The Paris Option - Страница 71

He lifted off. Abu Auda and his men abandoned pretense and loosed a fusillade of pistol and submachine gunfire. The bullets slashed around the helicopter, hitting the landing gear and ripping through the walls as Jon lay on his belly, hanging onto the seat legs, trying not to slide out the open door.

Randi grabbed the back of his waistband. "I've got you!"

Jon's hands were cold and sweaty, and he felt his fingers loosen. Even Randi would not be able to save him if he lost his grip. To make matters worse, Peter banked the chopper sharply to the right, trying to avoid the gunfire and get out of range. But the angle sent Jon sliding back toward the open door and certain death.

Randi swore and grabbed him under the arm with her other hand. Jon's slide paused. Still, the inexorable pull of gravity and the wind continued. Gunfire trailing, Peter pushed the chopper out over the rivers. Jon could feel his fingers loosening again. His breath was a raw rasp as he frantically tried to tighten his grip.

"We're out of range!" Peter bellowed.

It was none too soon. As Peter began to level the helicopter, Jon's fingers slipped off the chair struts. He grabbed for them, but all he could find was air. Randi fell on top of him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and seized the struts herself. The helicopter's angle had improved enough that she was able to stabilize him. He was vaguely aware of her on top of him, her weight firm, reassuring, the muscled legs tight, and somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that under different circumstances he might enjoy this. And then the moment was gone. Terror returned.

Long seconds passed. Gravity shifted, and the pull was no longer on his feet, but along the length of his body. The helicopter was flying level at last. He remained motionless, stunned.

"Thank God that's over." Randi's voice was a hoarse croak as she clambered up, hopped over him, and slammed shut the door. "I'd rather never do that again."

The helicopter's interior was suddenly quieter. Jon's muscles trembled. Feeling weak, he struggled up and fell into the single rear seat. He looked up and saw Randi's face for the first time since he dove into the helicopter. Color was returning to it. She must have been white with fear.

"Strap yourself in," she ordered. And then she smiled a smile so broad and relieved that it lit up her whole face.

"Thank you." His throat was tight, and his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. "That's pretty inadequate, but I really mean it. Thank you." He quickly locked his seat belt.

"Works fine for me. You're welcome." As she started to turn back toward the front, her gaze caught his. For a long moment, they looked into each other's eyes, and understanding and forgiveness passed between them.

Chapter Thirty-three

Heading northwest toward Paris, the helicopter left Grenoble behind. There was an appreciative silence inside as each privately acknowledged how close they had come to death. Alone in the back, Jon was emerging from his exhausted trance. He let out a deep sigh, releasing his mind and body of the stress and near-misses of the last few days. He unsnapped his belt and leaned forward between Peter and Randi, who sat in the twin pilots' seats.

Randi grinned and patted the top of his head. "Nice doggy."

Jon chuckled. She had an amusing way about her, and right now she seemed the most charming person in the world. There was nothing like friends, and two of his best were right here next to him. She had put earphones on over her watch cap, and her sunglasses moved from side to side as she gazed all around, looking for aircraft that might be following.

Peter wore earphones, too, and was watching his fuel gauge and the directional dials through his dark glasses. The lowering sun was off to their left, a fireball whose slanting rays illuminated the treetops and snowy fields below and ahead. Far ahead they could see the first sweep of the magnificent Rhine Valley, marked with its characteristic patchwork of vineyards.

The old OH-6's cabin was cramped, so with Jon leaning forward, the three of them were a cozy knot. lie raised his voice above the noise of the rotors and announced, "I'm ready to be filled in. How's Marty doing?"

"The lad's not only out of his coma, he's chomping at the bit," Peter reported cheerfully. He described their escape to the plastic surgery clinic where he had hidden Marty since. "He's in good spirits now, once we told him you were, in fact, alive."

Jon smiled. "Too bad he wasn't more helpful about the DNA computer and Chambord."

"Yes," Randi said. "Now you. Tell us what happened at the villa in Algeria. When I heard the automatic fire, I was sure you'd been killed."

"Chambord hadn't been kidnapped at all," he told them. "He was with the Crescent Shield from the beginning. Actually, they'd been with him, or at least that's what he claims. It makes sense, knowing what I know now. He also created the deception that he was a prisoner, for Thérèse's benefit. He had no idea Mauritania had taken her, so he was as surprised to see her as she was to see him."

"Explains a lot," Peter said. "But how in blazes did they get the prototype out before the missile hit?"

"They didn't," Jon told them. "The missile destroyed it for certain. What I don't understand is how Chambord could've built another prototype and had it up and running soon enough to take over our satellites."

"I know," Randi agreed. "It's baffling. But our people say no other computer has the power, speed, or capacity to reprogram the satellites through all their codes, firewalls, and other defenses. In fact, most of our safeguards are still classified and supposedly impossible to discover, much less breach."

Peter checked the time, the distance they had come, and the fuel gauge. He said, "Perhaps you're both right. But why couldn't there be a second prototype?"

Jon and Randi exchanged a glance.

"That's an idea, Peter," Randi said.

Jon said slowly, "One already in existence. One that Chambord either had access to, had set up to be programmed remotely, or had trained someone else to operate on his instructions. Also, one that Mauritania appeared to know nothing about."

"Swell," Randi grumbled. "A second DNA computer. Just what we need."

"It makes a lot of sense, especially when combined with what I haven't brought up yet."

"That sounds ominous," Peter said. "Fill us in, Jon."

Jon stared ahead through the helicopter's windshield at the French countryside, threaded with small rivers and canals and dotted with neat farmhouses. "I told you I learned at the villa that Chambord had been part of the terrorism from the start," he said, "and that he probably-helped plan the attack on us."

"Right. And?" Randi prompted.

"Hours ago, before I finally got away from Abu Auda, it began to make sense that not only did the Crescent Shield use the Basques for cover, Chambord and Bonnard have been using the Shield for cover, too. The Shield has a fairly large and flexible organization with terrorist skills, and it could do what Bonnard and Chambord couldn't do by themselves. But I think the Shield gave them something else as well it's their stalking horse. A group to blame for whatever horror they're really planning. Who better to pin it on than an Islamic extremist group led by a man who was once a top lieutenant of Osama bin Laden? Which, by the way, is maybe why they took Mauritania with them. They could be planning to make them the fall guy."

Randi frowned. "So you're saying the two of them, Chambord and Bonnard, are behind all the electronic attacks on the U.S. But why? What possible motive could a world-renowned scientist and a respected French army officer have?"

Jon shrugged. "My guess is, their goal won't turn out to be dropping a mid-range tactical nuclear missile on Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. That makes political sense for the Crescent Shield, but not for a pair of Frenchmen like Chambord or Bonnard. I figure they're planning something else, most likely against the United States, since they've now taken out our satellites. But I still haven't been able to figure out why.

As the wind rushed past, and the helicopter's rotors beat a steady tattoo, the three friends fell silent.

"And the Shield knows nothing about what Bonnard and Chambord are planning?" Randi asked.

"From listening to all their talk, I'd say the idea that Bonnard and Chambord weren't their dupes never occurred to the Crescent Shield. That's what happens to fanatics, they see nothing but what they want to see."

Peter's hands tightened on the controls. "I expect you're right about the stalking horse. Could get nasty for whoever gets the blame for what they've done so far, never mind whatever Armageddon they're planning. Like what happened after the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were attacked. Our soldier and scientist wouldn't want responsibility for something like Afghanistan to come crashing down on their heads."

"Exactly," Jon acknowledged. "I think Chambord anticipates nations may converge again to hunt down the perpetrators this time, too. So he wants a patsy, someone the world is ready to believe would do it. Mauritania and the Crescent Shield are perfect for that. It's a little-known terrorist group, so who'll believe their denials, especially if it looks as if they've been caught red-handed? And then, too, all the evidence makes it look as if they kidnapped Chambord, which he'll swear to. He lies well enough that he'll be believed. Take it from me."