. They seemed blissfully unaware.

  “Aqua-Terra, come in.”

  “Try another frequency.”

  “No. This is the one.” He pressed transmit again. “Aqua-Terra, do you copy? This is Kurt Austin. You’re about to come under attack. Prepare to repel boarders.”

  He let go of the switch.

  “Why don’t they answer?” she asked.

  Kurt could think of a number of reasons, the most sinister of which had to do with the impostor in their midst. She might have disabled the radio or done something worse.

  The two aircraft were now dropping below two thousand feet. They’d be on the deck in a minute, probably discharging their boats using the LAPES parachutes. From the dimensions of the cargo hold he figured each plane might carry up to seventy commandos, but not with the boats and the equipment on board too. Thirty would be the max. That still meant sixty commandos against Marchetti’s crew of twenty, plus Paul and Gamay. With the robots deactivated, they didn’t stand a chance.

  With no answer on the radio, Kurt realized the time for warnings had passed, it was time to make a move.

  IN THE CENTER OF AQUA-TERRA’S communications room, Zarrina stood with Otero and Matson, listening to Kurt Austin as he tried to warn his friends of the imminent attack.

  Otero looked sick. “I thought Jinn said Austin and Zavala were dead?”

  “Apparently he spoke too soon,” Zarrina said.

  “Where is it coming from?”

  “It could be anywhere,” she said, glancing out the window. She saw no boats on the horizon, but she did see the three aircraft approaching. One of them was well out of formation. It all but confirmed the worst of her fears.

  “He’s taken over on one of the jets,” she said. “We need to warn Jinn. And we need leverage. Get the woman up here. Now!”

  KURT PUSHED THE THROTTLES to full, and the one-hundred-and-ten-foot aircraft surged forward with surprising power.

  As it accelerated, a plan formed in Kurt’s mind. He watched the other jets slowing almost to stall speed as they dropped toward the water.

  They’d be vulnerable as they flew along the deck, discharging their commandos, and Kurt could force them into the drink like a stock car racer wrecking his competition by putting them into the wall.

  The two aircraft ahead were spaced a half mile apart at less than three hundred feet. Kurt and Leilani were closing in rapidly when suddenly Kurt heard shouting in Arabic over COM-1.

  Both jets reacted instantly. Their pitch changed from nose down to nose up, and the heat distortion trailing out behind their engines intensified rapidly.

  “Damn,” Kurt said. “So much for the element of surprise.”

  The jets began to accelerate, but Kurt was barreling down on them rapidly, moving at least a hundred knots faster. He chose the aircraft to the left and headed for it, pointing his nose down like a madman.

  Kurt’s aircraft charged like a hawk swooping in for the kill. The other jet was coming up, struggling to climb and pick up speed like a big, slow pigeon.

  It grew larger and closer, filling the window and then disappearing from Kurt’s view, flashing under them.

  JINN SAT IN THE FLIGHT ENGINEER’S chair in the lead aircraft, shouting instructions to the pilot. The throttles were at full, the aircraft was straining to climb and accelerate.

  “Look out! He’s right above you!” Zarrina shouted over the radio.

  A wave of thunder and turbulence shook the aircraft. A shadow raced across the windshield, and the captain shoved the stick forward. Smoke, heat and exhaust from Kurt’s engines blasted the cockpit, but the planes did not collide.

  Kurt’s pulling up at the last second gave them a few feet of precious space. On the other hand, the pilot’s involuntary flinch and the wake turbulence from the thirty-five-thousand-pound jet roaring past sent them down and to the left, headed for the waves.

  “Pull out!” Jinn shouted. “Pull out!”

  The pilot rolled the wings level and pulled back on the yoke. The jet skimmed the water, touched it briefly, skipping like a stone, and then climbed skyward once again.

  “THEY PULLED OUT,” Leilani said, looking back through the side window. “Somehow, they pulled out.”

  Kurt thought of heading around for another run, but he was already lined up on the second plane. Plan A had failed, and with the second aircraft climbing above a thousand feet and accelerating it would have no effect this time. Still, he had to do something.

  Kurt used the extra speed he’d carried to outclimb his quarry, gaining altitude faster than the other jet. Once he was above it, he angled toward the other plane and matched its course, closing in from the seven o’clock high position.

  For a second he had no clue what he’d do next. But an idea came to him that felt so brilliant, he would have patted himself on the back if he could have.

  He looked around the cockpit. Amid the myriad gauges and switches and screens he spotted what he was looking for.

  “Grab that handle,” he said, pointing.

  Leilani put her hand on a thick metal bar lined with yellow-and-black warning chevrons.

  “Get ready to pull it!”

  As he closed in on his quarry, the plane began to shake. The slipstream coming off the other jet made him feel like a water-skier crossing a powerboat’s wake. He pulled back and climbed above the turbulence and, after ten seconds, he pushed the nose forward again, knifing toward the other jet as if on a strafing run.

  He raced over the top of the jet, higher than he’d been before.

  “Now!”

  Leilani slammed the yellow-and-black down.

  A great whooshing sound swept through the plane, and Kurt felt the nose pitch up and the plane all but leap skyward.

  Out behind the aircraft a cloud of gray vapor had appeared, whipping backward, slamming into the second jet. Despite the vaporlike appearance, the central column of the dumped mixture was still together. Twelve thousand pounds of water and microbots hit the cockpit, shattering the windshield and crushing the pilots like a tidal wave.

  The rest of the load swept over the aircraft, catching the starboard wing and engine. The turbofan exploded from the impact, compressor blades and other pieces flying outward through the cowling.

  The weight of the water hammered the right wing more than the left, forcing it down and back, and the aircraft rolled over and dove seaward. It hit seconds later, cartwheeling across the ocean’s surface. The impact tore the jet apart, sending people, cargo and metal shards in all directions.

  Kurt realized he’d just dumped a bunch of Jinn’s bots into the sea, but it was the only weapon he had at his disposal. He circled to the right, spotted the wreckage and immediately began looking for the surviving jet lest he and Leilani suffer a similar fate.

  Suddenly, a voice came over the radio. Kurt recognized it as Gamay Trout’s.

  GAMAY TROUT SAT at the radioman’s console in Aqua-Terra’s communications room. The cold end of a pistol was pressed against the back of her head.

  “Speak to him!” Zarrina’s harsh voice demanded. “Tell him to surrender or I’ll kill you all. Your husband dies first.”

  Paul had been forced to lie down on the floor. Matson stood with a foot on the small of Paul’s back. He pointed a Luger-style pistol toward the nape of his neck. Otero stood close by with another gun.

  “Speak!”

  Gamay grabbed the microphone they’d placed in front of her. She held the transmit switch. “Kurt, this is Gamay. Do you read me?”

  It took a few seconds, but Kurt’s voice came through in her headpho
nes.

  “Gamay, you’re under attack. Take cover. Have Marchetti activate the robots.”

  “Tell him to surrender!” Zarrina ordered.

  Gamay glanced out the window. She’d seen one of the jets go down, the other two were climbing and turning, one appearing to be stalking the other, but she had no idea which was which.

  Zarrina shoved Gamay’s head forward with the muzzle of the gun. “I won’t ask again.”

  Gamay grabbed the microphone but still hesitated.

  “Kill him!” Zarrina said to Otero.

  “Wait!” Gamay shouted. She pressed and held the transmit switch.

  “Kurt, this is Gamay,” she said. “They have us already. They have us in the brig. They’re going to kill us if you don’t land the plane and surrender.”

  Silence followed. Gamay stared out the window. One of the planes had stopped maneuvering. She guessed that was Kurt. The other jet was closing in.

  She watched for a second and then pressed the switch again. “Look out!” she shouted. “They’re on your—”

  She never finished the sentence because Zarrina knocked her from the chair. She tumbled into the wall, got up ready to throw a punch and took a kick to the stomach that knocked the wind out of her and dropped her to the ground.

  Outside, she saw the two planes almost collide. They crossed paths, separated and then crossed paths again. A trail of dark smoke began to stream from one of them.

  KURT REACTED TO GAMAY’S warning as fast as he could. He banked left and almost slammed into Jinn’s plane. He shoved the yoke to the right, rolled the plane over and heard the sound of shells tearing into the fuselage.

  Jinn’s craft was matching his turn. Men were firing .50 caliber machine guns through an open cargo door.

  Kurt cut back toward them. The two planes crossed paths and almost collided a third time. As Kurt peeled off and began to make a run for it, a bank of warning lights came on in the cockpit. He pointed the nose down to pick up speed, kept the throttles to the wall and retracted the flaps he’d never pulled in.

  The plane accelerated, and Kurt turned to the southwest. Various warning lights continued to blink, but nothing seemed disastrous.

  He juked to the left and then back to the right, remembering the rule he’d heard an old fighter pilot tell him once: He who flies straight, dies.

  After several sets of these maneuvers, he still hadn’t seen Jinn’s plane.

  He kept the jet on the deck and at full speed. He made a slight turn to the west. So far, so good. But still no sign of Jinn.

  “Do you see him?”

  Leilani was swinging her head around, doing everything she could to spot the other craft. Kurt turned to the right, hoping to give her a wider view.

  “No,” she said. “Wait … yes. He’s behind us,” she said excitedly. “He seems to be falling back. He’s heading lower.”

  That didn’t sound right. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, we’re leaving him behind. I think he’s landing.”

  Kurt couldn’t believe their luck. He wondered why Jinn would be letting him go.

  Zarrina’s voice came over the radio. “Kurt Austin, you will land and surrender or I will kill your friends.”

  The line stayed open, and the sound of someone grunting in pain and then screaming reached his ears.

  “You harm them and you’re a dead woman, Zarrina,” he said, returning a threat with a threat.

  Kurt had no choice but to run. Surrendering wouldn’t stop them from murdering his friends. It would just mean there were no witnesses around to report it. But if he could escape, that turned the tables. It meant Zarrina and Jinn had to worry about being discovered and facing retribution. Sometimes those thoughts protected prisoners who were otherwise considered expendable.

  “You harm them and there won’t be anyplace in this world where I won’t hunt you down.”

  Above him, more warning lights came on. Static and feedback came through the headphones.

  “I look forward to it,” Zarrina replied. A shot rang out, the transmission ended and the COM panel went dark. Kurt flipped the switch a few times and got nothing.

  “Radio’s down,” he said.

  “What are we going to do?” Leilani demanded.

  “Head southwest and follow the original plan.”

  He hoped he hadn’t just sacrificed the Trouts, but he had no choice. They had to make it to the Seychelles or at least to a vessel in the shipping lanes. They could signal a ship and ditch nearby, but either way they had to get away from Aqua-Terra.

  THE FURY IN JINN AL-KHALIF’S eyes burned hot enough to melt steel. The distance between his aircraft and Austin’s continued to grow. Austin was escaping, and carrying with him both a woman Jinn desired to have and, more important, the secret of his whereabouts, a secret he needed to maintain.

  “Why are they faster than us?” Jinn demanded to know.

  “He dumped the cargo,” the pilot replied. “They’re six tons lighter than us. Thirty knots faster at least. If you want to catch them, we have to jettison our cargo as well. Otherwise we lose a mile every two minutes.”

  Jinn considered this. He’d suffered a major defeat already. One plane down, another in the hands of an enemy he wanted to see dead. Two cargos gone, there was no telling what percentage of the microbots had survived either impact.

  “Even if we dump the cargo,” the pilot said, “we’ll only be able to match his speed. We’ll never catch him.”

  Jinn had a better idea. He unlatched his seat belt. “Land,” he said. “Immediately.”

  CHAPTER 37

  KURT HELD THE JET ON A COURSE DUE WEST FROM AQUA-Terra. He pulled back on the stick slightly, bringing the aircraft into a shallow climb, nursing every bit of speed he could from it. He was bitter, angry and oblivious to any thought beyond escape and informing the authorities of Jinn’s actions. A stinging sensation in his eyes snapped him out of it.

  “Smoke,” Leilani said.

  Kurt glanced around. The cockpit was filling with it. Banks of new warnings lit up. The plane began to shake, the controls got heavy. Kurt fought it for a while but it felt like the hydraulics were going out.

  Stall. Stall. Stall. The computer voice was talking again, this time a warning instead of advice.

  Kurt leveled off and the stall warning ceased, but the problems did not end there.

  In a moment it seemed like every device in the cockpit was either flashing or beeping or chirping an alarm. Kurt had no idea what any of it meant aside from the obvious.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  He stabbed at the autopilot button and jumped from the seat. In a blink he and Leilani were down the ladder and racing through the cargo hold.

  “Get in the boat!” Kurt yelled, pointing to the rigid inflatable near the tail end of the plane. With the plane shaking, he found a lever for the cargo hatch and threw it over. The ramp began to drop, the wind whistled in and around them. Smoke and kerosene fumes swirled in.

  “Turn around,” he shouted to Leilani. “Feet forward.”

  As Leilani turned, the plane began to shudder like it was encountering heavy turbulence, Kurt guessing the hydraulics were going and the autopilot was struggling to compensate.

  He released the straps that held the boat to the floor and clambered in, landing on top of Leilani and, to his surprise, the guard he’d knocked cold an hour ago.

  “Hold on!” he yelled, wrapping his arms around Leilani and latching onto a handhold in the transom with a death grip that left his knuckles white. With a flick of the wrist, he released the drogue chute.

  A small “leader” chute was sucked out first. It yanked the others from their packs. The boat shot backward and then slammed to a stop a few inches from the edge of the ramp.

  Kurt looked up. A third strap he hadn’t seen led from the nose of the boat to a tie-down in the center of the cargo hold. It was stretched taut like the leash on an angry pit bull and it showed no signs of breaking.

  B
Y THE TIME JINN’S AIRCRAFT touched down on the water, Jinn was already in the cargo bay, hoisting a rocket launcher onto his shoulder and aiming it at the small dot that was Kurt’s aircraft.

  He activated the sight. The system locked onto the heat coming from Austin’s fleeing aircraft. A green light and a high-pitched tone confirmed that the target had been acquired.

  “No!” the pilot warned.

  Jinn pulled the trigger. The missile leapt from its case and shot out over the water. The propellant ignited and a streak of orange fire raced away from them. Jinn watched as the brilliant flare from the tail of the missile closed in on Austin’s fleeing aircraft. He counted the seconds.

  KURT’S PLANE WAS BURNING and coming apart around them. The renegade strap held them in place. A two-thousand-foot drop awaited, but the parachutes that might lower them down safely would be shredded in seconds if he didn’t act.

  He rose up, pulled the pistol from his belt and wedged his foot under the thug who was tied down. Holding tight to one of the boat’s grab handles with his left hand, he fired the gun with his right.

  The bullet pierced the nylon. The belt snapped in two and the boat was yanked backward again as if pulled from the plane by a giant hand.

  For an instant they were in daylight, but the smoke that trailed the plane engulfed them, and then the flash and concussion wave of an explosion shook the sky. A billowing cloud of burning kerosene mushroomed in all directions ahead of them, filling the air with thick black smoke.

  The boat—fortunately, still attached to the chutes—plunged into the smoke, traveling forward and down like an arrow.

  JINN SAW THE MISSILE hit Austin’s aircraft. The initial flare of impact was followed by two other explosions, each bigger than the last. Black clouds of smoke expanded in all directions. Flaming debris arced through it, curving downward like a series of falling comets, drawing smoke trails across the dark morning of the western sky.