Houlton, Maine
Tate had found a site for an observation post near the airport and was now assessing the target with a pair of field glasses. He had a direct line of sight to the airfield entrance, which consisted of a barrier and a guardhouse. By the look of it, they were not expecting anyone to try and break in. There was no sign of any sentries on the perimeter and the hangar looked deserted.
‘You are really going to attack that?’ Oleg asked, pointing at the aircraft hangar.
‘I am, and you are going to help me.’ Tate continued to watch the target.
‘How?’
‘You’ll vouch that I’m SVR.’
‘Pretending to be Russian may get you inside the building, but what are you going to do once you are inside?’
‘Play it by ear.’
‘Listen?’
‘No, it means make it up as I go along.’
‘Hmm, I see. Use the SUV as a weapon. It is armoured and you can run over any opposition.’
‘That’s an idea.’
‘One question, Tate: what makes you believe that I will help you?’
‘Oleg, you are a scientist and, as such, you told me yourself that the science is the most important part in all this. I can assure you that HM Government will be eager for you to share what you know and continue your research.’
‘As a prisoner of the British?’
‘In your sealed lab in Russia were you a free man? When you return to Russia after this secret mission will you be a free man? Will you be allowed to resign or walk away?’
‘You are right. Very well, you have my word. I shall help you.’
Tate looked up at the sky; he could hear engines. ‘I think that’s your plane.’
From their vantage point, they saw a jet emerge out of the gloomy sky and approach the runway. As it neared the runway, lights flicked on as if the EMP had not happened almost twelve hours earlier. Tate looked back at the hangar. The large double doors opened and two SUVs tore out, heading for the runway.
‘Right, we’ve got to get on that plane.’ Tate started up the Tahoe, having already disabled the airbags and turned off the lights, and drove towards the airfield. He hit the barrier doing almost forty miles an hour and the pole splintered before bouncing up and over the roof of the SUV. Oleg let out a short yell as they carried on into the airport. Tate angled the SUV across the runway towards the oncoming jet and floored the accelerator. The plane was heading straight for them now, and unless he turned, he was going to hit it on the nose. He saw the massive tyres struggle to slow and the jet shuddered as it tried to steer away. Tate yanked the wheel to the left and passed by the jet. He was now behind one of the Tahoes and gaining.
‘I thought we were going inside.’
‘Change of plan. How good a shot are you?’
‘I can fire a gun.’
‘Then shoot out the rear tyre.’
Oleg glanced at Tate. ‘You think I can hit that?’
‘No. OK. Open the glove box and hand me a grenade.’
‘You are going to blow them up?’
‘Just the tyre, unless I am lucky.’
Oleg passed Tate the grenade.
‘Here goes.’ Tate opened the window and accelerated hard again. Up ahead, the lead Tahoe stopped dead and then turned before barrelling towards Tate. The closing speed between it and his own SUV doubled. ‘Bugger.’
Tate pulled the pin, counted to two, and then threw it out of the window with his left hand before jerking the wheel to the right. There was a moment’s pause and then an explosion. Tate didn’t look back. He now turned the wheel again and aimed for the one remaining Tahoe, which had also stopped. ‘Is there another grenade?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hand it over.’ Tate lined up again and then once more floored the accelerator. Then he had a change of mind and headed for the plane. The jet was now stationary and the passenger door had started to open. He was nearer to it than the other SUV. A crew member wearing generic black trousers, tie and white pilot shirt started to walk down the steps. He looked Chinese. He had a submachine gun in a sling at his side. Tate slammed on the Tahoe’s brakes and without pulling the pin, hurled the grenade. ‘Catch!’
The man’s eyes bulged as he saw the grenade. He dived off of the steps as it rolled inside the jet.
‘Out, now! Follow me!’ Tate leapt from the Tahoe and bounded up the stairs. He whipped the Camden-PD-issued Glock 17 from his pocket and checked the interior of the cabin. It was empty. He went back to the stairs as he saw Oleg reach the third step, and then the crewman opened fire from the tarmac. There was nothing Tate could do; a burst of rounds tore through the Russian and propelled him sideways. As Oleg fell, Tate saw the crewman and double-tapped him in the chest. More gunfire came from outside.
Tate darted back inside and sprinted for the cockpit door. He pulled the handle and ripped it open. The pilot thrust up his hands and said in American-accented English, ‘Please don’t kill me!’
Tate placed his Glock in the man’s back. ‘Raise the steps and get us airborne. Airborne now!’
The pilot nodded like a bobble head and started to turn the jet with the wingtips just missing the aircraft hangar. Once it faced the runway again, the pilot asked, ‘What about the car?’
‘Don’t hit it.’ The pilot did not reply as he concentrated on getting them into the air. Tate ran to check the fuselage door. He quickly searched for the grenade he had thrown, found it lodged against the underside of the nearest seat, and double-checked that the pin was still securely affixed. After making sure, he strapped himself into the empty co-pilot seat. The jet rocketed down the runway and then, engines shrieking, lifted into the sky.
Tate attempted to steady his breathing. ‘How much fuel do you have?’
‘Enough to get away from the USA,’ the pilot said.
Tate nodded. ‘Take me to Washington.’
‘Washington?’ the pilot replied, his voice concerned. ‘Why?’
Tate didn’t feel the need to explain. ‘Do it; I have the gun.’
‘Please, I am not your enemy. I didn’t attack your country.’
‘I’m not American.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the right man in the wrong war.’