Chapter 8 #2
Just another chance to push past his limits. Be better than he was before. Prove to himself, he hadn’t lost an ounce of skill since having that building fall on him. That he was worthy of Cannon’s faith.
So, catching a glimpse of movement had Phoenix panning back. Gaze laser-focused on a group of trees in that zone that had been nagging at him all day. The one he’d known would come back to bite him in the ass.
There. A flash. Not much, and not something he might have seen if he hadn’t been looking directly at that spot.
But it prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.
Just like on the snowmobile. A sense that things were about to get bloody.
Hearing the faint whop of helicopter blades brought the situation into crystal clear focus.
He shifted slightly. Enough to see a silhouette dart between the trees. Nothing concrete, just black amidst the green boughs. But darker than the surrounding shadows from the evergreens.
Mercenary. Dressed in tactical garb like the men Smyth had most likely sent after Phoenix yesterday. Though, Phoenix hadn’t gotten a solid look—couldn’t swear there was actually a man or men holed up in the woods—he knew he was right. Felt the trueness of it take shape.
He panned to where the trees gave way to a small opening.
Fifty meters down the mountain. It wasn’t large enough Olivia could have landed in the clearing, but enough whoever was targeting the helicopter would get a clear line of sight.
Could launch a missile. Unless they’d dragged a fifty-cal machine gun along.
Planned on empty several hundred rounds into the sky.
Neither was good news. Not with the winds gusting. The distance well over three thousand meters. He’d gotten lucky at the warehouse. Had been blessed with decent conditions. Here...
More thundering in the distance. A speck of black amidst the blues and pinks. Olivia was getting closer. Seven, maybe eight minutes, and she’d be at the ridge. A huge fucking bullseye for whoever was in those trees.
Thirty seconds, and Phoenix had his rifle packed—was racing for the door.
Another forty, and the snowmobile was humming between his legs, his case tied to the seat.
He hit the throttle, heading for a rocky ledge a click off.
The one he should have been at, already, hypothermia be damned.
His best chance for taking a kill shot in the current conditions.
Unless he managed to contact Bishop—got the man to turn Olivia around.
He reached for the comm at his neck, still barreling along the snow. Cursing when garbled static filled his ear.
Phoenix tried, again, getting the same blast of noise.
He switched to the sat phone, but it was dead.
Nothing on the other end. Not even mumbling.
Meant it was being blocked at the source.
Or, maybe someone had turned it off. Either way, he was on his own.
No way to alert Olivia—get her to turn around.
He squeezed the throttle until he ran out. Was going some insane speed. Sled bouncing in and out of the deep powder. Spraying snow in every direction. He caught some air, held steady, feathering the throttle and break so he landed even with the slope. Shot forward.
He didn’t look at the controls. Didn’t care what they said. If the needles were in the red. He just focused on the ledge getting closer. That spec off in the distance becoming larger.
Three minutes, and he was jumping off, grabbing his case then scrambling to the edge of the rocks. Another minute, and he had his rifle situated—was peering through the scope. Scanning that tree line until he found the spot.
No men. No guns. Nothing.
A breath. Then, another. While he didn’t care if he was wrong, that voice inside his head wouldn’t stop yelling. Filling his mind with how the chopper would look in a thousand pieces on the snow. How he’d be lucky to find even a trace of Olivia amidst the wreckage.
Not happening.
He panned across the ridge, starting at the top then working his way down. Just because they hadn’t gone to the patch he would have picked didn’t mean he was wrong.
That whop-whop-whop was getting louder. Every beat one less second Olivia had to live if Phoenix didn’t find the damn assholes waiting to shoot her down. Kill her for real, this time.
Another two minutes. Gone. Wasted as he kept scanning the trees.
Searching for that black silhouette he’d spotted.
Another glimpse of the weapon. The helicopter was large in the sky, now.
A huge black target bearing down on him.
Taking the same route she’d done several times, already.
Making it easy for any idiot with a rocket launcher to anticipate where she’d be in another sixty seconds.
One minute. That’s all he had before she was in range. Before he’d have to lie there, watching it all unfold, unable to take the hit. Offer his life, instead.
He took one more deep breath. Nothing but ice in his veins because if he thought about the reality of the situation—what would happen if he failed—he’d lose it. Revert back to the scared five-year old kid who’d waited every night for someone to rescue him before realizing he had to rescue, himself.
He wasn’t going back to that. Wasn’t going to lose Olivia. Not, yet, and not like this.
He widened his search area. Focusing closer to that ridge than he would have chosen, but they weren’t snipers. They didn’t need a perfect slight line. Favorable winds. They just needed to see the chopper. Get a bead then let the missile or bullets do the rest.
Another flash. Not even as bright as the first, but there.
Higher than expected, though, if they were using an RPG-7, they wouldn’t have the effective range of a Stinger.
Would have to make the shot count if they wanted to bring the aircraft down, instead of simply targeting the machine then guiding it in.
Relying on heat seeking capabilities to do the work for them.
Christ, he hoped that’s all they had. Because if they did have a Stinger...
Didn’t matter. He’d neutralize the threat before they had a chance to fire. That was the only way to guarantee the outcome.
He fine-tuned his scope, adjusting for the change in distance. The winds blowing the trees toward the mountains. At least they looked as if they were straight down the pipe from this angle. Only gusting in other directions. Not perfect, but he’d make it work.
His cheek pressing against the rest eliminated any doubts. Had everything sliding into place. The crosshairs pegged on the asshole stepping out of the trees. Rocket launcher resting on his shoulder. Gaze centered on the sky. Waiting.
Five seconds before Olivia came into view, and just enough time for Phoenix to make the shot and have the bullet hit the target.
A breath, a squeeze of his hand, and he fired.
Was already loading the next round as he watched the guy drop four seconds later.
A heartbeat before he’d managed to get his finger inside the guard.
Release the rocket. There was a moment of silence.
Of nothing but snow and evergreens through his scope.
Then, another figure darted forward—bent over.
No time to recalculate. Not at this distance.
With the lag time giving the bastard a window of opportunity.
Phoenix simply trusted his instincts and took the shot.
It hit low, catching the guy in the thigh, knocking him over.
He fumbled with the launcher, somehow managing to fire it before he crumpled, dropping out of Phoenix’s scope.
Smoke filled the small area, a green tracer following in the wake of the rocket. Phoenix shifted, determined to shoot the damn thing out of the sky, went it angled to the left. Crossing the helicopter’s path a few seconds after it had already flown past.
Olivia must have seen a hint of movement because she was already banking over. Had the helicopter screaming toward the ground. Probably hoping to perform some crazy stunt to trick the missile into impacting the snow, instead. Outrun its effective range until it self-destructed.
Gave Phoenix a damn heart attack when she disappeared into a cloud of blowing powder just moments before she would have hit the surface.
Had him holding his breath, body frozen, until she finally punched through the swirling mass a couple of seconds later.
Helicopter racing just above the icy ground.
The machine trailing a billowing mass of white behind it.
Having the missile detonate in the air several hundred meters off only seemed to spur her on. Had her tipping the nose forward—gaining more speed. He didn’t know how she kept it upright. Was able to tell the snow from the gray edge of the sky, but she managed. Made a beeline for the lodge.
Phoenix scanned back to the clearing, hoping to get another shot at any remaining men, but it was empty. He panned left, smiling at two figures traipsing through the trees, their black clothes stark against the pristine white. If he guessed their movements correctly…
Vibrations beneath him had him pausing, allowing a small fraction of his brain to disengage from the shot. Not wise, but that voice was yelling, again.
More vibrations followed by a distant roaring sound.
Like a train on the tracks a few miles out.
It grew louder, finally pulling him out of his zone.
He glanced behind him, cursed, then jumped up.
No time to pack the rifle, he just slung it across his back.
Grabbed his case then hopped on the snowmobile.
A few seconds, and he had the machine humming. Was gaging his options as the wall of snow barreled down on him, quickly covering the shack he’d been nesting in all day then continuing down the steep slope.
He could head east. Try to outrun the avalanche along the plateau. Or he could chance jumping the sled off the ledge. Pray he could handle the eighty-foot drop without killing himself.
Seeing the churning snow cover half the distance in the two seconds he’d been mulling things over—trying to judge which direction the avalanche was going to travel—made the decision for him.
Had him gunning the throttle then racing forward.
He had enough sense to meter his speed. Run through the procedure, then he was hitting the ledge, nosing the sled up as the skis left the ground, and he launched off the edge.