Chapter 73
WHAT the hell,” Coleman said. “What the holy hell?”
The helicopter lurched as the pilots reacted to the explosions, no doubt intending to get the aircraft out of harm’s way. That ship had already sailed. Coleman had men on the ground assaulting across the objective.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Put us on the ground,” Coleman said. “Now.”
He didn’t scream into the intercom.
He didn’t have to.
After bobbing upward like a toy cork boat floating on ocean swells, the Black Hawk settled into a descent.
“Grip 23, Spartan 6. What was that?” Coleman said after keying the radio.
“Stand by, Spartan. We’re currently talking to the F-15s on Guard.”
Coleman didn’t particularly care for being told to stand by.
Neither did he know what talking on Guard meant, but he assumed it was some kind of aviator mumbo jumbo.
What he did know was that he was tired of sitting in this helicopter.
The Black Hawk slammed into the earth, and Coleman fingered the quick release on his harness.
He wanted to jettison the seat belt and haul ass toward the objective.
He didn’t.
As much as the warrior part of his soul wanted to be with his men, he knew that he was most useful in close proximity with the bank of radios at his fingertips. The CIA officer was under no such constraints. With a practiced twist, Hurley released his seat belt and ghosted into the night.
Coleman had never envied anyone more than he did the old spook at that moment.
“Spartan 6, this is Grip 23. The aircraft that intercepted us are Israeli. I say again, they are Israeli. The two explosions were the result of an aborted ordnance drop on the convoy, over.”
“Understand all,” Coleman said, even though he understood very little of what was happening. “Can you confirm that Israeli aircraft are weapons hold, over?”
“Spartan 6, roger, I—”
“Spartan 6, this is Trident 6. Convoy is ICE. I say again, ICE.”
Coleman frowned. He’d expected to hear “JACKPOT” from the troop commander leading the assault. ICE was the brevity code word meaning dry hole.
As in the convoy wasn’t carrying chemical weapons.
Coleman was in the process of keying the radio to respond when the old spook materialized out of the darkness.
“Bad news,” Hurley said. “My asset’s missing.”