Wildfire (58 page)

It was six-thirty in the evening, mountain time, when the executive Learjet touched down at the Municipal Airport in Cody, Wyoming, where the FBI's local senior resident agent, two additional FBI agents, a National Park ranger, an FBI sedan, and a pair of unarmed Army Blackhawk helicopters and their crews were waiting.

A1 Grynard quickly introduced Halahan, Lightstone, and Takahara.

"We've set up a command post at the airport tower," the senior resident agent said. "The Army's provided us with four Blackhawks and crews. We've got two of them up in the air right now, with assault-rifle-armed agents, sweeping the western quadrants of the park. These two will take you guys up into the eastern quadrants. We've got other resources on standby, but we figured we needed to locate the suspects first."

"Sounds good." A1 Grynard nodded.

"A1 and I will be at the command center," Halahan said to Lightstone and Takahara. "You guys keep us informed on what's going on out there."

"Yes, sir," Mike Takahara said.

"Absolutely." Henry Lightstone nodded.

A1 Grynard gave Lightstone a long look, shook his head, and then followed Halahan and the senior resident out to the waiting sedan as the two wildlife agents and the park ranger walked over to the waiting helicopters.

"So how many of the Crucible devices have you found so far?" Mike Takahara asked as he and Lightstone and the park ranger quickly climbed into the helicopter, strapped themselves in, and put on the radio-equipped crash helmets that would allow them to listen in on the pilot's conversations, and communicate through the aircraft's intercom system.

"Two, we think."

"Two! That's all?"
the tech agent said incredulously.

"And we're not even sure about those two." The ranger nodded. "Do you have that example one with you?"

"Yeah, right here." Takahara nodded, pulling the hinged box out of his duffel bag and handing to the uniformed ranger the prototype Crucible device he'd seized from the Tisbury villa.

"Hey, can that thing go off?" the warrant officer copilot demanded, looking back into the cabin as he and the pilot began their preflight routines.

"No, not a chance. There's no fuel in this one," Takahara said quickly.

The warrant officer muttered something unkind about civilians in general, and then went back to his preflight as the ranger continued to examine the device.

"Yeah, this looks like what they described," he said. "Man, look at that camouflage job. No wonder everybody's having so much trouble finding the damn things."

"Do you know how far apart the ones were that you
did
find?"

The ranger thought for a moment. "As I recall, about five or six miles."

"Shit." Mike Takahara winced.

"Why, what's the matter?" Jim Whittman asked.

"I was hoping they'd be spreading them out for maximum distance, which would have been more like ten miles," the tech agent explained. "That way, every one we find would break the pattern, because the ignition signal wouldn't reach twenty miles to the next one. But if they're putting them five miles apart, then there's going to be an overlap, which means just finding a couple isn't going to do it. We've got to find a whole bunch of them."

"Either that or their ignition device," Lightstone reminded.

"Yeah, what does that look like?" the park ranger asked.

Mike Takahara reached into the hinged wooden box and handed the ranger the ignition system with the dangling cable.

"How does it work?"

"Just snap that cap on the end of the cable over either end of the device, set the timer, press the ignite button, and then get the hell out of the way," Takahara explained.

"And they can set this whole Wildfire business off, all two thousand Crucibles, just by hooking one of these ignition systems to any one of those devices?"

"As long as each ignited device is within ten to twelve miles of the next one, that's right." The tech agent nodded. "The only real advantage we've got right now is that it's going to take them a long time to place two thousand devices in that wide a pattern, presumably through forested areas that'll burn."

"How much time will we have once she ignites the first one?" the ranger asked.

"Zero to ten seconds for each successive ignition, depending on how she sets the delay timer on each of the devices," Mike Takahara answered. "If you figure the maximum delay, then the fire ring moves outward from Whitehorse Cabin at a rate of five to ten miles every ten seconds, unless we can break the pattern."

"Christ," the ranger whispered, "then we'd better hurry up and find this Ember gal pretty damned quick."

"Why's that?" Whittman asked.

"Because once it gets dark around here," the ranger said, as the pilot called out on the helicopter's intercom system for everyone to put their carryons into the cargo storage nets, check their seat belts, and hang on, "we're never going to find any more of those devices, no matter
how
hard we look."

They were coming in over the southeastern corner of Yellowstone National Park, the lead Blackhawk at two hundred feet and the trailing one about a mile back at six hundred feet, when the pilot in the lead helicopter spotted the lights of a small plane flying at about a hundred feet above treetop level. The pilot advised that he was going in close to take a look.

Less than a minute later he was back on the air.

"Looks like it's a Department of Interior plane," the lead pilot said, his voice audible to the four special agents and the park ranger through the Blackhawk's intercom system. "One of the occupants identified herself as Dr. Kim Wildman, from the National Biological Survey, helping to coordinate the ground crews."

"That sounds right." Mike Takahara spoke into his radio mike. "I talked to her again this afternoon, just before we left the Bahamas, and she told me then that she was planning on taking part in the search."

The pilot relayed that information to the lead helicopter.

"Ten-four," the lead pilot acknowledged, "I'm going to start a grid search at the northeast quadrant."

As the lead helicopter angled off to the right, away from the small plane, Henry Lightstone looked over at Mike Takahara.

Then, for almost a minute Henry Lightstone watched the helicopter lights disappear into the distance. Finally he spoke into his intercom radio mike. "You know, since this Dr. Wildman's one of the few people who have actually seen that camouflage pattern on those signs, I'm kind of surprised she isn't down there on the ground with her crews, helping them with the search."

Mike Takahara blinked, a puzzled expression appearing on his face.

"Hey," the copilot yelled before the tech agent could respond, "I think I just saw something fall from the bottom of that plane!"

"What was it?" Mike Takahara demanded.

"I don't know, it's too far away and it happened too fast," the warrant officer admitted. "It was just a flicker of something. Might not have been anything."

"Pilot," Mike Takahara said, "can you ask the pilot of the lead helicopter to turn back, recontact the plane, and ask Dr. Wildman the name of the agent she talked with a few hours ago?"

"Ten-four." Then: "Echo-Tango-Two, this is Echo-Tango-One, request you recontact the Department of Interior plane and ask Dr. Wildman the name of the agent she talked with a few hours ago."

"Echo-Tango-Two, ten-four."

The pilot waited thirty seconds, and then tried again: "Echo-Tango-Two, did you get a response?"

"That's a negative. You want me to—"

"Hey! There it goes again," the copilot yelled. "I know I saw something fall that time!"

"That's got to be them!" Mike Takahara spoke into his radio mike. "And they're still dropping those damn Crucibles into the pattern!"

The nose of the Blackhawk helicopter dipped forward as the pilot immediately got back on the radio.

"Tango-One to Tango-Two," the pilot called out, immediately dropping into a combat short-hand code, "Negative on your ID! That's our bogey!"

In what appeared to be an immediate response to the helicopter pilot's warning, the small plane banked away to the left and shut off its running lights.

"Shit, they're on our frequency," the pilot cursed, and then called out: "All Tango aircraft in the Yellowstone sector, go to combat frequency four."

The two Blackhawks sweeping the western quadrants called in an acknowledgment, and the flight leader directed them to maintain their positions as a blocking force.

"Tango-Two, on four," the head helicopter pilot called out. "Call it."

"Tango-One to Tango-Two. Move in and advise the Cessna pilot to land immediately. Repeat, land immediately."

"Command Post to all Echo-Tango units." A1 Grynard's voice broke in. "Be advised, if that plane does
not
land immediately, then the agents on board your aircraft are authorized to shoot it down."

"Echo-Tango-One to Command Post, requesting a confirmation." The military pilot spoke slowly and clearly. "If the plane refuses to land, the agents on board have a green light to destroy it in the air. Is that a roger?"

"Command Post to Echo-Tango-One, that
is
a roger. Do not hesitate. Shoot it down," A1 Grynard repeated.

The pilot looked back into the cabin. "You guys copy that back there?" The two wildlife agents and the park ranger all gave a thumbs-up signal.

"Tango-One, ten-four," the pilot transmitted. "We copy."

The other three helicopter pilots gave a similar acknowledgment.

"Tango-Two, we're going in," the lead pilot called out as he banked his helicopter.

"Christ, that plane is really hauling," Lightstone commented as he stared over the copilot's shoulder at the little plane that was rapidly disappearing in the growing darkness, followed by the larger Blackhawk.

"Not a problem, sir." The warrant officer grinned. "Just wait until you see what we can do with these birds."

As the copilot promised, within thirty seconds, Lightstone could see the lights of the lead helicopter coming alongside the dark shadow of the small plane.

"Tango-One to Command Post, Tango-Two's ordering them down now," the pilot advised over the intercom. "We'll give them . . . shit!"

With the dark mass of trees as a backdrop, five billowing streaks of flame had suddenly appeared from the side of the plane.

Then: "Goddamn it! Tango-Two, May-Day, May-Day! We've been hit. I've got warning lights—we're losing oil pressure. I've got to put this thing down!"

As the Blackhawk pilot started repeating his lead pilot's May-Day signal, calling out the coordinates as he accelerated the assault helicopter toward the rapidly fleeing small plane, the copilot looked back into the cabin. "Okay, folks, looks like we're it until the other choppers can get here. Anybody back there who's armed, get ready."

The park ranger looked pale as he started to stand up near the open cargo doorway. The copilot spotted the hesitation and reacted immediately. "You, sir," the warrant office copilot said to Lightstone over the intercom, "help me get that man hooked into one of those door gunner harnesses."

The copilot and Lightstone strapped the uneasy park ranger into the left-door harness, and then, with the copilot's help, Lightstone got himself into the right-side harness. He checked the chamber load on his 10mm double-action pistol as the rumbling helicopter continued its rapid descent toward the barely visible small plane.

"Gunner, left side," the pilot called out over the intercom, "we're going to make a pass over the top, from the rear, your side. You'll have about a three second window to take him out."

"I understand," the park ranger acknowledged, bracing his feet and leaning his weight into the harness straps. The pilot looked back as the ranger was double-checking the load in his .357 revolver.

"Gunner, left side, that pistol isn't going to do much good against that plane. Don't you have a rifle?"

"Negative, this is it." the park ranger shrugged, holding up the sidearm as he spoke into the intercom mike.

"Gunner, right side," the pilot called out, "what is your armament?"

"Same situation. Ten mil, semi-auto, ten rounds." Lightstone spoke into his mike, uneasily bracing himself in the doorway.

There was a pause, then: "Either of you guys ever done this sort of thing before?"

"That's a negative," Lightstone replied.

"Same here," the park ranger added.

"Okay, folks," the pilot said with an audible sigh. "After I make the pass, I'm going to loop around to the right and get back on his tail, try to force them down. If they won't respond, and you have to shoot, give them a little lead, aim for their cockpit... and try
real
hard not to hit our rotor."

"You got it," Lightstone acknowledged.

"Okay, people, here we go," the pilot said, and then Lightstone had to wedge his bandaged left hand in through one of the overhead support straps, feeling his stomach start to turn as he felt the Blackhawk accelerate.

Then the copilot yelled: "Look out, gun!" and the Blackhawk suddenly swerved away in a hard right turn as a pair of bright reddish-yellow explosions erupted from the copilot's side of the small plane.

It was all that Henry Lightstone could do to remain upright as the park ranger emptied his .357 at the suddenly blurred and rapidly disappearing plane image.

"What the hell are they shooting with?" the copilot demanded over the intercom.

"It looked like a long barrel, probably some kind of autoloading hunting rifle," the park ranger said, fighting to maintain his balance and choke back his growing nausea as the powerful helicopter continued its gravity- defying sharp turn, the heavy rotors churning furiously through the thin air.

"And probably using armor-piercing rounds to boot, if they got through Tango-Two's engine cowling armor," the copilot added.

"Wonderful," the pilot muttered over the intercom. "Anybody have any idea what kind of effective range we're talking about?"

"It's gotta be a lot farther than we can shoot," Lightstone replied.

"Yeah, roger that," the pilot acknowledged.