“We committed about nine thousand felonies, getting McMahon and Rashid out of Pakistan. You don’t want to be accessoried to any of those crimes.”
—Elena Moreno to Jules Meredith
Elena and her team met in the helipad hangar in New Jersey. Jules—decked out in jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes—was standing in front of the news chopper.
“This chopper any good?” Elena asked.
“It’s a top-of-the-line Agusta with a camera on the fin and in the nose,” Jules said, “which I will operate with a laptop and a joystick. I have a mini-cam as well. We have an EVS-1500 enhanced vision system. The auxillary transversal 132-gallon fuel tanks will let us stay up for five or six hours. Its lift is six tons, but I only have room for five of you.”
“Jamie, Adara, Rashid and Danny are coming with us,” Elena said. “Jamie will pilot.”
“Danny?” Jules asked in stunned disbelief.
“He’s earned it,” Elena said. “Anyway, I may want him to contact Raza if we can get through to her. Believe it or not, she might actually talk to him.”
“Why?” Jules asked McMahon, confused.
“We have a connection,” McMahon explained.
“What is it?” Jules asked.
“Pelvic,” Adara said.
“Are you sure we want him?” Jules asked, dubious.
“Danny’s convinced me he can help,” Elena said, “so he’s coming. That’s it.”
The helicopter held exactly six of them, and Jamie was already in the pilot’s seat, a duffel bag full of weapons on the deck.
They climbed into the aircraft and strapped themselves into their jump seats.
“I’m okay with McMahon,” Elena said to Jules. “What I don’t like is you coming along.”
“Do you want me to miss the story of a lifetime?” Jules said. “The nuking of the UN?”
“We committed about nine thousand felonies,” Elena said, “getting McMahon and Rashid out of that Pakistani torture chamber. You don’t want to be accessoried to any of those crimes.”
“Also if Tower learns we’re in the Apple,” Jamie said, “he’ll order the goddamned U.S. Air Force to shoot us out of the sky.”
“We won’t be hard to spot,” Elena said. “There won’t be a lot of choppers checking out the UN. Jules, I really don’t want you with us.”
“You need me,” Jules said. “When we’re in that TV news chopper and over Manhattan, if the cops radio us, I can talk to them. I’m the only one with press credentials, and I’m well known. I can bluff my way past most law enforcement.”
“How long did you say this crate will stay up?” Adara asked.
“Five or six hours,” Jamie said.
“And it’s got a cruising speed of two hundred miles per hour,” Jules said. “If you want to get to the UN in time for the Secretary General’s address to the General Assembly on the Anti-Inequality Expropriation Bill, we better haul ass. The clock is ticking.”
“Copy that,” Jamie said.
“Let’s hit it,” Rashid said, slapping a magazine into a Barrett M83 .50 caliber anti-transport sniper rifle. “I’m door gunner in case we run into any violent opposition. This Barrett’ll take down planes, choppers, tanks and battleships at sea. Jules, you got your tail-, nose- and mini-cams set up?”
“They’re ready to go,” Jules said, “locked and cocked.”
“Then let’s get this bird in the air,” Jamie said.
The rotor turned, and the din was deafening.