before.
The F-16 was sitting untouched. He resisted the temptation to go looking for el-Fauzi; whatever the man's motives had been, Hunter was sure he would be impossible to find. Besides, with the situation at the airport deteri-31
orating rapidly, he wanted to get off as quickly as possible. His search for clues to Viktor's whereabouts would have to continue in some other place.
He climbed aboard the F-16 and started to warm up the avionics. A wave of a bag of silver was all that was needed to flag down a passing fuel truck, and soon his tanks were full. Without bothering to contact the control tower, he taxied out onto the runway and took off on the tail of a battered Brazilian 707.
Minutes later, he turned northeast. Lard's last word had been "Algiers," and Hunter figured that was as good a place as any to resume his search for Viktor.
32
Chapter 4
Hunter was glad to get away from Casablanca. The place was just too weird for him. Movie-set towns. The airborne evacuation. El-Fauzi. Lard. The gun battle at the cafe. All the talk of war and armies of mercenaries waiting to go at it was particularly disturbing. So was the billion-dollar bounty on his head.
He'd have to be extra careful about watching his tail. That poisoned drink could very well have been meant for him instead of Lard. And he was sure that word would spread quickly that he was in the area. It all had such an unreal atmosphere about it.
And he couldn't help thinking that the spectre of Viktor-or Lucifer-was lurking behind it all.
He set a course low over the Moroccan desert, heading for Algeria and the unknown. He had to expect the unexpected. Play it smart. If war were about to break out in the region, he'd have to assume that any population center would be equipped with SAMs, maybe interceptors. Both of which he wanted to avoid.
The sand-skimming course over the desert seemed to be his best choice.
Suddenly he felt trouble. His well-developed sixth 33
sense -particularly attuned to nearby hostile aircraft-had his body tingling.
He checked his long-range radar, which soon confirmed his feelings. There were two fighters approaching him from the northwest. They were moving fast and they were heavily armed.
He instinctively checked his instruments. Everything looked good until he went to test-fire his specially designed "Six Pack" of M-61 Vulcan cannons in the nose of the F-16. To his surprise, a push of the trigger produced nothing.
Another push, still nothing. According to his panel lights, everything was in order. Strange ... He quickly rerouted the fire command through his flight computer. Still nothing.
Someone had tampered with the airplane while it was parked at Casablanca, he knew it. He punched up his air-to-air missile-arming program. It too was drawing a blank. Sabotage! He should have expected it, although the electrically charged alarm system had never failed him before. An expert had done the dirty deed. But he'd have to figure out who the culprit was later.
Right now, he needed to concentrate on the approaching interceptors.
He booted the 16 up to full military speed and was glad to feel the afterburner kick in so smoothly. The saboteur had apparently only tinkered with his armaments and not the airplane's power plant. He stayed down low, hoping to skirt the look-down radar the interceptors might be carrying. His pursuers were just twenty miles behind him. He was sure he could outrun them to Algiers, but what would happen then?
"F-16, F-16." His radio suddenly burst to life. "This is the Gibraltar Defense Force. You are in an unauthorized air zone. Prepare for interception."
34
He was "unauthorized" again. Yet he didn't feel threatened. The voice on the radio was British. Oddly, it did not sound hostile. Just serious. Hunter felt instinctively drawn to trust it.
"Gibraltar Defense," he radioed back. "This is Major Hawk Hunter of the Pacific American Air Corps. I was unaware this was restricted air space.
Request permission
The F-16 was sitting untouched. He resisted the temptation to go looking for el-Fauzi; whatever the man's motives had been, Hunter was sure he would be impossible to find. Besides, with the situation at the airport deteri-31
orating rapidly, he wanted to get off as quickly as possible. His search for clues to Viktor's whereabouts would have to continue in some other place.
He climbed aboard the F-16 and started to warm up the avionics. A wave of a bag of silver was all that was needed to flag down a passing fuel truck, and soon his tanks were full. Without bothering to contact the control tower, he taxied out onto the runway and took off on the tail of a battered Brazilian 707.
Minutes later, he turned northeast. Lard's last word had been "Algiers," and Hunter figured that was as good a place as any to resume his search for Viktor.
32
Chapter 4
Hunter was glad to get away from Casablanca. The place was just too weird for him. Movie-set towns. The airborne evacuation. El-Fauzi. Lard. The gun battle at the cafe. All the talk of war and armies of mercenaries waiting to go at it was particularly disturbing. So was the billion-dollar bounty on his head.
He'd have to be extra careful about watching his tail. That poisoned drink could very well have been meant for him instead of Lard. And he was sure that word would spread quickly that he was in the area. It all had such an unreal atmosphere about it.
And he couldn't help thinking that the spectre of Viktor-or Lucifer-was lurking behind it all.
He set a course low over the Moroccan desert, heading for Algeria and the unknown. He had to expect the unexpected. Play it smart. If war were about to break out in the region, he'd have to assume that any population center would be equipped with SAMs, maybe interceptors. Both of which he wanted to avoid.
The sand-skimming course over the desert seemed to be his best choice.
Suddenly he felt trouble. His well-developed sixth 33
sense -particularly attuned to nearby hostile aircraft-had his body tingling.
He checked his long-range radar, which soon confirmed his feelings. There were two fighters approaching him from the northwest. They were moving fast and they were heavily armed.
He instinctively checked his instruments. Everything looked good until he went to test-fire his specially designed "Six Pack" of M-61 Vulcan cannons in the nose of the F-16. To his surprise, a push of the trigger produced nothing.
Another push, still nothing. According to his panel lights, everything was in order. Strange ... He quickly rerouted the fire command through his flight computer. Still nothing.
Someone had tampered with the airplane while it was parked at Casablanca, he knew it. He punched up his air-to-air missile-arming program. It too was drawing a blank. Sabotage! He should have expected it, although the electrically charged alarm system had never failed him before. An expert had done the dirty deed. But he'd have to figure out who the culprit was later.
Right now, he needed to concentrate on the approaching interceptors.
He booted the 16 up to full military speed and was glad to feel the afterburner kick in so smoothly. The saboteur had apparently only tinkered with his armaments and not the airplane's power plant. He stayed down low, hoping to skirt the look-down radar the interceptors might be carrying. His pursuers were just twenty miles behind him. He was sure he could outrun them to Algiers, but what would happen then?
"F-16, F-16." His radio suddenly burst to life. "This is the Gibraltar Defense Force. You are in an unauthorized air zone. Prepare for interception."
34
He was "unauthorized" again. Yet he didn't feel threatened. The voice on the radio was British. Oddly, it did not sound hostile. Just serious. Hunter felt instinctively drawn to trust it.
"Gibraltar Defense," he radioed back. "This is Major Hawk Hunter of the Pacific American Air Corps. I was unaware this was restricted air space.
Request permission
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