139
STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 3:10 P.M.
Twenty-two minutes after he had put in the call, Dan watched the helicopter approach the landing pad. The winds were vicious. The pilot seemed to know what he was doing. He circled once, then came in fast, slamming the copter down. Dan hunched, sprinted toward him, wrenched open the door, and pulled on the safety strap in seconds. The pilot was as keen as he was to get off the ground where gusts could slam them over. She, Dan noted, nodded at him, pulled on the joystick, and they soared upward. The wind hit them like a punch and the copter veered sideways. The pilot handled it coolly, adjusting, gaining altitude, face taut but unflinching as if she were dealing with nothing more irksome than Sunday drivers. Dan pulled on his earphones.
“Amelia Holdstone,” announced the pilot in an educated British accent. “Must be one hell of a story! Where we off?”
Dan smiled. “San Luis Obispo.” He reeled off the zip code, watched Holdstone input it into her GPS.
“Seventy-nine minutes.”
Dan nodded, said a silent prayer.
Holdstone flicked him a glance. “You going to tell me the story? Seeing as I’m risking my life flying to the coast.” Her voice was droll. The woman was a card.
“You ex-military?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“And? What’d you do?”
“Would you understand it?”
“Try me. Navy SEAL.”
Holdstone’s eyes widened.
“Flew Apaches for the British Army Air Corps.”
Dan’s eyes widened in turn. “The best of the best.”
The pilot smiled.
“Top Gun?” asked Dan, seeing the pride behind the smile.
“As it happens.”
Dan felt a surge of relief. They had as good a chance as any of getting to San Luis Obispo, landing and taking off intact. It was marginal, though, and they both knew it.
“I’m going to rescue my girlfriend,” said Dan. “I don’t know the details. All I could just about glean is that she fell or was pushed from a helicopter at sea, swam three miles, negotiated the waves, and got into a house. If I’m real lucky, she won’t have died of hypothermia in the next seventy-nine minutes.”
Holdstone raised her eyebrows. “Wow! Miracle she’s still alive. Waves are thirty foot, breaking on the shore.” She flicked another glance at Dan.
“And the story?”
Dan gave a grim smile.
Holdstone suddenly flinched. “Holy shiiit!”
“What’s up?” asked Dan. Holdstone was staring at her radar monitor. Dan saw what she was looking at. Twelve dots, approaching from behind at high speed. Twenty seconds later, splitting the air, came a series of sonic booms. Dan looked up through the glass roof of the chopper, saw the jets, a half-squadron of F-22 Raptors, scream past. And he smiled: the look of a reaper.