Part 15 (1/2)
EMMA SAT IN STUNNED SILENCE WHILE VANDERLOCK MANEUVERED the plane lower. They'd flown thirty minutes farther, and now he aimed for yet another dirt runway in the middle of nowhere. They landed with one bounce and rolled to a stop. Vanderlock stayed still. Neither of them spoke. Outside the jet, clouds of dust kicked up by the landing hung in the air, turning it an amber color. After another moment he stood and stretched. Emma stayed put while she did her best to gather her thoughts and push down the combination of sadness underlain with fear.
Vanderlock gave her a searching look. ”Did the bombed jet rattle you?”
Emma dragged herself out of the chair. The simple movement broke the fright that had kept her paralyzed for the last half hour. She nodded.
”My lab did work for Price. I flew on that plane from South Africa to Nairobi. I met the pilot and the copilot.”
He gave a small whistle. ”What made you bail from that plane to mine?”
”I didn't know it was going to Hargeisa. The president of the company was flying with me, and he said Nairobi was his last stop.”
”I guess he was right, in a sick sort of way. Again, it's none of my business, but if I were you, I'd get on the next flight home. Whatever Banner has you involved in, it sounds as though it's escalating out of control.”
For the first time, Emma wavered. Vanderlock's face was set, and she knew he was right. But if things were escalating on land, she could only imagine what was happening at sea. She shook herself out of her stupor. She hadn't come this far just to quit.
”I need to keep moving,” she said.
Vanderlock put a hand on her arm. His palm felt warm. ”Where are you going?”
Emma rubbed her forehead, where a headache was forming. She no longer felt buzzed, just depressed and tired. ”I should get back to the Hargeisa airport.”
”That's thirty miles away.”
She thought a minute. ”What about the khat? Weren't you supposed to deliver it to Hargeisa? How will you get it there now?”
”I called the missiles and rerouted them here. I expect to see them in half an hour or so.”
”The missiles?”
Vanderlock nodded. ”It's what we call the khat trucks, because they travel so fast.”
”Will they take me with them to Hargeisa?”
He kept his hand on her arm and c.o.c.ked his head to one side. ”Not giving up?”
”Not giving up,” she said.
He made a sound of pure frustration. ”I'm afraid I'm talking to a dead woman. Somalia has a way of devouring whatever falls in its path. Listen, I'll even fly you back with me to Kenya. I'll talk them into letting you into the country. If you'd like, I'll take you to Dubai. We'll have fun, I promise you.” He gave her a smile that left no question as to the nature of the fun they'd have.
Emma believed that his concern was real, but mixed with it was a hint of swagger, as though he were confident that he could sway her with his charm. For a brief moment, she considered what it would be like with him. His freewheeling att.i.tude was different from the straightforward friendliness that had been Patrick's approach to life, and as opposite from Sumner's brooding intensity as she could imagine. She didn't doubt that she'd enjoy being with him, but she wouldn't abandon Sumner to whatever fate he was facing in order to fly to Dubai with a man she'd just met. The decision was no contest.
”I'm not doing this lightly, I promise you. I need to go. But I thank you for the offer,” Emma said.
Vanderlock sighed. ”They'll take you to Hargeisa if I ask them to.”
She smiled at him. ”Thank you.”
He snorted. ”Don't thank me. To ride in a missile is to flirt with death at one hundred miles per hour.” He gave the slightest shake of his head and moved around her. He bent down and opened the toolbox.
”Come on. I'll give you a shooting lesson while we wait. I'm not sending you out there without one.”
Vanderlock put aside the AK-47 and reached in to get the rocket launcher.
”Are we going to shoot that?” Emma said.
He nodded. ”It's the weapon of choice in Somalia. You'd better know how to use it.”
They stepped into heat ten times worse than anything she'd experienced in Nairobi. She pulled an elastic band out of her pocket and tied her hair in a ponytail. It did little to make her feel cooler, but at least it stopped pieces of her hair from sticking to her face. The airstrip was nothing more than a dirt path carved into the road. Vanderlock waved her over to the far side of it. He dumped a dark green canvas bag onto the ground.
”This”-he showed her the tube-”is your basic rocket-propelled-grenade launcher.” The launcher consisted of a two-foot metal tube attached to a long wooden stock that ended in what looked like a steel funnel attached to the bottom and facing backward. ”Muzzle, stock”-he patted the wooden section-”and breech”-he pointed to the funnel. ”You put the stock on your shoulder, hold the handle here, and pull the trigger. The rocket shoots out the front. Try it.” He handed it to her.
She balanced it on her shoulder. A basic iron sight stuck out from the top. The wooden stock was worn smooth from age and use. Emma noted the wear and tried not to think about the destruction the weapon had wrought over the years. She lifted it up to test the weight. It wasn't heavy, but it was awkward. She wrapped her hand around the grip near the trigger.
”There's only one thing you need to know when firing. A stream of smoke and fire will shoot out of the back. That's called *back blast.' You always need to check behind you before you shoot, because you don't want to hit a friendly with your back blast.”
Emma sighted a tree in the distance. ”What's my range?”
”Nine hundred feet, tops. Think less until you get proficient. And never, ever stand still after shooting. The back blast will reveal your position both in the day and at night. You shoot and run like h.e.l.l for cover, because the other guy's going to target your blast to kill you.”
Emma frowned. ”So I only get one shot and then have to run? Not very efficient.”
Vanderlock shook his head. ”Not true. One shot is all you need, as long as it's a good one. These things took down the Black Hawks during the firefight in Mogadishu back in the nineties. The grenade is powerful.” He reached into the canvas bag and pulled out a pointed metallic warhead and a pipe that looked like a toilet-paper tube, only thinner. ”This is the grenade.” He showed her the warhead. ”You screw the booster on the back”-he attached the pipe-”and load it on the muzzle. Follow the guides.”
Emma lowered the launcher to give him better access to the front. He put the warhead in place. When he was done, he shook out a cigarette, lit it with the stick lighter, took a drag, and scanned the area around them. He pointed into the distance while facing away from the airplane. ”Aim toward that gnarled tree over there.”
Emma adjusted her angle. ”What if there's someone out there?”
”Highly unlikely. This area is remote, and even if it wasn't, we're in Somalia at one in the afternoon. The only people fool enough to be out in the noonday sun are us.”
”What about the missiles? What if I hit them?”
He waved the hand holding the cigarette. ”That would be bad, but they're coming from behind us, so I wouldn't worry. Also, I used a type of warhead that will explode after a set amount of time without impact. If you aim above the treetops, it'll explode up there.”
”Good thinking,” Emma said.
Vanderlock inhaled, blew out the smoke, and gave her a little bow. ”Well, thank you. High praise coming from a scientist.”
Emma smiled back before getting down to business. ”Should I be prepared for a lot of recoil?”
”It's not bad at all, because the explosive pressure discharges out the breech.”
She peered down the metal sight at a location twenty feet above the treetops, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger. The warhead exploded out of the launcher with a blast that a.s.sailed her ears and a recoil that made her body jerk. She stumbled back a step, feeling the plume of heated air and fire run through the stock and exit the breech. Seconds later the warhead detonated, raining bits of shrapnel down on the trees.
”Wow,” Emma said. Her ears rang. ”That's an amazing amount of force.”