Matthew Reilly - Area 7

fluttered and swayed just out of his reach--

Then suddenly a deafening roar filled his ears.

The 747's four wing-mounted jet engines were coming

to life.

Schofield's blood ran cold.

The plane was powering up for take-off, starting its run

down the airstrip. Any second now, it would accelerate considerably

and pull away from the cockroach.

The rope ladder continued to flutter in the raging wind,

a few feet in front of the speeding cockroach. Billowing

clouds of sand flew everywhere.

Schofield turned to the President and yelled: "Okay! I grab the ladder! You grab me!"

"What!"

"You'll understand!"

And with that, Schofield charged across the flat roof of

the cockroach and leapt off its forward edge ...

... and flew through the air, reaching up with his outstretched

arms ...

... and caught the bottom rung of the dangling rope ladder.

He waved for the President to follow. "Now you grab me!"

With a doubtful shake of his head, the President said, "Okay ..."

And he ran forward and jumped--

--just as the silver 747 shot forward, its engines engaging.

The President flew through the short space of air in

front of the speeding cockroach before his body slammed into Schofield's, and he threw his arms around the young

captain's waist, clasping his hips tightly while Schofield

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Matthew Reilly

himself held on grimly to the bottom rung of the rope ladder

with both of his hands!

Mother's cockroach instantly peeled away behind them,

unable to keep up. The two Penetrators also gave up the

chase, wheeling to a halt in midair above the runway.

Hanging from the rope ladder--and traveling at close to a hundred miles an hour, with the wind whipping all around him and the President of the United States hanging from his waist--Schofield watched in horror as one of the Penetrators loosed a missile at Mother's now-unprotected cockroach.

The missile hit the cockroach's tail and detonated hard,

lifting the rear end of the still-speeding towing vehicle a

clear five feet off the ground.

With the missile impact, the cockroach fishtailed

wildly--and shot off the runway, onto the sand, kicking up

an enormous billowing dust cloud--and then it flipped-- and tumbled--and rolled--once, twice, three times--before

it came to a thumping crashing crushing halt, right on its

cockpit, surrounded by falling sand.

And as he hung from the doorway of the accelerating

747, Schofield could only stare at the dust-covered wreck

and pray that Mother had died quickly.

BUT RIGHT NOW HE HAD OTHER THINGS TO DO.

The 747 continued to rush down the runway.

As it did so, the two tiny figures of Schofield and the

President could be seen dangling from its forward left-hand

doorway.

The 747 picked up speed. With the extra weight of the

X-38 on its back, it required an unusually long take-off run.

Wind whipped all around Schofield and the President as

they hung from the rope ladder.

"You go first!" Schofield yelled. "Climb up my body

and then go up the ladder!"

The President did as he was told.

With the runway rushing by beneath them, he first

climbed up Schofield's body, using his combat webbing for

hand- and footholds. Then he stepped off Schofield's shoulders

onto the rope ladder itself and began to climb it.

As soon as the President was on the ladder, Schofield

began to haul himself up, using only his arms.

The ground continued to whip by beneath them as they

ascended the rope ladder, the wind slamming into their

bodies.

And then, all of a sudden, as they reached the doorway

at the top of the ladder, the speeding runway beneath them

just dropped away—dropped dramatically away—and receded

rapidly into obscurity.

Schofield swallowed.

They were now in the air.

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caesar russell's helicopter landed softly on the runway

far beneath the rising 747, twenty yards away from

Mother's crashed cockroach.

Caesar stepped out of the chopper and just gazed up after

the plane.

Kurt Logan walked over to the torpedoed cockroach. It

was a battered, tangled wreck. Mangled steel lay everywhere.

Its driver's compartment was completely flattened, its

windshield and roof struts bent shockingly inward. It looked

like an aluminum can that had been crumpled flat.

And then he saw the body. It lay facedown in the sand in

front of the smashed towing vehicle--twisted and broken.

Only the torso and limbs were visible, the head was not.

Mother's head lay somewhere underneath the cockroach's

lowered front bumper, crushed flat against the ground. Her

left pants leg ended abruptly at the knee--her lower leg

wrenched off by the force of the impact.

Logan returned to Russell's side. Caesar hadn't taken

his eyes off the rising silver plane.

"Echo has the boy," Logan said. "And the Marines have

the President."

"Yes," Caesar said, staring up at the fleeing jumbo.

"Yes. So now, regrettably, we move to the alternate plan.

Which means we head back to Area 7."

the president landed with a heavy thump inside the

open doorway of the 747, absolutely breathless.

Schofield followed a few seconds later, also breathing

hard. He managed to stagger to his knees and pull the door

shut behind him. It sealed with a loud whump!

Both men were lying on the floor, still wearing their

protective goggles, when one of the pilots of the 747--a commando from Echo Unit--came down the stairwell from

the upper deck.

The pilot was wearing a baggy bright-orange flight suit

which Schofield immediately recognized as a pressure suit.

area 7 401

Pressure suits were mandatory on all high-altitude or

low-orbital flights. Although baggy on the outside, they

were actually quite figure-hugging on the inside, with elasticized

cuffs that ran down the wearer's arms and legs. The

cuffs squeezed its wearer's limbs to regulate blood flow

through the body and to stop blood draining from the head.

This man's suit had a metal ring around its neck, to

which could be attached a space-flight helmet, and a plug-in

hose socket on its waist, to which one connected a life

support unit.

"Ah, you made it," the Echo pilot said as he approached

them, obviously not seeing beyond their 7th Squadron outfits

and filthy sand-covered goggles. "Sorry, but we couldn't

wait for you any longer. Cobra made the call. Come on, it's

only Coleman and me left. Everyone else is already up in the

shutt--"

Smack!

Schofield stood quickly and punched him hard in the

face, dropping him with one hit.

"Apology not accepted," Schofield said. Then he turned

to the President. "Wait here."

"Okay," the Chief Executive replied quickly.

The 747 soared into the sky. Inside it, the world was

tilted crazily, at an almost 45-degree angle.

Schofield hurried up the stairs that led to the 747's upper

deck and cockpit. He held his P-90 poised in front of him,

searching for the second pilot, the man named Coleman.

He found him as he was emerging from the cockpit. Another

sharp blow later--this time with the butt of his P-90--

and Coleman was also out cold.

Schofield rushed into the empty cockpit, scanned it

quickly.

He'd been hoping to seize the controls and bring the

plane down ...

No dice.

A screen on the cockpit's display revealed that the plane

was flying on autopilot, and heading for an altitude of