Page 69 of Air Force One
Holly wrestled the microphone from her and handed it back to him. He glanced back to make sure that Inessa wasn’t going to try to grab the controls or something truly dangerous. Instead, she offered him a brief smile and a pat on the shoulder before Holly shooed her back into the cabin.
“Could have warned me.” Mike’s heart rate would be a while coming down from that.
“Where’s the fun in that?” And she too headed aft.
Women. They were absolutely going to be the death of him. Which, this time, just might be true.
The air traffic controller was shouting for more information, which he ignored.
Mike checked the autopilot one last time. The big plane was following his laid-in course just fine on one engine. Holly had added a small additional item to the electronics that would massively over-volt the autopilot during the crash. Any local memory would be permanently lost as well.
To all appearances, the plane had been sabotaged and that had caused the upcoming crash with no slight against the manufacturer. Allowing that would have made Miranda very upset. And it was true, the plane had been sabotaged as they’d been the ones to do it.
Sabotaged!
Right!
Mike popped his safety harness and raced for the back of the plane.
They were waiting for him. Inessa stood by the couch. Her face spoke of terror, but her actions of calm. Mike shrugged on the parachute harness that Holly held out for him. In seconds, he was in and they’d both checked everything twice.
Then he stepped up behind Inessa. He’d never been trained in tandem jumping, especially not as the lead, but now was apparently the time to learn. He and Holly clipped and locked the four large D-rings that connected the front of his harness to the back of Inessa’s. Her small knapsack was sandwiched between them.
She’d already pulled a balaclava down to protect her face from the bitter winds and Holly slid a pair of goggles over that.
He pulled down his own balaclava and goggles, then they stepped up to the hole in the side of the plane. They’d raised the cargo net to keep her suitcases in place on the side opposite the gap. Dresses and coats still flapped in the wardrobe area. Yet more proof that she’d been here as if the radio call wasn’t sufficient.
“Ready?” He had to shout to be heard over the roar of noise coming in through the gap where the engine and the other side of the luggage compartment used to be.
She shook her head no. He couldn’t tell through all her gear if there was a humorous shrug in there or not.
“Excellent! Three, Two—” he stepped out of the plane on One rather than giving her a chance to brace back against him in case she really meant no.
Mount Elbrus towered to the northwest of them. Eighteen thousand feet of snow and ice shone deeply orange in the last of the day’s light. Like a mighty beacon of sunset fire.
He steered them southeast. It was a rugged no-man's-land between the back of the mighty mountain and the border of Georgia. They’d jumped at fifteen thousand feet where the air would still provide enough oxygen for clear thinking.
At twelve thousand, he released the big tandem parachute, which opened with a clean hard snap and elicited a squeak of surprise from Inessa. Max from The Bunker had scrounged these up from his old Spec Ops buddies. The coloring of the chute and their outermost coveralls would make them nearly invisible in the sunset light.
He aimed for the Georgia border. They wouldn’t get that far, but they’d get close. Then he’d call in Tad and his Russian helicopter for an extraction.
Mike wasted a little distance to turn the parachute enough to see behind him, but there was no sign of Holly or the jet. Not that he’d expected to be able to see them. But still?—
66
With Mike safely away, Holly felt she could breathe again. Sort of. The air at fifteen thousand feet was thin and bitterly cold, fifty Fahrenheit below zero. Time to get out.
Besides, she had to jump precisely twenty seconds after Mike did for this to work.
She double-checked her attachment points to the drugged pilot, still counting time in her head, and waddled him to the hole she’d blown in the side of the plane. When her brain ticked nineteen, she stepped forward.
And fell backward.
The pilot wasn’t conscious—at least not fully, she hoped—but he managed to get a foot up against the side of the hull.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-two.
