The Agent's Daughter by Ron Corriveau Page B

conditioning units. Evan
searched through the parachute until he found the radiation
detector. He cut it loose and placed it at his feet. He was going
to have company in a few moments, so he put the camera in his
pocket and reached for his sidearm. The sidearm was a standard
military issue fifteen-shot semi-automatic revolver that was
supposed to be located in a holster near his waistband. It had
apparently shifted during the landing and was now probably the
thing in his pants that was trying to give him a wedgie. As he was
fishing through his jumpsuit trying to find it, Evan heard a noise
behind him.
    “ Do not move,” the voice
behind Evan said in Russian.
    It was the guard that had first seen him,
though he appeared to be alone. He walked around Evan until he was
in front of him. The guard kept his rifle pointed at Evan the whole
time, and then he motioned for him to stand up. The guard was now
five feet in front of Evan, the barrel of his gun a few feet from
his chest. Slowly, Evan moved his hands to an interlocking position
behind his neck. He thought about lunging at the guard when a
thought occurred to him. With one of his fingers, he pressed a
button on his watch. The guard, lacking a radio to alert the other
guards, was unsure of what to do next, so he just stood there
waiting for others to show up. Evan stood there, smiling at the
guard but not moving. Finally, after about thirty seconds the
silence was broken by another voice, loud and behind Evan.
    “ Hey software doofus, did
you finally fix the dictation feature?”
    The guard instinctively turned around,
unaware that the voice was coming from Evan’s watch. As he looked
away, Evan executed a palm heel strike to the guard’s face that
sent him flying into one of the air conditioning units and knocking
him out cold.
    Evan laughed to himself. He was going to
have to tell that software doofus to leave his watch just as it is.
Kneeling down, he removed the jacket and helmet from the guard and
put them on, and then he grabbed the guard’s rifle and slung it and
the radiation detector over his shoulder.
    Moving over to the edge of the roof, Evan
tied one end of his parachute to one of the air conditioning units
and draped the other end over the side. Using the parachute as a
makeshift rappelling rope, he quickly made his way down the side of
the building until he was on the ground. Once he stepped away from
the building, he was joined by two guards.
    “ There is a parachute,”
Evan said in Russian as he pointed the rifle at the dangling
parachute. “He must be on the roof.”
    With that, the two guards rushed toward the
door of the building. Evan held the rifle in front of him, and he
ran the other way toward an area that was not as well lit. As he
headed down a dark passage between two buildings, he could hear the
sound of a loud machine. He carefully crept toward the noise, and
when he came to the end of the passage, he found himself on the
edge of a small grassy area. In the middle of the area, there was a
helicopter with the blades running at ready speed. It appeared that
it was waiting for someone before it took off.
    Evan looked around, but he did not see
anyone about to board. He raised the rifle, and held it out in
front of him as he saw the guards do, and then he marched across
the grass toward the helicopter. It was an older generation Russian
two-seater, used for close-in air support of the ground troops.
Evan had flown a similar version that Afghan allies had captured
during the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. He hoped it had
similar controls. The pilot did not see Evan approach, but he
looked up when Evan opened the cockpit door.
    “ Take off the helmet and
get out,” Evan said, pointing the rifle at him.
    The pilot complied and got out of the
helicopter with his hands up.
    “ Lay down on the ground,
face down,” Evan said as he put the pilot’s helmet on.
    Evan climbed into the cockpit and shut the
door. The controls were a little different