The Curse of Medusa

Hawke and Scarlet fired at the chopper drone but realized with horror that there was a chain gun fitted to the front of it. They dived for cover behind a lifeboat when Jakob opened fire on them, holding the manned drone in a steady hover about fifty feet above the yacht. The downdraft from the blades lifted water from the pool and sprayed it all over them as the heavy duty rounds from the chain gun drilled into the deck, tearing up the polished teak and shredding the fiber-glass sides of the pool.

Inside the drone, Jakob was laughing hysterically.

“We have to stop him!” Hawke yelled. “The canister is attached to the bottom of the chopper. They’re obviously planning on flying through Manhattan and releasing it into the atmosphere there.”

“What do you propose?” Scarlet shouted over the sound of the rotors and chain gun. “Using your martial arts skills to karate chop the bullets away?”

“No… Actually I want to use you as bait…”

“You’re so romantic, Joe — I almost wish I never had to set eyes on you again.”

“But I know you’d miss me,” he said.

“Only if I sneezed when I pull the trigger.”

Hawke gave her a look, and then without another word, Scarlet leaped up from their cover behind the lifeboat and sprinted toward the front of the yacht. Jakob immediately turned to fire on her, giving Hawke the chance he was looking for. He ran forward and gripped the starboard skid of the drone with both hands, as if he were about to do a chin-up exercise, and then pulled himself up until his body was hanging over it.

Scarlet disappeared inside the yacht, and Jakob gave up the chase. He turned the drone toward the Manhattan skyline and began to gain altitude rapidly. Hawke clung on for his life. He knew he had seconds to make the decision of whether or not to let go — either he let go now while he was still low enough to survive the fall or he would be forced to hold on for the whole ride — whatever that meant.

In his mind there was no decision — if he let go now Jakob would be on his way over Manhattan in seconds and Kiefel would have won. Wherever this thing was going, Hawke knew he was going along for the ride, and his eyes desperately stared with more than a small degree of terror at the canister he had seen Jakob fitting to the base. If that thing opened its deadly cargo while he was hanging onto the drone, there was going to be a perfect life-size statue of Joe Hawke on the bottom of the Hudson River.

It was then he noticed that it was on a timer — counting down from five minutes. That didn’t give him a lot of time to get things sorted out as far as he was concerned, but it was all he had to work with. Unfortunately, the canister was fitted to a specially constructed bracket and bolted into place. It was impossible to get it loose without shooting at it and that went against his long-standing policy of not shooting at any aircraft that he was hanging off the bottom of — so he had to think again.

It was time to persuade Jakob Müller to turn the helicopter around.

* * *

Scarlet felt a maternal awww moment when she watched Agent Doyle taking cover behind Kiefel’s upper deck bar. She peered around the door of the room and saw the German laughing deeply as he took casual pot-shots at the American, one hand on his hip in a display of nonchalant mockery.

“Would you like a vodka, my friend?” Kiefel asked. He shot the vodka bottle and sprayed the drink all over Doyle’s head. “Or perhaps a bourbon is more your thing?” Another shot blasted through a bottle of Jim Beam and the spirit showered down over him mixing with the vodka.

“Mock this, you bastard,” she said, and spun around the door frame with her Heckler & Koch submachine gun.

Kiefel turned in horror as the Englishwoman gripped the powerful weapon and unleashed a merciless volley of automatic fire at him. He dived for cover amidst the deathly dunk dunk dunk sound as the bullets exploded from the gun’s muzzle and traced all around him.

Doyle looked up and nodded. “Am I glad to see you! Ran out of bullets about two minutes ago…”

“Here, take this,” she said. Without so much as glancing at Doyle, she pulled the SIG from her belt and tossed it at him. She also tossed him a gas mask from her pack. “Wear it, now.”

Kiefel fled the room, and Doyle took the weapon, checked it was loaded and moved forward in pursuit of the German. Scarlet paused to toss her lighter into the pool of spirits behind the bar, igniting them in a rush of flames which started to burn their way up the sides of Kiefel’s luxury bar. “One good turn deserves another.”

Outside, she saw Doyle chasing Kiefel down to the front deck. She watched in horror as the German dragged a man out of a chair and held a gun to his head. It was President Grant. Kiefel fumbled with the camera, desperate now, but determined to get his revenge.

“Get back or I kill him! It’s all being broadcast live on the internet!”

Doyle froze where he was, but Scarlet saw her chance.

She made her way down the side steps, out of sight.