The Kill Switch by James Rollins

Author:James Rollins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

26

March 17, 8:47 P.M.

The Caspian Sea

Tucker dropped to his knees, then his belly. He felt wet warmth dripping down his face and swiped his hand across it.

Blood.

He turned his head and yelled through the cockpit door. “Everyone flat on the deck!”

Kane came slinking toward him, but Tucker held up his hand, and the shepherd stopped.

“What’s happening?” Anya called out, sounding terrified.

“The pilot’s dead. We’ve got company.”

He rolled and rose to his knees behind the pilot’s seat. He craned his neck over Elena’s slumped body and peeked out the side window.

The helicopter was gone.

Smart, Felice . . . kill the pilot and the plane’s grounded.

Now she and her team could take their sweet time at capturing or killing them.

Tucker peered through the windscreen. A hundred yards ahead, the black silhouette of the island blotted out the stars. At its base, a gentle crescent of white sand beckoned.

Only then did he note that the Beriev was still moving toward their goal. He scanned the control panel, looking for—­there. The pictogram of a spinning propeller glowed, bracketed by a plus and minus sign.

Easy enough to interpret.

Reaching around the seat, he shoved the twin throttles forward. The engines roared, and the nose lifted slightly, then settled as the Beriev’s speed climbed. The plane raced for the island, skimming the water, rapidly closing the distance. He knew they would never be able to escape the more agile chopper by air.

That wasn’t his plan.

He goosed the wheel, keeping them angled toward the beach.

“Brace for impact!” he shouted. “KANE, COME!”

The shepherd sprinted forward. Tucker curled his left arm around Kane’s chest and turned them both so they were tucked against the bulkhead. He propped his legs against the pilot’s chair and squeezed his eyes shut.

Beneath his rear end, the Beriev’s fuselage shuddered as it passed the shallows. Next came a shriek, followed by a grinding of metal on sand.

The plane violently lurched left, catching a pontoon on something—­a rock, a sandbar—­then flipped up on its nose and cartwheeled across the beach.

Glass shattered.

From the cabin, screams and shouts.

The copilot’s seat tore free and seemed to float in midair before crashing into the side window above Tucker’s head.

Then the plane hit the trees, shearing off one wing. They slammed to a teetering stop, the plane stuck up on its side, the remaining wing pointed to the sky.

Tucker looked around. A pair of emergency lights in the overhead bathed the cockpit in a dull glow. Tree branches jutted through the side window. Above him, over his left shoulder, he saw a sliver of dark sky through the windscreen.

He took personal inventory of his condition and ran his hands over Kane’s flanks and limbs, getting a reassuring lick in return.

Think, he commanded himself.

Felice was still out there, but her helicopter lacked pontoons, so it could not land in the water. He pictured the tree-­lined beach. He didn’t believe it was wide enough to accommodate the chopper’s rotor span.

We have time—­but not much.

They just had to survive until the plane Harper sent got here.

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