"I hear you," Willem Voorst agreed, already headed deeper inside. "Mike's on his own."
Vance had never been more scared in his life. This made a day at a stormy helm seem like a Sunday stroll. The down-draft was spinning him violently now, a lesson that rappelling was not for the faint of heart. Then he remembered some basic physics and held out his arms, helplessly flapping like a wounded bird. But it was enough, as his spin immediately slowed.
He was dizzy now, but when he came around, he got an overview of the launch facility, and the glimpse made him realize that something had gone terribly wrong. What were those? Two Apache helicopters were hovering and they were firing on . . . on the Bates Motel. Just beyond the fallen gantry.
Why! Ramirez and all his goons were gone or dead.
Bill Bates, who also had seen it all, had a better understanding of what was under way. It was a massive failure of communications. Thinking as quickly as he could, he started negotiating the Agusta around, situating VX-1 between him and the Apaches. The fucking Delta Force had come in like gangbusters and was shooting at the wrong target. There was no time to try to raise them on the radio, and besides, he only had two hands.
Down below, Vance slammed against the hard metal of the nose, and then rotated, one-handed, to try to take measure of what to do next. It wasn't going to be easy, that much was sure. The payload bay was sealed with a Teflon ring, which was itself secured with a series of streamlined clamps that were bolted from inside, designed for automated control. But . . . there also was lettering next to a thumb-operated hatch that read emergency release.
He flipped it open and, bracing himself against the side of the silver cone to try to overcome the destabilizing down- draft, looked in. A red button, held down for safety by another thumb latch, stared back.
What the heck, he thought, you've got nothing to lose. He flipped the thumb safety, and then—bracing himself to try to slow his erratic spin—slammed a heel into the button. Nothing happened for a second, but then the Teflon clamps on the cargo bay began to click open one by one.