Blowback

Twelve minutes later, Turner practically choked on his Mrs. Fields cookie when his flat-screen burst to life with a file containing the names, dates, payments, and details concerning United States president Jack Rutledge and his own personal covert action team.

SEVENTY-TWO

SWITZERLAND

It took over half an hour of climbing for the Super Vivats to reach their specified altitude. Once there, Silo One’s pilot checked his position and then began the process of reconfiguring his craft as a glider. After cooling the engine at reduced power, he brought it to a complete stop, centered the prop, and then retracted it all the way into the nose of the aircraft. He then flipped the fuel shutoff and turned off the engine master switch. Immediately, the craft was enveloped in complete and total silence. Schroeder had never flown in a glider before, but he could now understand why Harvath, and Otto Skorzeny before him, had chosen it as a perfect means for their covert insertion.

Harvath, on the other hand, was already focused on what would happen during the first three minutes after they touched down. With only Schroeder and one other team member to exit the plane with him, they would be naked until reinforcements started landing. Even then, they would total only fourteen shooters against a security force three times that size. On top of that, he’d have to keep one eye on Rayburn, who would remain flexicuffed until just before they touched down, while Claudia kept Jillian safe from any hostile fire. Regardless of Schroeder’s opinion, the odds were definitely not in their favor. The only thing they had going for them was the element of surprise, and Harvath prayed it would be enough.

As they neared their objective, the pilot gave the three-minute warning. Harvath ran through the objective once more in his mind as he checked his weapons and then took a moment to try and steady his breathing and slow his heart rate. The adrenaline had already started pumping through his bloodstream and along with it came the same feeling that always visited him before he went into harm’s way-fear. He had learned early on that anyone who said that he wasn’t scared before such an undertaking was either a liar or a fool. Absence of fear didn’t make you brave; it was what you did in spite of being afraid.

Having conducted all of his final checks, Silo One’s pilot entered the airspace above the small mountain plateau from downwind, lowered the craft’s landing gear, and began his descent. Harvath retrieved the Benchmode knife from his pocket and cut Rayburn’s flexicuffs loose.

The approach was perfect. It wasn’t until they were about ten feet off the ground that they all noticed something that hadn’t shown up in any of Harvath’s reconnaissance photographs. Their landing area was cratered with potholes and littered with rocks the size of basketballs.

Silo One’s pilot tried to pull up, but it was too late. He was already committed to the landing, and there wasn’t enough lift. Like it or not, their aircraft was going in.

SEVENTY-THREE

The first thing to go was the forward left landing gear, which caused the wing to tip all the way over to the left and gouge into the ground. With the left wingtip acting as fulcrum, Harvath expected the entire craft to spin in a violent circle, but instead, the left portion of the wing sheared completely off, and the plane kept racing forward.

Immediately, Silo One’s pilot tried to create a ground loop-a whipping corkscrew maneuver-in the hopes of halting the aircraft. He rapidly rotated the wheel to the right, right up to the stops, while mashing the right rudder with the force of a bat slamming into a base-ball. As that was happening, Rayburn took advantage of the chaos and lunged for Harvath’s silenced H amp;K MP7. Instantly, the cockpit was filled with the weapon’s distinct pop, pop, pop as a three-round burst was discharged in the mêlée. Two of the rounds shattered the Plexiglas canopy above them, while the third creased the back of the pilot’s head.

The pilot stayed at the controls for only a second or two more before collapsing over the aircraft’s yoke. With help from Schroeder, Harvath wrestled the weapon away from Rayburn and with no choice delivered a sharp, open palm strike to the man’s nose. A torrent of blood poured out, and the ex-Secret Service agent roared in pain. His weapon back, Harvath simply ignored him.

One look out the shattered canopy confirmed what he already suspected-the Icarus was picking up speed and they were quickly running out of meadow. Rushing forward to meet them was the edge of the cliff and its drop-off thousands of feet into the valley below. This was a contingency they hadn’t planned on.