The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (73 page)

The Toyota was being driven at about seventy mph and the Mercedes must have been going faster because it was pulling away. The road straightened out and Lehman levelled the Huey, then he increased his airspeed so that the helicopter began to gain on the car. He took the Huey in at a forty-five-degree angle from behind, and had Doherty count off the distance in feet so that he could concentrate on the road ahead.

“Fifty, forty-five, forty,” Doherty said over the radio. “It’s a guy driving, Dan. It’s definitely a guy. And he’s got grey hair.”

Lehman increased his pressure on the left foot pedal and eased the helicopter to the left, dropping down so that the skids were whizzing along just six feet above the grass. “He must have seen us,” said Lehman. “He must have heard us by now.”

“He hasn’t turned round,” said Doherty. “Thirty-five feet. Thirty.” The road ahead curved to the right and the Mercedes was already around the bend, out of sight. There was a cluster of buildings on the bend, a filling station and some wooden shacks with old, rusting cars in front of them. He had only a few hundred yards before he’d have to climb to get above them, so he increased his speed and in a smooth movement drew level with the Toyota. Lehman’s vision was completely obscured by Doherty and the left side of the slick but he heard Doherty’s excited voice in his helmet. “It’s him! It’s him all right!”

The filling station loomed up and Lehman hauled on the collective and twisted it. At the same time he pulled the cyclic to the right, taking the Huey up and away from Tyler’s car, soaring over the obstructions so they were once again looking down on the white Toyota. He heard the rattle of gunfire and took a quick look over his shoulder. Horvitz had his M16 to his shoulder and was firing short, controlled bursts at the car below. Empty shells scattered over the floor of the Huey.

“He’s still wearing his police uniform,” said Doherty over the radio. “It’s definitely him.”

The filling station disappeared behind them and Lehman put the Huey into a dive, swooping down on the Toyota like a hawk diving on a rabbit.

“He’s got a gun!” Doherty shouted. “Pull away!”

Lehman swung the helicopter to the right and as he did a bullet smashed through the Plexiglas in front of Doherty and thudded into the electrical equipment in the roof of the cockpit. He took the Huey higher and flew over the Toyota so that they were on the opposite side to Tyler, who had accelerated and had just one hand on the steering wheel. In his right hand he had his Smith & Wesson, the gun he’d shown them all in the Eastin Hotel, and he poked it through the open window and fired a second shot as the Huey flew overhead. Lehman saw him twist in his seat and scowl, then press the button that electronically opened the windows on the passenger side of his vehicle.

Horvitz slid across the Huey and took up position at the doorway, bracing his M16 against the bulkhead and firing short sprays. Bullets thudded into the doors of the Toyota and the tail light exploded into a shower of red and orange plastic. Tyler bent low across the front seats and fired up at the helicopter, but his shot went wide and he almost lost control of the speeding car.

There was a bullet-proof metal sheet that could be raised to protect the pilot from side-on shots, but Lehman couldn’t take his hands off the controls. He pressed himself back against the seat to make himself a smaller target and tried to hold the Huey steady so that Horvitz could take aim. He kept his eyes on the road ahead and tried not to look at Tyler and his powerful handgun.

He heard the rattle of Horvitz’s rifle and then heard the squeal of tortured metal and when Lehman looked to his right he saw Tyler fighting to keep the Toyota on the road. Steam was pouring from under the hood and the wind-screen had shattered. Both tyres on the left side of the car were tattered ribbons of rubber and the front wheel hub was grating along the road in a shower of sparks. The rear end of the car began to slide as the Toyota lost speed and for a moment it looked as if it were going to roll, but Tyler managed to straighten it up and it stopped.

Carmody was pumping his claw in the air and screaming obscenities at the Toyota, wisps of smoke feathering from the barrel of his M16. Horvitz had his M16 still at his shoulder, covering the wrecked car. Lehman pulled the helicopter around in front of the Toyota, keeping it at an angle so that both Horvitz and Carmody could cover the car with their rifles. He took the Huey lower so that its skids were only inches above the road’s surface.

The hood had buckled and steam still hissed around it as water pooled under the engine. The windscreen had completely shattered and the downdraught from the thudding rotors blew glass cubes along the road like hailstones. There was no sign of Tyler. Lehman moved the cyclic a fraction of an inch to the left and edged the Huey to the side, compensating with his pedals to keep Horvitz and Carmody facing the car as he moved to check out the driver’s side. The door was still closed.

Doherty pressed his radio mike switch. “You think he’s hurt?”

“I don’t know, Chuck,” replied Lehman. “Just keep your hands clear of the controls in case I have to move fast.”

He kept the Huey moving, aware of the sweat on his hands and the dryness of his mouth, trying not to blink because he knew that when Tyler moved he’d move fast. A minibus packed with gawking housewives drove up behind the Toyota and slowed, the driver watching openmouthed. He put the vehicle in reverse and screeched away, eventually turning round and driving back towards Shatin. A chunk of shattered windscreen fell down and broke into tiny cubes on the hood and then Tyler was up, both hands on the gun which he stuck through the hole where the windscreen had been. Lehman saw him as if frozen in time: the policeman’s khaki tunic, the whiteness of the knuckles as the hands tensed, the crow’s feet around Tyler’s eyes as he took aim, the smear of blood across his grey hair. Lehman heard the M16s crackle and he saw a flash from the barrel of Tyler’s gun at the exact moment that a hole appeared in the Plexiglas in front of him. He jerked the controls to the left, at the same time as Tyler ducked out of sight. Lehman felt a cutting pain in his right arm as if someone had plunged a hot knife into his flesh and was twisting it deeper.

Both Horvitz and Carmody had missed Tyler though several shots had hit the headlights of the Toyota. “They missed him!” shouted Doherty.

Lehman felt his arm burn and the strength began to ebb out of his right hand. He clenched his fingers tighter around the cyclic and when he pulled the trigger of his radio mike switch he almost screamed, so intense was the pain in his forearm.

“I’ve been hit,” he said.

“Where?” said Doherty, turning to look.

“Right arm,” hissed Lehman, biting down his lip.

The driver’s door flew open and Tyler used it as cover to scramble to the back of the Toyota. He stood up and fired a shot at the Huey. It went wide and Lehman fought to keep control of the helicopter, every movement of the cyclic making him wince. Tyler moved away from the car, keeping himself facing the nose of the Huey so that Horvitz and Carmody couldn’t get a clear shot. Neither Doherty nor Lehman had guns, and Tyler knew it. He faced them with the gun held in both hands, waiting to see what they’d do next.

Lehman could feel wetness crawl down his sleeve and he knew that his right arm would soon be useless. He felt it begin to tremble and the nose of the Huey wobbled left and right. Tyler could obviously see the wound and he smiled thinly, raising the gun. Lehman wanted to turn the Huey to the side so that Carmody and Horvitz could open fire but he knew that he wouldn’t be fast enough with the injured arm, that Tyler would see it coming and would have all the time in the world to put several bullets from the high-powered handgun into the cockpit. Tyler began to walk forward, towards the Huey, as Lehman fought to keep the Huey steady.

“I’ve got it,” he heard Doherty say, and in the periphery of his vision he saw him reach for the controls.

“No!” he said, but his fingers had gone numb and he couldn’t pull the mike switch. He took his right foot off the pedal and used it to press down on the second radio mike switch on the floor, but it was too late, he could feel Doherty’s hands and feet take over. The Huey immediately began to rise as Doherty twisted the collective too much, then Lehman’s stomach fluttered as he brought it down too hard so that it slammed into the ground and then bounced up again.

“I’ve got it,” repeated Doherty.

Tyler stood where he was, about twenty feet in front of the hovering helicopter, and smiled as he stood, legs shoulder width apart, the gun in both hands. He took aim at Doherty, but as he fired the Huey dropped again and the shot went high. Lehman looked across at Doherty. The man seemed totally calm, totally at peace, as if unaware of the horrendous position they were in. He looked almost as if he were meditating. The nose of the Huey dipped and for one wild moment Lehman thought that Doherty was trying to attack Tyler with the whirling rotor blades. That would be fatal because the Huey would immediately lose lift and crash into the ground. He reached for the cyclic but before he could extend his injured arm Doherty had increased the power to the rotors and levelled the Huey, its skids a couple of feet off the ground.

Lehman looked at Tyler and saw that he was taking aim with the gun again. Doherty was breathing deeply, his hands and feet moving on the controls as if they had lives of their own. The tail twitched to the left and Doherty pushed his foot down on the left pedal to correct it. Lehman heard the turbine roar as Doherty increased the power to the rotors and the needle flickered in the torque gauge. As the power increased, the Huey’s tail twitched to the left until Doherty remembered to compensate by pushing down on the left pedal. The Huey had a natural tendency to turn in the opposite direction to the rotors. Following Newton’s law that for every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction, the Huey wanted to spin clockwise. The tail rotor pushed the tail against the torque, and it was operated by the pedals. The faster the main rotor span, the more pressure was needed on the left pedal to keep the Huey pointing straight ahead. Doherty’s flying skills had gone rusty, to say the least, thought Lehman. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity that was almost telepathic, Lehman knew what Doherty was going to do. It was as if Doherty had spoken to him out loud, though he knew that no words had passed the man’s lips since he’d said that he had taken the controls. Lehman slid his own feet off the pedals so that he wouldn’t interfere. He looked straight ahead, willing Tyler not to fire for just another second. He saw Tyler’s arms come up, and he saw him turn his head slightly to one side as he aimed, and then Doherty took his foot off the left pedal and pressed the right pedal right to the floor, increasing power because the sharp turn would cause a loss of lift.

With no pressure on the left pedal, the Huey whirled around like a top, the nose spinning to the right, the tail acting like a whip. As the Huey began to spin Tyler saw what was happening and took a step back, his gun still aimed at the cockpit. Lehman heard a crack as the bullet hit something metallic but the Huey continued to spin and all he could see were the fields and the hills beyond. The Huey dropped as it spun but Doherty pulled on the collective and the skids only scraped the surface of the road before rising into the air again. He tried to stop the spin but overcompensated with the pedals. Lehman put his feet on his own controls and helped bring the Huey into a level hover. Directly in front of them was Tyler’s body lying awkwardly on the road, his head almost severed by the Huey’s stinger which had slashed through the skin and tendons like a scythe. Doherty’s lethal manoeuvre was one which Lehman had seen happen time and time again by accident in Nam, with over-hasty pilots turning their slicks too fast and spinning their tails into unwary grunts, with often fatal results. He’d never seen it done deliberately, though. This was a first.

Doherty regained control and gently put the Huey on the ground. He looked over at Lehman and smiled thinly.

“I’ve waited a long time for that,” he said, forgetting to use the radio mike. Lehman understood, even though the words were lost in the beat of the rotors.

Horvitz and Carmody leapt out of the stationary Huey, their M16s at the ready, and raced over to the bloodstained body. Horvitz crouched down but it was clear that Tyler was stone dead.

Carmody went over to the crippled Toyota and peered in through the open driver’s door. He called Horvitz over and pulled the rear door open.

Lehman clicked his foot mike switch on with his left foot. “You think you can fly her?”

“How bad are you hit?” Doherty asked.

Lehman tried to move his right arm but a bolt of pain lanced through his entire right side. “I can use the pedals, and probably help with the collective, but my right arm is useless.”

Doherty took off his helmet, unbuckled himself and climbed out of the Huey, then rushed around to Lehman’s side. He examined Lehman’s wound, tearing the shirt open. The flesh was wet with blood but the bullet seemed to have missed the bone. Doherty lifted the arm, slowly because Lehman cried out in pain, and saw that there was an exit wound, slightly larger than where the bullet had gone in.

“It might hurt, Dan, but there’s no major damage,” he said. “It didn’t touch the bone and it doesn’t look like it tore any major blood vessels.” He ripped a strip of material from Lehman’s shirt and used it as a makeshift tourniquet. “Keep it tight for ten minutes or so, then loosen it for a while before tightening it,” said Doherty. “Keep doing that, it should stop bleeding eventually. We’ll clean and sterilise the wound later.”