Come on, baby, keep giving me cover.
"Mike," Bates yelled, seeing the pistol as he, too, dove for the tarmac, "shoot the bastard. Now."
Vance aimed for the doorway, but it was already closing, the steps coming up. Sabri Ramirez was not a man to engage in gunplay for the fun of it. He was about to be gone. A second later the main rotor, which had been idling, immediately began to whine into acceleration.
"We blew it," Bates boomed, his voice now almost drowned by the huge GE turboshafts.
"The Hyena," Vance muttered, pulling himself up off the asphalt. "Headed back to his lair. And there's not a damned thing anybody can do about it."
"Not with Isaac on board," Bates concurred. "Sorry I yelled. You really didn't have a chance." He was shielding himself from the downdraft as he tried to stand up. "The fucker is getting away without a scratch. Looks like he pulled it off."
"Right," Vance said, watching the giant Sikorsky begin to lift. "But maybe there's one thing left we can do. How about trying to remove that bomb"—he pointed up at VX-1—"before that thing goes up?"
"What in hell are you talking about?" Bates turned to squint at the silver spire. 'There's no way."
"Well, I don't know, what about using the Agusta? It's probably still flyable." He had turned back to watch the Sikorsky bank into the thinning fog. Ramirez was just barely visible through the windscreen, smiling as he disappeared into the mist.
"There's no time. Peretz told me that VX-1 is set to lift off at seven forty-eight. The bastard had it timed exactly." Bates glanced at his watch. 'That's just a few minutes."