Vixen 03

"We're in position," Pitt said.

"Almost ready," Weir replied through lips that were turning blue. "I'm hooking up the cooling tubes. If we don't have water circulating around the head and power supply, the unit will barbecue its anatomy."

"Somehow I expected a more exotic piece of equipment," said Pitt.

"Large-frame argon lasers are not spawned for science-fiction movies, Mr. Pitt." Dr. Weir went on talking as he made a final check of the wiring co

"Has it the punch to do the job?"

Weir shrugged. "Eighteen watts concentrated in a tiny beam that releases a mere two kilowatts of energy doesn't sound like much, but I promise you it's ample."

"How close do you want us to the projectile?"

"The beam divergence makes it necessary to be as near as possible. Less than fifty feet."

Pitt pressed his mike button. "Al?"

"Come in."

" Close to within forty feet of the projectile."

"At that range we'll be buffeted by turbulence from the copter's rotor."

"Can't be helped."

Weir flicked the laser's main switch.

"Do you read me, Abe?" Pitt asked.

"I'm listening."

"The idea is for Giordino to maneuver close enough so we can sever the shroud lines attached to the projectile with a laser beam."

"So that's the angle," Sandecker said.

"That's the angle, Admiral." Pitt's voice was soft, almost casual. "We're moving into position now. Steady on course. Keep whatever fingers you have free crossed and let's do it."

Giordino eased the controls with the precision of a watchmaker and slipped the Catlin beside and slightly below the Minerva. He began to feel the chopping wind currents on the control surfaces and his hands tightened about the yoke. Back in the cargo section the violent shaking rattled everything that wasn't tied down. Pitt alternated his gaze between the projectile and Weir.

The head physicist from Stransky Instruments bent over the laser head. He showed no signs of fear or anxiety. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"I don't see any beam," said Pitt. "Is it working?"

"Sorry to shatter your conceptions," answered Weir, "but the argon laser beam is invisible."

"How can you zero it in?"

"With this thirty-dollar telescopic rifle sight." He patted the round tube, which had been hastily screwed to the laser. "It won't win me the Nobel Prize, but it should suffice."

Pitt lay on his stomach and crawled until his head was past the threshold of the open hatch. The blasting cold tore at his head bandage, causing one end of the gauze to flap like a flag in a hurricane. The projectile was hanging below the helicopter, trailing at a slight angle toward the tail rotor. Staring at it. Pitt found it difficult to believe a universe of agony and death could be crammed into so small a package.

"Closer," Weir shouted. "I need another ten feet."

"Move in ten feet," Pitt said over the microphone.

"Any closer and we can use a pair of scissors," Giordino muttered. If he was tense with anxiety, he didn't show it. His face displayed the expression of one who was half dozing. Only the burning eyes gave any hint of the concentration required for precision flying. The sweat felt like it was exploding inside his cast and the nerve endings in his leg screamed at the irritation.

Pitt could make out something now — a blackening color in the twisted shroud lines above the projectile. The invisible beam had locked in and was melting the nylon strands. How many were there? he wondered; perhaps as many as fifty.

"She's overheating!" Two words and a skipped heartbeat. "Too cold in here with that hatch open," Weir yelled. "The coolant tubes have frozen up."

Weir's eyes returned to the telescopic sight. Pitt could see several lines parting, their charred ends snapping horizontally and lashing out in the airstream. The acrid smell of burning insulation began to invade the cabin.

"The tube won't take much more," said Weir.

Another half-dozen shroud lines burned free, but the rest remained taut and undamaged. Weir suddenly straightened up and tore off his smoldering gloves.

"God, I'm sorry!" he shouted. "The tube is gone!"

The Quick Death projectile still hung ominously beneath the Minerva.

Thirty seconds dragged by while Pitt lay there, staring at the deadly projectile swinging through the sky. There was no expression on his face, just a peculiar preoccupation. Then he broke the silence.

"We've lost the laser," he a

"Damn, damn, damn!" Steiger snarled. "Where did our luck go?" His voice was almost savage in bitterness and frustration.

"So now?" Admiral Sandecker asked calmly.

"You break off and put that turkey in a dive," Pitt answered.

"A what?"

"The last card in the deck. Head into a dive. When you build up sufficient g-forces, pull up. Maybe Abe's luck will change and your unwanted passenger will drop free."

"It'll be sticky," said Steiger. "I'll have to do it on instruments. I can't see shit with the canopy covering the windshield."

"We'll stay with you," Giordino said.

"Don't come too close or you'll catch our cold," Steiger replied. He eased the helicopter clear of the chase plane. "Let's pray this baby isn't constipated." Then he pushed the control stick forward.

The Minerva tipped over and down on a seventy-degree angle. Sandecker braced his feet against the base of Steiger's seat and clawed for a handhold. To the men watching in rapt fascination from the Catlin, the helicopter's nose pointed straight at the sea.

"Ease your angle of descent." said Pitt. "The projectile is begi

"I read you," said Steiger, his words tense and strained. "It's like jumping off a building with your eyes closed."

"You're looking good," Pitt said reassuringly. "Not too fast. Pass seven g-factors and you lose your rotor blades."

"Wouldn't think of it."

Four thousand feet.

Giordino did not attempt to match Steiger foot for foot. He lagged behind — ' keeping the Catlin in a shallow banking dive, corkscrewing down behind the Minerva. Dr. Weir, his job finished. groped toward the warmth of the control cabin.

The sharp tilt to the helicopter's cabin floor made Admiral Sandecker feel as though he were standing with his back against a wall. Steiger's eyes danced from the altimeter to the air-speed indicator to the gauge showing the artificial horizon and back again.

Three thousand feet.

Pitt could see that the canopy of the parachute was flapping dangerously near the twirling rotor, but he remained silent. Steiger had enough on his mind, he reasoned, without hearing another dire warning. He watched as the sea rushed up to meet the Minerva.

Steiger began to experience a mounting vibration. The wind noise was picking up as his speed increased. For a fleeting second he considered holding the stick in position and ending the torment. But then, for the first time that day, he thought of his wife and children, and his desire to see them again stoked a fierce determination to live.

"Abe, now!" Pitt's command boomed over his earphone. "Pull out."