Raza’s laughter soared through the night.
Raza piloted the chopper along the East River toward the roof of the UN’s thirty-nine-story Secretariat Building—the highest skyscraper at UN Plaza. Turning on everyone’s voice-mikes, she announced to her team:
“I’m going to set down in a few minutes, so prepare the ramp.”
Marika, Tariq, and Fahad got up from their jump seats and walked over to the far edge of the ramp. As Raza hovered over the roof, they prepared to hydraulically lower the heavy-gauge, ten-foot-long and eight-foot-wide ramp over the edge of the hatch. She would then push the hoist button that raised and rolled the cannon-barrel bomb down the ramp.
“Everyone ready?” Raza shouted.
“Roger that!” Fahad shouted.
Marika and Tariq nodded.
With her left hand fixed on the controls, Raza took an MP5 machine pistol out of her canvas ordnance bag and fired quick bursts into each of them, center-mass first, then their heads.
“Well played,” Raza said softly to herself. “Now let’s head this crate over to its rightful destination—J. T.’s Needle Tower of Power. Its flat roof will make a perfect ‘Tower-of-Power’ landing zone.”
Heading the chopper north, the tall slender Needle Tower quickly swung into view.
“And now billionaire assholes everywhere,” Raza said to herself with droll amusement, “can stare into their TV screens and watch what real power looks like. Raza-girl, we’re going to bridge the inequality gap the old-fashioned way—by vaporizing those 500 billionaire cocksuckers! That’s what I call a good start!”
And with that her chopper roared up and over the East River toward the J. T. Tower of Power.
Raza’s laughter soared through the night.