Under Fire
Page 42

“Hey, did you ever see that movie where a special-ops guy is lowered from one airplane to another to save the president?”
Rocha stared at the winch and shook his head. “Yeah, and I thought it was bullshit Hollywood glitz. Besides, that was a different kind of plane than this. I don’t think that would have a chance of working unless the back ramp was down. You can’t just open the doors from the outside, and the props are way too close anyway.”
“Valid points”—which was why he had a team, to think through all angles—“but if the ramp is still down… If Sullivan didn’t close it after takeoff because he’s a fighter pilot, unfamiliar with the cargo plane… If we flew at just the right altitude above him so he can’t get a visual on us…”
Cuervo asked, “What makes you think that he just won’t crash the plane once the PJ boards?”
That part was easy. He’d had a wealth of training on getting inside a person’s head after all his time in therapy. And from the start, he’d had the general’s number—an intense narcissist. Once he was face-to-face with the guy, he knew just how to play the bastard. “I don’t believe that anything is more important to General Sullivan than General Sullivan. He won’t risk a crash landing. If he was on a suicide mission, he would have shot himself back in his office.”
Decision made, Liam charged up the deck to the communications sergeant. “Get me a patch to NORTHCOM. I need to get clearance for a change of plans.”
Chapter 19
For the millionth time, Rachel looked around the cockpit and toward the back of the plane for a way out. Although that seemed an unlikely occurrence.
Even if she knocked the general unconscious, grabbed his gun, or clawed his face until he bled to death, she was stuck in an airplane she couldn’t land. The back ramp was still open, but it was a long, long way down into the darkening sky. Panic had shifted into a dull numbness.
Bump. The cargo plane bounced, then settled.
Hell, the general could barely even fly this aircraft. Every few minutes he pulled his attention from the early-night sky to the instrument panel. The plane would lurch, drawing him back to the yoke. The general would curse the airplane again.
Bump.
Right on time.
“This airplane blows,” he shouted over the roar of wind through the back. “I don’t think they rigged it right.”
Sullivan looked down again, searching for something. The airplane jolted.
Bump.
He gripped the yoke tighter. “Autopilot? How’s the damn autopilot work?”
Like she would actually answer? Shivering, Rachel turned her head and looked out the window at the dim shadow of a fighter jet that had been trailing them just off the wing for the last thirty minutes. It stayed on her side of the plane, where the general couldn’t see. She wasn’t ready to surrender. She was willing to fight. But she feared the decision might be out of her hands.
How much longer until the fighter shot them down? The jet was there to shoot them down. She accepted that and wondered why Sullivan hadn’t considered it. Granted, he didn’t seem to be thinking all that clearly.
Bump. “Fuck!”
Hysterical laughter bubbled inside her. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but she couldn’t hold it back. It just flowed and flowed out of her until tears ran down her face, blurring the stars winking to life outside the windscreen. Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight… She gasped for air. Okay, she was on her way to a major panic attack.
But what did that matter? She was about to die anyway. All her great intentions to fight her way out of this were just that. Intentions. She needed something with a lot more firepower.
It wasn’t as though Liam would come swooping in to save her. She couldn’t even leave him a message about how much she loved him and how deeply sorry she was for fighting with him earlier. How she wished she could go back and treasure up every minute they’d had together. How she wished she hadn’t wasted the past six months they could have spent together. He wouldn’t know any of that even if she could write it down, since paper and the rest of this plane would be at the bottom of the ocean very shortly.
Bump.
She considered just jumping out of her seat and making a mad dash toward the back after all. Maybe she could grab a parachute. She knew how to jump from a plane. Well, not with a parachute, but she’d been lowered on a cable with her dog countless times on search and rescue missions.
God, she’d had an amazing life, but she could have had more. She wanted more. The waste, the futility, clanked inside her again and again until the sound became an almost tangible part of the roaring wind.
Was her subconscious trying to tell her to go for the parachute anyway? Even if she wasn’t sure she could put it on right? If the general couldn’t find autopilot, he couldn’t chase her down in back. He might try to shoot her, but at least she would go down fighting.
Maybe he planned to parachute out before they shot him down? If there was any justice in the world, he would suck at parachuting as much as he sucked at flying planes.
And if he planned that escape route, she needed to beat him to the punch before she was left in a plane she most definitely couldn’t fly. She glanced over her shoulder to assess the possibility of—
In the gaping back hatch of the cargo plane, another plane flew higher and just behind. Not a fighter jet, either. It was larger, much like the one she was in, so she didn’t think a final shot was pointed their way. Images shifted in the shadowy haze between day and night. The other plane coasted so close, she couldn’t fathom how the pilot maneuvered. Or why. She squinted at something off kilter, something strange about the whole vision.
Oh my God. She jerked back reflexively.
A man dangled from a cable harnessed to his body. She inched to look again, careful not to draw attention from the swearing general. The cable swung closer to the back ramp. The helmeted man came closer.
Toward the open back ramp.
A man was—no kidding—being lowered into the plane. And not just any man. Somehow she knew it could only be Liam.
Bump.
The ramp slammed into Liam and sent him spinning away into the evening sky. She bit back a scream of horror. Heaven forbid that Sullivan figure out what was happening and jerk the plane around even more.
Then impossibly, incredibly, Liam swung closer again, arms extended, reaching for a cable that supported the ramp. He missed, swinging out to the side.
But he hooked his leg.
Then a hand.
And suddenly he was standing on the metal ramp. He released the cable attached to his vest, sending the line snapping away into the night.
A movement from the general yanked her attention forward. The last thing she needed was him noticing anything in back. Not now. Not when Liam had pulled off this unbelievable Hail Mary pass beyond even Chuck Norris legend.
Liam McCabe was an original and he was hers, by God.
Sullivan leveled his gun at her again. “Don’t even think about running for a parachute. I’ll shoot your kneecap before you can clear the cockpit. Just because you’re my hostage doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you, maim you, torture you. Are you with me on that?”
“Right… Of course…” Rachel faced front, working to keep his attention forward, to give Liam as much of an edge as possible, although right now it seemed as if he was capable of anything. Still, she would have his back any way she could. “I shouldn’t have even considered a parachute. I’m so sorry. The last thing I want to do is distract you from flying.”
“Be more careful from now on.” The general smacked her with the muzzle of his gun.
Pain exploded through her head. Sullivan arced his hand to hit her again. She fought the urge to cower, not to mention the urge to puke.
Liam launched into the cockpit.
Sullivan jerked with surprise, lurching the airplane sideways. Rachel slapped her hands against the window, bracing herself. Liam stood sure-footed and grabbed Sullivan’s gun.
He jammed the man’s own weapon right against the general’s temple. “That’s enough. Now fly the airplane. Just fly the plane. Nothing else. Rachel,” he said without looking away from the stunned general, “are you all right?”
Liam may not have glanced her way, but she heard the tense fear, the concern, and yes, even the love in his voice.
“I’m fine. Do what you need to do. I’m okay”—seeing stars and stifling the urge to vomit, but she was alive. Thank God, she was alive because Liam had pulled off the unimaginable.
The general put his hands on the yoke and leveled the airplane. “I could just kill us all. All I need to do is drive this plane straight down into the ocean.”
“Yes, General, you could try that,” Liam said with an unshakable calm she’d seen before, in the Bahamas, when he ran missions. “But I’ll shoot you before you descend even a hundred feet. And while I might do a crappy job flying a plane, I’m willing to give that a try rather than risk a guaranteed crash.”
Rachel watched the general’s eyes dart nervously. Sweat beaded his upper lip while Liam stood steady, a man in charge, a true leader.
“Okay then,” Sullivan said quickly. “You two can take parachutes and jump into the ocean. Your PJ buddies can rescue you out of the ocean. That’s what you guys do, right?”
“We could. And thanks for the generous offer,” Liam said with icy sarcasm, “but I don’t think you’ll want us to do that. See, there’s an F-16 that’s been following you for quite a while now. If we’re gone, you’ll be shot down minutes later.”
The general tensed like a cornered rabbit.
Liam leaned closer. “That would be a damn shame too, because I can tell you—inside scoop?—they want you alive, if possible.”
They did? Although on second thought, of course they did. The military would want to interrogate him, find out how deep his espionage went. And listening to Liam manipulate the general with words as skillfully as he wielded any weapon, Rachel was humbled. A little awed.
And a lot grateful to have him on her side.
“General, being shot down or crashing isn’t any way for a hero like you to go out. Your life and career will be defined by people who aren’t fans of yours. You will never get a chance to have others understand your motives for doing what you did. History is written by the victors, and it’s rare to find a victor at the bottom of the ocean.”
“I’ll get to explain,” Sullivan echoed as if grasping a lifeline. His chest puffed with a sick, twisted bravado.
“Yes, sir,” Liam answered, giving the superior officer a subtle ego stroke with the sir. “You can be certain there are plenty of people on the ground eager to talk to you.”
General Sullivan’s throat moved with a long swallow before he keyed up the radio, calling in to the tower with his landing plan as if this were any normal flight. The egomaniac. Liam had played him perfectly.
The plane banked left, turning toward home in his smoothest move since they’d started this nightmare flight. Liam’s hand cupped Rachel’s shoulder. He never took his eyes or the gun off Sullivan. But his warm steady grip on her shoulder never left her. She covered his hand with hers and squeezed tight in a connection that went deeper than just comfort. Liam held on to her.
And she knew now, he always would.
***
Catriona begged, pleaded, and finally bullied her way in to see Brandon.
After an hour of searching, she’d learned he’d been sent to a larger medical facility off base. Then she’d paced for more torturous hours in the waiting area before being told he’d come out of surgery, but only family was allowed in to see him.
Once upon a time, she would have backed quietly into the shadows. But not any longer. She wasn’t blood related, but the only way hospital staff could keep her from him was to call in security, phone the cops.