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THE SCAR ACROSS SHEPARD’S face was pure white in contrast to his crimson face. He was enraged at the fact that Widow had duped him with the oldest trick in the book. He had led them away from Jacobs and the woman cop with a trick that outdated the dinosaurs. Shepard’s guys looked at each other but made no comments about the situation. They knew better. One word out of their mouths, and he’d throw them out of the helicopter, no questions asked. The ground was at least a hundred feet below them. The fall would kill them or break their backs at a minimum.
Shepard yelled, “Kill that bastard!”
The pilot smiled and jerked back the trigger of the machine gun. His method went against his training—years of military service had taught him always to squeeze not pull the trigger—but he felt that this was a situation that called for pulling it. The Vulcan machine gun began to rotate and spin spraying bullets. The mechanical noise of a whipping helicopter’s rotors accompanied by the deafening sound of the bullets bursting forth from the barrels echoed across the treetops. The muzzle flashed bright and orange. The bullets sprayed in a wide cone from the gun and tore through the trees. Wood splintered and cracked. Branches swayed and fractured as the bullets ripped through. Snowbanks exploded into powder as the rounds buried themselves deep in the ground.
Shepard smiled, knowing that Widow had to be dead.