Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

She cursed. ‘What do you do? Mainline Viagra?’

‘Not hardly. I just like women,’ Lourds said. ‘However, I do wish that particular response of mine was a little more selective. I’d prefer someone less lethal and more sane.’

‘If I hadn’t kidnapped you, you would be dead by now.’

‘As opposed to dead later?’

Her face hardened. ‘Not my problem. You’re just a job to me, Professor. I’m getting paid to deliver you, that’s all.’

At that moment, a gunner aboard the helicopter opened fire. Large-calibre bullets ripped the other kidnapper to bloody rags and his body dropped to the ground.

Kristine cursed, released Lourds and shoved him towards the other end of the alley. ‘Run!’

Lourds did, holding his arms up over his head as though they might somehow protect him from bullets. He knew it was a wasted effort but he couldn’t seem to pull them down. The large-calibre rounds ripped holes in the walls and flagstones. Before he’d gone half a dozen strides, a sedan pulled into the mouth of the alley and sped toward him.

Rescuers? he wondered. Or more killers?

He really didn’t know.

Central Intelligence Agency

Langley, Virginia

United States of America

15 March 2010

Anxiety shivered through Dawson as he watched the video from the web camera on the helicopter’s nose. Since the camera only showed what was in front of the aircraft, he didn’t know what targets the men aboard the helicopter were shooting at. Gunfire rattled in professional bursts.

‘Isn’t there another camera in the helicopter?’ Dawson asked irritably.

‘I’m trying to bring it online now, sir,’ one of the technicians said.

The video coming from the helicopter’s nose swung wildly and almost made Dawson sick to his stomach. He crossed his arms, stood still, and forced himself to breathe to keep the vertigo at bay.

The wallscreen split into two different views. The left side continued to show the whirling landscape of rooftops presented by the helicopter cam. The right side of the screen showed local police units driving through streets crowded with onlookers reluctant to give way.

‘Where’s this feed coming from?’ Dawson asked.

‘WNN News, sir,’ technician answered. ‘The World News Network had a live broadcast in the area. They were covering Brad and Angelina’s-’

‘Who’s the reporter on the ground there?’

‘Her name is Davina Wilson.’

A small inset appeared on the wallscreen and showed a publicity headshot of a pretty African-American woman in her early twenties.

‘Find out everything you can about Davina Wilson,’ Dawson ordered.

In the street, police officers ran to the wrecked SUV with weapons drawn. Dawson thought they looked well trained and professional. Several onlookers started shouting and pointing into the alley as if the police officers couldn’t see the helicopter hanging overhead for themselves. A group of officers split off and sprinted for the alley.

Dawson cursed. If the gun-happy shooters aboard the helicopter didn’t kill Lourds, the local police might. At the very least, they would arrest him.

That wouldn’t make the vice-president happy.

‘Get me that pilot,’ Dawson said.

‘Yes, sir.’

Out of habit, Dawson shot his cuffs and adjusted his jacket. Sartorial elegance was his preference, the armour he wore among politicians. It also impressed the little people. The fact that the pilot would never see him didn’t matter. If Dawson was going to talk to the man, he was going to know that he looked his best.

Another inset image, this one of the pilot, a man in his late thirties, showed up on the wallscreen. Close-cropped blonde hair stood out against his dark skin. His eyes were too close together and a long knife scar marred his left cheek.

‘What’s this man’s name?’ Dawson asked.

‘Metternich, sir. Johan Metternich. He’s a South African mercenary currently in Istanbul while assigned to a pharmaceutical corporation smuggling blood diamonds out of his native country.’

‘We’ve used him before?’

‘Yes, sir. Three times on other operations. The Brits and Chinese have used him as well. He’s been a solid asset. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t cause problems and hasn’t failed yet.’

He’s also still alive. Dawson knew that was more telling than anything else in the mercenary’s resumé.

‘Okay, patch me through to him.’

Almost immediately, the up close and personal hammering of the helicopter’s main rotor filled Dawson’s hearing. The bull-roar of the fully automatic weapon punctuated Dawson’s presence aboard the helicopter.

‘You’re risking our package.’ Dawson kept his voice calm.

‘Who is this?’ the South African asked.

‘I’m the man who cuts your cheques. If our package gets damaged in any way,’ Dawson threatened, ‘not only will you not get paid, but I’ll also put a bounty on your head. Do we understand each other?’

Metternich growled curses. ‘We’re not going to hurt your package. He’s still alive and breathing.’

The helicopter swung round so the nose cam pointed down into the alley. Lourds and the woman ran to the other end where a sedan glided to a quick stop.

Dawson covered the microphone with a hand and looked at the technicians. ‘Who’s in that car?’

‘Checking, sir.’

Another window opened up on the wallscreen, then zoomed in on the vehicle registration plate at the back of the sedan.

‘It’s registered in Istanbul.’

‘Then find out who it’s registered to.’ Dawson cursed vehemently and turned his attention back to the action.

‘Who’s in the car?’ Metternich demanded.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Dawson said. ‘They’re in our way. I want our package.’

‘If they’re not part of the package, that makes it easier.’ Metternich raised his voice. ‘Take out the car.’

On screen, Lourds halted as men boiled from the back of the sedan.

Machine-gun fire opened up again as the helicopter canted to the right. The heavy-calibre rounds strafed the wall beside the sedan. Two of the men from the ground vehicle raised machine pistols and opened fire.

‘I’ve got access to the second camera now, sir.’

‘On screen.’ Dawson shifted his attention to the new image.

The second camera, placed in the helicopter’s cargo area, offered a view forward. Metternich occupied the pilot’s seat. Two gunmen crowded the cargo door with heavy-calibre machineguns; they were firing.

Dawson took a deep breath and let it out. He told himself that the op was going to play out just fine. But they hadn’t run one this hot in years. Whoever Lourds was, whatever he represented to the vice-president, he’d better be worth the risk they were all taking.

Bullets from the men beside the sedan crashed through the helicopter’s Plexiglas shield. Metternich cursed ferociously and struggled to bring it under control. The aircraft swung out over the rooftops and the alley was obscured.

‘Get on the skids,’ Metternich ordered. ‘We’ll strafe them on a straight run.’

The two gunmen moved out to either side of the cargo area and clambered out onto the skids. They hunkered down into position as Metternich piloted the helicopter round to approach the sedan once more.

‘I want that package,’ Dawson growled. ‘Unharmed.’

‘We’re going to get it for you,’ Metternich said. ‘Just shut up and let us do our job.’

Dawson covered the microphone and made a mental note that Metternich was going to get a bullet instead of payment for this one. His insolence, never mind his proximity to the vice-president’s pet project, rendered him expendable. Dawson took satisfaction in that.