Gunner fired another shot.
“Penelope, talk to me,” Maverick said. “We’re sixty seconds to rooftop.”
Maverick waited, but his lead helicopter pilot didn’t respond. They hustled up three flights of stairs and exited through a doorway onto the rooftop. Breathing hard, Maverick propped the American against the cement wall.
Between the weight of the man and the flak jacket, sweat soaked Maverick’s back. He searched the dark sky. The helos should be here.
“Penelope, I need your location.”
“Twenty seconds,” she replied. The edginess in her voice didn’t bode well.
The fire door burst open and four terrorists started spraying the rooftop with bullets. Maverick’s team released a torrent of gunfire and the enemy dropped.
“We have to land on the north side of the building,” Penelope said into Maverick’s earpiece.
Maverick shouldered his submachine gun and retrieved the injured hostage. “Follow me. Gunner, take the rear.”
As they charged across the roof, the Black Hawks touched down. Maverick placed the injured man inside, then helped two women. Three ThunderStrike crew guided six of the hostages to the second craft, then jumped in behind them.
After assisting the remaining three Americans, Maverick did a quick head count. They were one shy. The other chopper lifted off and he surveyed the area. Gunner lay writhing on the ground. Maverick sprinted back, hoisted the two hundred and fifty pound man into his arms, and bolted back toward the helicopter. “Talk to me.”
“Fuck.”
“Where are you hit?”
“Chest.”
He laid Gunner into the belly of the craft.
As he was about to hop in, a barrage of gunfire exploded behind him. Searing pain shot through him. He tried climbing in, but collapsed on the ground.
“I’m hit,” Maverick said. “Penelope, go.”
“Gunner.” Penelope’s smooth voice rolled through the comm. “Make it happen.”
Gunner grunted. “I can’t move—”
“Two seconds, Gunner.” Penelope sounded far, far away, like she’d already left him to die in enemy territory.
An arm reached out…as everything faded to black.
2
C A R L Y ’ S B A D NE W S
C arlyle Stone glared at the Excel spreadsheet. Not even her death stare could change the bottom line. “Not good.” Her assistant’s shriek sent her hurrying into reception. “What’s wrong?”
Desiree Hott stood barefoot on her desk, her eyes wide with fear. “Another mouse.”
Carly sighed. “Those traps aren’t working. Did you see where it went?”
“Wherever it went isn’t far enough.” Desiree shuddered. “You know how you hate spiders? That’s how I feel about mice.”
“I was hoping we could get rid of them ourselves, but I’ll call an exterminator.”
“Why don’t you tell your dad?”
“I did, but he hasn’t done anything. Maybe this is the universe telling me to step away.”
