Games of State o-3

by Tom Clancy

  The Osprey closed the gap, bearing down like a storm, fierce and unstoppable. The LongRanger pushed itself but wasn't able to pull away. In less than two minutes the Osprey was on top of it. The LongRanger tried to move aside, but each time it did the larger aircraft moved with it.

  All the while the hoist crew worked quickly to ready their equipment. When it was finally done, the crew chief radioed the cockpit.

  "Senior Airman Taylor is ready, sir," said the pilot.

  Colonel August pulled on gloves and nodded. "Tell him to open the bay. I'm coming back." The pilot acknowledged the order as August opened the cabin door and crossed the fuselage. Wind tore through the cabin as massive gears churned and the underbelly door opened. The canvas covering the ribs of the fuselage whipped violently on both sides.

  August moved quickly despite the wind. Once a team was primed it was a bad idea to keep them waiting. Waiting was to energy like cold was to heat: it sapped it.

  August arrived as the men were checking the hooks on their parachutes. "We ready to go?" he asked.

  The men answered in the affirmative.

  August had outlined the plan when he had first boarded with Manigot and Boisard. Taylor was going to lower Manigot fifty feet straight down, just beyond the horizontal stabilizer to the crosspiece halfway between the main cabin and the tail assembly. There was enough room behind the main rotor blades to accomplish that. The only real concern they had was a five-to-eight-second period when the airman or the cable above him was directly behind the main rotor. If the LongRanger slowed or angled up or down during that time, Manigot or the cable could be sliced to pieces. If the chopper moved at all, Manigot was to release the cable immediately, parachute down, and the mission would be aborted. Otherwise, once both men were on the tail boom, they would make their way to the landing skid and enter the cabin.

  At least, that's how it was supposed to work. They'd done simulations of chopper-to-chopper transfers. But those helicopters were hovering. Now that he was standing in the open doorway, looking down at their target, he realized that he couldn't risk sending his men from one moving vehicle to another.

  He was about to abort when something happened to the LongRanger.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Friday, 12:51 A.M., Toulouse, France

  Richard Hausen was lying on the floor of the cockpit, rubbing his throat, wondering why Dominique hadn't finished him off. Then he heard the sound of a pursuit aircraft. He felt the vibrations. Someone was on their tail.

  He knew they weren't going to shoot Dominique down, and the only way to stop him was if they boarded the LongRanger.

  Even in his pained state the German didn't know whether or not that could be done with a moving helicopter.

  But he knew it would be easier if the LongRanger weren't moving, if Dominique couldn't evade them.

  Hausen blinked hard to clear his eyes and then sought the automatic hover button on the control panel. Finding it, he threw himself against Dominique, pushed the button, and pulled the Frenchman to the floor of the cabin.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Friday, 12:52 A.M., Toulouse, France

  The Osprey shot over the hovering LongRanger and August ordered the pilot to turn back. The Osprey swung around and hovered directly over the LongRanger.

  August looked down from the open hatch. Both vehicles were steady, though he had no idea how long the LongRanger would remain so. He wondered if Dominique might be trying to draw them out.

  No, he thought. Dominique didn't know whether their intentions were to board or pursue. Moreover, the Frenchman wouldn't be able to see them from the cockpit.

  He would have no idea if he'd succeeded in drawing out any or all of the team. August's gut told him that Dominique wasn't the one responsible for the hovering. It was probably Hausen.

  Manigot, Boisard and Taylor were all looking at the Colonel, waiting for the command.

  There was no gain without risk, and those who feared risk had no business wearing a uniform. The Colonel had a mission and he had the men.

  "Go!" he said.

  Taylor pressed the button on the hoist to lower Manigot quickly. The cable played out at 3.2 feet each second and he was on the stabilizer in fifteen seconds. Once Manigot had hooked himself to the crosspiece, he attached the cable, then signaled with a flashlight. Boisard slid down quickly and cleanly. Once he was secured to the other side of the crosspiece, Manigot unhooked the cable and Taylor withdrew it at once. The weight of the heavy hook at the end worked like a plumb bob to keep the cable from blowing back into the tail rotor.

  August watched in the dim light from the open hatch of the Osprey as Boisard unwound the rope from his belt and slipped it through the steel loops on Manigot's belt. Then Manigot released himself from the crosspiece and started shimmying along the top of the tail boom.

  Suddenly, the LongRanger dove. It wasn't a wild ride, like before: it was a purposeful attempt to get away. It caused Manigot to slide toward the mast of the rotor head.

  Only his quick reflexes stopped him from being tossed into the spinning hub as he grabbed onto the exhaust pipe just aft of the assembly. Boisard held onto the stabilizer, literally dangling forward as the helicopter dove.

  August got on the radio and ordered his pilot to pursue.

  Then he squinted into the dark, watching for the men to jump.

  They didn't. Both men were proud but they weren't reckless: if they could get off they would. They were probably worried about jumping off and landing in the rotors.

  Frustrated by the distance and the blackness and the wind, August held on to the open hatch as the Osprey threw itself after the LongRanger. Finally, the LongRanger steadied again and August turned to Senior Airman Taylor.

  "Lower that thing again!" he yelled. "I'm going down!" Taylor said, "Sir, we have no idea if the chopper will remain stabilized—" "Now!" August barked as he pulled a parachute from the equipment locker and slipped it on. "I'm going to hook 'er to the tail boom. When I get to Boisard, we're going to drag this sucker home." "Sir, we're tested for two thousand pounds, and the chopper is—" "I know. But as long as the helicopter rotor is turning, it won't be deadweight! Tell the pilot to stay with him, no matter what. I'll flash you twice when I've hooked her, then you radio the pilot to turn around!" Taylor saluted, then moved toward the controls with a confidence he clearly didn't feel.

  Like its namesake, the Osprey tore relentlessly through the sky. As it did, the cable unwound and August was lowered at an angle toward the chopper. He torqued around the cable as he descended, twisting around several times before he was able to grab the stabilizer. Crawling to the opposite side from Boisard to keep from unbalancing the aircraft, he hooked himself to the boom and then latched the cable around it as well. It slid back, smacked up against the tail fin with a clang, and held there.

  August had his fish. But he didn't signal the Osprey. He had something else in mind.

  Looking forward, he began shimmying along the boom toward Manigot. The headwind was devastating as he inched ahead. As he neared the cabin, the LongRanger suddenly righted itself and swung off toward the east. The Osprey got a late start keeping up. The cable played out and the LongRanger shuddered violently as the cable grew taut and the hoist held.

  August slid from the top of the tail boom to the side.

  He looked up to make sure that Manigot was okay, and then he looked down. His legs were less than two yards from the skid. They were two dark, windy yards, but the tips of the skid were directly below him. If he released himself, he'd have to pass them on his way down.

  He tucked his arms at his sides and chucked all his rules about planning. This was one of those things like a shot from the key: either you made the basket or you didn't.

  He removed his gloves and let them drop. He undid the metal clasp which held him to the line which girdled the tail boom. He waited for the LongRanger to stabilize again, and then he dropped.

  August reached out at once. Free of the chopper
, he was blown backward. But not so far backward that he couldn't reach the rear strut of the skid. He hooked it with his left arm, quickly reached over with his right, and struggled to pull himself over. The wind was intense and he hung down at a forty-five-degree angle, slapping against the baggage compartment as he fought to haul himself in.

  Now he saw the pilot look back at him. There was someone between the seats of the flight deck, on the floor, struggling to rise. As the pilot turned away, he tried to throw the chopper into another dive. The cable held, both vehicles shook, and then the pilot looked back again. This time, though, he was not looking at August but at the cable.

  Slowly, he began backing the helicopter up. With a flash of terror, August realized what he was trying to do. He was attempting to use the rotor to cut the cable. If he couldn't get away he was going to take everybody down.

  August scrambled feverishly to drag his leg up over the skid. As soon as he was standing, he reached for the cabin door and literally yanked it open. He hurled himself into the passenger compartment. With two strides he was in the open flight deck. Stepping over the semiconscious man on the floor, August cocked his arm into a tight jujitsu chamber, with the elbow waist-high, straight back, and punched the pilot in the side of the head. With piston-like speed, he hit him a second and third time, then pulled the dazed man from the seat.

  Dropping into it, August held the control stick steady while he turned to the man on the floor.

  "Hausen? Get up! I need you to fly this damn thing!" The German was groggy. "I… I tried to steady it for you… twice." "Thanks," August said. "Now c'mon—" Slowly, Hausen began to drag himself into the copilot's seat.

  "A little faster, please!" August shouted. "I have very little idea what I'm doing here!" Wheezing, Hausen flopped into the seat, dragged a sleeve across his bloody eyes, and took the stick.

  "It's okay," the German said. "I… I have it." Bolting from the pilot's seat, the Colonel angrily threw Dominique into the cabin, then went back to the open door.

  He leaned out. Boisard was manfully making his way to Manigot.

  "We're secure in here!" August yelled. "When you have him, undo the cable!" Boisard acknowledged and August ducked back inside.

  "You okay up there?" the Colonel shouted to Hausen.

  "I'll be fine," the German said wearily.

  "Keep it steady until you get the word," August said.

  "Then we'll head back to the factory." Hausen acknowledged. Bending over Dominique, August picked him up, plunked him into a chair in the cabin, and stood in front of him.

  "I don't know what you did," August said, "but I hope it was bad enough so that they put you away forever." Dazed and bleeding, Dominique managed to look up at him and smile. "You can stop me," he said through loose teeth, "but you can't stop us. Hate… hate is more bankable than gold." August smirked. And punched him again. "There's interest on my account," he said.

  As Dominique's head rolled to his right, August went back to the open hatch. His arms shaking from exhaustion, he helped Manigot inside. When Boisard was finished unhooking the cable, August assisted him in as well. Then he closed the door and fell heavily to the floor.

  The sad thing was, the bastard was right. Hate and hate-mongers continued to flourish. He used to fight them.

  Used to be pretty good at it. Still was, he had to admit. And though it took a while for his brain to catch up to his heart, he knew that when he landed he had a call to make.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Friday, 12:53 A.M., Toulouse, France

  The men of the Gendarmerie had secured the factory by the time the Osprey returned. The New Jacobins had been rounded up and handcuffed. They had been separated into groups of two and placed in office cubicles guarded by two men each. Ballon believed that martyrs and heroes were either exhibitionists or wind-up toys. They were less likely to do anything if no one was there to see or provoke them. The quick collapse of the New Jacobins reinforced something else which Ballon also believed. That they were cowardly pack animals with no stomach to fight when left on their own or faced with equal or superior numbers.

  Whatever the truth of the matter, there was no further resistance as local police vans were summoned to cart the captives away. Ambulances were also called, though Ballon insisted on being treated at the site and remaining there until the Osprey and LongRanger had returned. Along with the others, he'd watched the distant struggle. Until the Osprey pilot radioed that Dominique had been taken, no one knew what the outcome had been.

  When the Osprey landed, followed by the LongRanger, Colonel August personally took charge of Dominique. They exited side by side, August holding Dominique in a forearm lock. The Frenchman's forearm was facing up, resting on August's. His elbow was tucked into August's armpit and his hand was turned up and back toward his body. If he tried to escape, August would simply bend the hand toward his body, causing excruciating pain in the wrist.

  Dominique didn't try to escape. He could barely walk.

  August immediately turned him over to the Gendarmerie. He was placed in a van with Ballon and four of his men.

  "Tell Herr Hausen he can have the headlines," Ballon told August before they drove away. "Tell him I will write them myself!" August assured him that he would.

  The Osprey pilot had called ahead for the NATO medics.

  Though the cuts and bruises Boisard and especially Manigot had suffered were mostly superficial, there were a lot of them. And Manigot had fractured two ribs.

  Hausen was in the worst shape. In an effort to remain conscious and focus his energy during the flight back, he had talked to August. He said that Dominique had tried at first to strangle him. And each time Hausen had rallied and tried to wrest control of the helicopter, Dominique had kicked or beaten him again. As soon as the helicopter landed, Hausen slumped over the control stick.

  Hood entered the LongRanger so he could be with the Deputy Foreign Minister until he was evacuated. Hood sat in the pilot's seat beside the German as they waited for the NATO medic to finish with the assault casualties.

  Hood called his name. Hausen looked over and smiled faintly.

  "We got him," he said.

  "You got him," Hood replied.

  "I was willing to die if I could take him with me," Hausen said. "I… didn't care about anything else. I'm sorry." "No need to apologize," Hood said. "It all worked out." The American got up and stepped aside as a medic and her assistant arrived. She examined the wounds on Hausen's neck, temple, scalp, and lower face to make sure there was no need for hemorrhage control. Then she checked his eyes and heart rate and made a cursory spinal examination.

  "Mild neurogenic shock," she said to her assistant.

  "Let's get him out of here." A stretcher was brought over and Hausen was carried from the LongRanger. Hood walked out behind them.

  "Paul!" Hausen shouted as he was lifted down the steps.

  Hood said, "I'm here." "Paul," Hausen said, "this is not finished. Do you understand?" "I know. We'll get that regional center going. Take the initiative. Now don't talk." "In Washington," Hausen said as he was placed in the ambulance. He smiled weakly. "Next time we meet in Washington. Quieter." Hood smiled back at him and squeezed his hand before they shut the door.

  "Maybe we ought to invite him to a budget hearing," Matt Stoll said from behind him. "This'll seem like a day at the beach." Hood turned. He squeezed his associate's shoulder.

  "You were a real hero tonight, Matt. Thanks." "Aw, it was nothing, Chief. It's amazing what you can do when your ass is in danger and you've got no choice." "Not true," Hood said. "A lot of people panic under fire.

  You didn't." "Bull," Stoll said. "I just didn't show it. But I think you've got other unfinished business. So I'm just going to tiptoe away and have a nervous breakdown." Stoll left. Nancy was standing directly behind him, in the shadows.

  Hood stared at her for a moment before he walked over. He wanted to say that she'd performed like a hero too, but he didn't. She'd never warmed
to slap-on-the-back compliments, and he knew that that was not what she wanted to hear from him.

  He took her hands in his. "I think this is the latest we've ever been out." She laughed once. Tears rolled from her eyes. "We were old fogies back then. Dinner, reading in bed, ten o'clock news, early movies on weekends." Hood was suddenly aware of the weight of his wallet inside his jacket and of the two ticket stubs inside it. She wasn't. She was staring into his eyes with love and longing.

  She did not intend to make this easy.

  He rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs, then moved his hands to her shoulders. He kissed her on the cheek. The warm salt of her tears made him want to move closer, hold her, kiss her ear.

  He stepped back.

  "There are going to be inquiries, a lot of commissions and court dates. I would like to get you an attorney." "Okay. Thanks." "I'm sure someone will pick up Demain's assets when this is all cleared up. My staff has muscle in all kinds of places. I'll make sure you're involved. Until then, Matt will find things for you to do." "My savior," she said dryly.

  Hood grew annoyed. "This isn't fun for me either, Nancy. But I can't give you what you want." "Can't you?" "Not without taking from someone else, someone I love. I've spent most of my adult life growing up with Sharon. We're intertwined in ways that are very special to me." "Is that all you want?" she asked. "A relationship that's special? You should be delirious. We were. Even when we fought we had passion." "Yes," Hood said, "but that's over. Sharon and I are happy together. There's a lot to be said for stability, knowing that someone will be there—" "For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health," Nancy said bitterly.

  "That," Hood said, "or even just showing up at the movies." Nancy's mouth turned down. She blinked several times without looking away. "Ouch," she said. "Direct hit." Hood was sorry to have hurt her, but at least he'd found the strength to say what needed to be said. It felt bad but it felt right.