Matthew Reilly - Area 7

his Super Stallion down the western canyonway, heading for

the narrow slot canyon into which the rogue bipod had disappeared.

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Matthew Reilly

"What the hell did you do back there?" Book II asked.

"Huh?"

"I didn't know you could shoot down a missile with

tracer bullets."

"Only Sidewinders," Schofield said. "Sidewinders are

heat-seekers--they use an infrared system to lock in on their

targets. But to accomplish that, the forward seeker dome on

the missile has to allow infrared radiation to pass through it.

That means using a material other than plate steel. The

seeker dome of a Sidewinder is actually made of a very fragile

transparent plastic. It's a weak point on the missile."

"You shot it at its weak point?"

"I did."

"Pretty risky strategy."

"I saw it coming. Not many people get to see a

Sidewinder from head-on. It was worth taking the chance."

"Are you always this risky?" Book II asked evenly.

Schofield turned at the question.

He paused before answering, appraised the young sergeant

beside him.

"I try not to be," he said. "But sometimes ... it's unavoidable."

They came to the narrow slot canyon into which the

South African bipod had fled.

The little canyon was cloaked in shadow, and it was a

lot narrower than Schofield thought it would be. His Super

Stallion's whizzing rotor blades only just fitted between its

high rock walls.

The giant helicopter roared along the narrow canyon,

moving through the shadows, before abruptly it burst out

into brilliant sunshine, out into a wide craterlike lake

bounded by three-hundred-foot-high vertical rock walls and

with a small mesa at its northern end.

As with the other crater, the sandstorm up above the

canyon system invaded this open stretch of water. The wind-hurled sand fell like rain, in slanting wavelike sheets. It assaulted

Schofield's windshield, drummed against it.

area 7

"You see anything?" Schofield yelled.

"Over there!" Book II pointed off to their left, at the vertical outer wall of the crater opposite the mesa, at a point where a particularly wide canyon branched westward, away

from the circular mini-lake.

There, Schofield saw a tiny rivercraft sitting on the water's surface, bucking with the medium-sized waves generated by the sandstorm.

It was the rogue South African bipod.

And it was alone.

schofield's super stallion zoomed over the water filled desert crater, flying low and fast, its rotors thumping.

Schofield stared at the bipod as they came closer.

It appeared to be stationary, as if it were lying at anchor

about twenty yards out from where the sheer rock wall of the

crater plunged down into the water.

Schofield swung the Super Stallion to a halt thirty yards

away from the bipod, kept it in a hovering pattern ten feet

above the choppy surface of the water. Wind-hurled sand pelted the windshield.

He looked at the bipod more closely--a rope of some sort stretched down into the water beneath it.

The bipod was at anchor ...

And then suddenly he saw movement.

On the bipod.

Through the veil of flying sand, he saw a pudgy-looking, bald-headed man in shirtsleeves get to his feet inside the left-hand pod, the driver's pod.

Gunther Botha.

Botha had been bent over in his pod, doing something when Schofield's chopper had arrived under the cover of the roaring sandstorm.

In the right-hand section of the bipod, however,

Schofield saw someone else.

It was the tiny figure of Kevin, looking very small and

out of place in the fearsomely equipped gunner's pod.

266 Matthew Reilly

Schofield felt relief wash over his body.

They'd found him.

schofield's voice boomed out from the exterior speakers of the Super Stallion: "Dr. Gunther Botha, we are United States Marines! You are now under arrest! Hand over the boy, and give yourself up now!"

Botha didn't seem to care. He just hurriedly tossed

something square and metallic over the side of his bipod. It

splashed into the water and sank, disappearing.

What the hell is he doing? Schofield thought.

Inside the Super Stallion's cockpit, he turned to Book.

"Open the loading ramp. Then bring us around, rear-end

first."

The Super Stallion turned laterally, rotating in midair as

its rear loading ramp folded down, opening.

The giant chopper's rear end came round toward the stationary

bipod, hovering ten feet above the water. Schofield

stood on the now-open loading ramp, his Desert Eagle pistol

in his hand, a hand mike in the other, windblown sand flying

wildly all around him.

He raised the microphone to his lips.

"The boy, Botha," his amplified voice boomed.

Still Botha didn't seem to care.

Kevin, however, turned in his seat and saw Schofield,

standing in the hold of the Super Stallion. A broad smile appeared

across the little boy's face. He waved--a child's

wave, his arm swatting rapidly from side to side.

Schofield waved back briefly.

At the moment, he was more concerned with what

Botha was up to, for now he could see the fat South African

virologist much more clearly.

Botha had a scuba tank strapped to his back, over his

white shirtsleeves. He hurriedly threw a full-face diving

mask to Kevin and gesticulated for the little boy to put it on.

Schofield frowned. Scuba gear?

Whatever Botha was doing, it was time to stop him.

area 7

Schofield raised his gun and was about to fire across

Botha's bow to get his attention, when suddenly there came

a loud whumping noise from somewhere close above him and completely without warning, he saw the tail rotor of his Super Stallion blast out into a million pieces and separate completely from the rest of the chopper!

Like a tree branch snapping, the Super Stallion's tail

boom broke free of the chopper's main body and dropped

down into the water, causing the entire helicopter to spin

wildly and veer away from the bipod.

With its tail rotor gone, the Super Stallion spun out of

control--and wheeled down toward the water's surface below.

Book II wrestled with the chopper's control stick, but

the Super Stallion was beyond salvation. It rolled sharply in

the air, heading nose-first for the water.

In the rear cargo bay, Schofield was hurled against the

side wall, somehow managed to get a grip on a canvas seat there.

The Super Stallion hit the lake.

Water flew everywhere, a gigantic Whitewater splash.

The big helicopter's nose drove down into the water,

going under for a full ten seconds before its buoyancy

righted it again, and the massive chopper bobbed slowly on

the surface.

Book II hit the kill switch and the chopper's engines

died instantly. Its rotor blades began to slow.

Water rushed into the cargo hold.

It didn't come in through the open rear loading ramp

just yet--since the ramp was designed to rest just above the

water's surface in the event of a water landing--but rather it

entered the crashed helicopter via the small access hatch that

Schofield and Book II had used to enter it earlier.

A Super Stallion is built to stay afloat for a short while

in a water crash, but since Schofield and Book had discarded

the chopper's floor access hatch when they'd entered it, this

Super Stallion wasn't even going to do that.

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Matthew Reilly

It was sinking. Fast.

Schofield ran into the cockpit. "What the hell was that?

Something hit us!"

"I know," Book II said. He nodded out through the