Then he checked down below. "Peretz, this time make sure all the weapons stations are switched off. That's off."
The Israeli nodded, this time without his usual grin.
Now the Hind had begun its final approach. The low-light
TV showed a small landing pad approximately thirty meters on each side with a private helicopter parked in the middle of a black and white bull's-eye in the center. He knew that ARM—a group he had long hated—had ringed the island with a first-class industrial security system. Five years ago, he recalled, they had killed three of his operatives in Beirut, in a futile attempt to kill him. What's more, it never made the papers. Typical. The security system they had developed for the island was good, but it made no provision for this kind of penetration. It pleased him to at last make fools of them.
"We're coming in," Salim announced. He touched the rudder pedal with his left foot to hold their heading and grasped the collective pitch lever as he eased the engines toward idle. “There's already a helo on the pad. Looks like a new Agusta."
"I know about it. Just set down next to it, inside the landing perimeter. I want this to be simple."
Tonight, he knew, they had scheduled the first full power-up of the Cyclops. Everything depended on how that test went, but he couldn't postpone the takeover any longer. This was it. . . .
Abruptly he wondered if the damaged wing would affect stability on touchdown? They would soon find out.
8:10 p.m.
The current swept him inexorably southward, while behind him the bundle of planks that remained of Odyssey II was dispersing rapidly. He cursed himself for having lost the Ross DSC radio. On the other hand, he considered himself lucky just to be in one piece. Luckier than the crewmen of the USS Glover. It was heartrending. Seeing a tragedy coming and not being able to stop it: that was the worst possible nightmare. He wanted to go back to try and help, but the sea made it impossible.