quickly replied. “You guys ready to go home?”
“More than ready,” came the answer from Hunter’s walkie-talkie. “Bring that wagon down here.”
“On my way.”
Then, with the speed of a runaway elevator, JT put the Osprey into a gut-wrenching descent. The four Rangers manning the airplane’s gun stations nearly hit the roof, so acute was the aircraft’s “vertical translation.”
By this time the first wave of New Order troops had nearly reached the top of the building’s stairway. Clustered together and pressed hard up against the building, these soldiers were in a furious gunfight with a handful of Rangers just a few feet away. To make matters worse, one of the tanks in the parking lot—its muzzle close to ideal elevation—was now ricocheting cannon shots off the very edge of the roof.
A near-to-the-mark tank shell blasted away the corner of the roofs concrete railing just as the Osprey touched down. The powerful grinding sound of the VTOL’s engines and the hurricane-force winds its huge propellers caused added to the already chaotic mixture of rifle shots and heavy weapons fire.
Humdingo, who had been carrying the traitor over his shoulder the whole time, now unceremoniously dumped the man into the open passage of the aircraft and climbed aboard himself. At the same moment, Hunter was running around the roof pulling the small knots of Rangers back from their positions to urge them toward the aircraft.
Half of the 20 Rangers were inside the Osprey when the enemy soldiers finally broke through and gained access to the roof. On Hunter’s yell, the remaining Rangers flattened out, and the side gunners on the aircraft opened up on the New Order hirelings with their big twin-fifty machine guns.
Momentarily stunned, the enemy fell back long enough for the rest of the white-robed Rangers to scramble aboard the airplane.
As usual, Hunter was the last one to climb aboard.
“Go! Go! Go!” he was screaming even before he was halfway through the cabin door. Hearing his command, JT immediately gunned the big engines and the Osprey shot up at a speed as nauseating as its earlier rapid descent.
Straight up it climbed, up into the heavens, until the enemy troops on the roof and on the ground below could see it no longer.
Chapter 3
Two weeks later
“H AVE YOU EVER BEEN hypnotized before, Major Hunter?”
Hunter shifted around uneasily in his chair. It was a rare occasion when he felt he actually needed a drink.
But this was one of them.
“Major? Did you hear the question?”
Hunter quickly looked around the bare room and then up into the face of the attractive woman sitting next to him.
“No, I’ve never been hypnotized before,” he said finally. “At least, not that I can remember.”
The woman laughed. She was about forty and was a doctor—of psychology, yet. This made him uneasy.
His eyes darted around the room once again. It was dark, with only two lamps and they were being serviced by dim bulbs. On the large wooden table next to his chair there was a bank of tape recorders, one of which was already turning. Along with the doctor’s chair and his own, there was nothing else in the room.
The place gave him the creeps. Located deep within the bowels of the old CIA headquarters near Washington DC; it looked like an old “rubber hose” interrogation room from a 1930s cops and robbers movie.
“Is this really necessary?” Hunter asked, not the first time.
The traitor had been in their custody for fourteen days now, ten of which had been devoted to his interrogation. Being held under heavy guard in a former US Federal holding building nearby, the ex-VP had also been allowed to prepare for his trial, which was scheduled to commence in another week. A squad of lawyers from “neutral” Finland was given permission to fly to Washington and help the turncoat prepare his defense.
In the meantime, a number of principals in the United American Army Command Staff were scheduled to begin giving
“More than ready,” came the answer from Hunter’s walkie-talkie. “Bring that wagon down here.”
“On my way.”
Then, with the speed of a runaway elevator, JT put the Osprey into a gut-wrenching descent. The four Rangers manning the airplane’s gun stations nearly hit the roof, so acute was the aircraft’s “vertical translation.”
By this time the first wave of New Order troops had nearly reached the top of the building’s stairway. Clustered together and pressed hard up against the building, these soldiers were in a furious gunfight with a handful of Rangers just a few feet away. To make matters worse, one of the tanks in the parking lot—its muzzle close to ideal elevation—was now ricocheting cannon shots off the very edge of the roof.
A near-to-the-mark tank shell blasted away the corner of the roofs concrete railing just as the Osprey touched down. The powerful grinding sound of the VTOL’s engines and the hurricane-force winds its huge propellers caused added to the already chaotic mixture of rifle shots and heavy weapons fire.
Humdingo, who had been carrying the traitor over his shoulder the whole time, now unceremoniously dumped the man into the open passage of the aircraft and climbed aboard himself. At the same moment, Hunter was running around the roof pulling the small knots of Rangers back from their positions to urge them toward the aircraft.
Half of the 20 Rangers were inside the Osprey when the enemy soldiers finally broke through and gained access to the roof. On Hunter’s yell, the remaining Rangers flattened out, and the side gunners on the aircraft opened up on the New Order hirelings with their big twin-fifty machine guns.
Momentarily stunned, the enemy fell back long enough for the rest of the white-robed Rangers to scramble aboard the airplane.
As usual, Hunter was the last one to climb aboard.
“Go! Go! Go!” he was screaming even before he was halfway through the cabin door. Hearing his command, JT immediately gunned the big engines and the Osprey shot up at a speed as nauseating as its earlier rapid descent.
Straight up it climbed, up into the heavens, until the enemy troops on the roof and on the ground below could see it no longer.
Chapter 3
Two weeks later
“H AVE YOU EVER BEEN hypnotized before, Major Hunter?”
Hunter shifted around uneasily in his chair. It was a rare occasion when he felt he actually needed a drink.
But this was one of them.
“Major? Did you hear the question?”
Hunter quickly looked around the bare room and then up into the face of the attractive woman sitting next to him.
“No, I’ve never been hypnotized before,” he said finally. “At least, not that I can remember.”
The woman laughed. She was about forty and was a doctor—of psychology, yet. This made him uneasy.
His eyes darted around the room once again. It was dark, with only two lamps and they were being serviced by dim bulbs. On the large wooden table next to his chair there was a bank of tape recorders, one of which was already turning. Along with the doctor’s chair and his own, there was nothing else in the room.
The place gave him the creeps. Located deep within the bowels of the old CIA headquarters near Washington DC; it looked like an old “rubber hose” interrogation room from a 1930s cops and robbers movie.
“Is this really necessary?” Hunter asked, not the first time.
The traitor had been in their custody for fourteen days now, ten of which had been devoted to his interrogation. Being held under heavy guard in a former US Federal holding building nearby, the ex-VP had also been allowed to prepare for his trial, which was scheduled to commence in another week. A squad of lawyers from “neutral” Finland was given permission to fly to Washington and help the turncoat prepare his defense.
In the meantime, a number of principals in the United American Army Command Staff were scheduled to begin giving
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