War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel by James Rollins, Grant Blackwood Page A
Authors: James Rollins, Grant Blackwood
Tags: United States, thriller, Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Mystery, Military, War & Military, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Conspiracies, Contemporary Fiction, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Spies & Politics
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the drone swept over, raining rounds all around. The conveyor’s scaffolding shook and shimmied. More sections came crashing down.
Tucker could swear that the entire structure had begun to list to one side.
Not good .
Then the world went silent as the drone banked away for the next pass.
Counting down in his head, Tucker moved quickly. He had only this one chance. He pulled himself around the scaffolding and onto the top side of the belt. He stood up, teetering on the decomposing rubber. The belt swayed under his weight—or maybe it was the scaffolding, as the structure groaned beneath him.
Either way, he had only one path open to him. He headed up the conveyor’s slope—at first cautiously, then with more urgency as the distant buzzing rose in volume.
He ran the countdown in his head.
Another fifteen seconds . . . plenty of time , he promised himself. Only another thirty yards to go .
He glanced over his shoulder.
A mistake.
His left foot plunged through the rubber, and he belly slammed onto the belt. He jerked his leg, but his boot was stuck in a tangle of vines below.
No, no, no—
He yanked harder and managed to pull his foot out of the boot. With his limb free now, he rolled and pushed back to his feet. Whether from his struggling or from the simple ravages of time, the entire conveyor’s structure began to give way, slowly toppling sideways.
Tucker sprinted.
The pitch of the drone increased, seeming to come from everywhere.
Out of time!
Six yards ahead, the end was in sight. The dark opening in the silo loomed, a black hole that led to who knows what? He didn’t care. It was either death by bullet or death by falling.
A bullet punched through the belt behind him.
Three yards to go .
Tucker flung himself headlong as the scaffolding collapsed beneath him. He dove through the opening—and found nothing but open air on the other side.
With a gasp of defeat, he plummeted into the dark.
9
October 13, 9:34 P . M . CDT
Huntsville, Alabama
Tucker squeezed his eyes shut as he fell, certain a bone-shattering impact was coming. But instead, after plunging for a long, frightening breath, he struck a surface that caved under his impact, knocking the wind out of him. Gasping, he slid and tumbled down a steep slope, then struck the far side of the metal silo with a ringing bang.
He lay on his back, gulping air back into his lungs. His fingers dug into the surface beneath him. Sand . He rested his head back as more rivulets of grains sifted around his body. This must be a sand collection silo for the factory.
Overhead, a scatter of rounds pinged off the outside of the silo, echoing through the hollow space. But he knew he was safe for the moment—at least from the drone.
So far, he had seen no sign of any hunters on the ground. But he knew the military often used drones to flush out quarry, to chase them into the arms of ground troops. He had to assume that might be the case or that others might be circling down upon his position.
Gotta keep moving .
But first he had to find Kane—which could prove challenging. After leaving the meeting with Frank, Tucker hadn’t bothered to equip the shepherd with his Kevlar jacket and communication gear. He mentally kicked himself for not doing so, but how could he have anticipated this aerial ambush on the road back to his motel?
Okay, so we do this old school .
By now, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. In the faint moonlight coming through the conveyor opening, he spotted another door opposite the one he had dived through a moment ago. The dark rectangle was about two yards up the wall on this side. He imagined it led into the main factory building. As well as he could tell from his brief and frantic survey of the grounds, there were four silos attached to the central building, one at each corner, like turrets on a castle.
When he and Kane had split up, the shepherd had taken off for a silo on the other side of the main building. Kane was likely still
Tucker could swear that the entire structure had begun to list to one side.
Not good .
Then the world went silent as the drone banked away for the next pass.
Counting down in his head, Tucker moved quickly. He had only this one chance. He pulled himself around the scaffolding and onto the top side of the belt. He stood up, teetering on the decomposing rubber. The belt swayed under his weight—or maybe it was the scaffolding, as the structure groaned beneath him.
Either way, he had only one path open to him. He headed up the conveyor’s slope—at first cautiously, then with more urgency as the distant buzzing rose in volume.
He ran the countdown in his head.
Another fifteen seconds . . . plenty of time , he promised himself. Only another thirty yards to go .
He glanced over his shoulder.
A mistake.
His left foot plunged through the rubber, and he belly slammed onto the belt. He jerked his leg, but his boot was stuck in a tangle of vines below.
No, no, no—
He yanked harder and managed to pull his foot out of the boot. With his limb free now, he rolled and pushed back to his feet. Whether from his struggling or from the simple ravages of time, the entire conveyor’s structure began to give way, slowly toppling sideways.
Tucker sprinted.
The pitch of the drone increased, seeming to come from everywhere.
Out of time!
Six yards ahead, the end was in sight. The dark opening in the silo loomed, a black hole that led to who knows what? He didn’t care. It was either death by bullet or death by falling.
A bullet punched through the belt behind him.
Three yards to go .
Tucker flung himself headlong as the scaffolding collapsed beneath him. He dove through the opening—and found nothing but open air on the other side.
With a gasp of defeat, he plummeted into the dark.
9
October 13, 9:34 P . M . CDT
Huntsville, Alabama
Tucker squeezed his eyes shut as he fell, certain a bone-shattering impact was coming. But instead, after plunging for a long, frightening breath, he struck a surface that caved under his impact, knocking the wind out of him. Gasping, he slid and tumbled down a steep slope, then struck the far side of the metal silo with a ringing bang.
He lay on his back, gulping air back into his lungs. His fingers dug into the surface beneath him. Sand . He rested his head back as more rivulets of grains sifted around his body. This must be a sand collection silo for the factory.
Overhead, a scatter of rounds pinged off the outside of the silo, echoing through the hollow space. But he knew he was safe for the moment—at least from the drone.
So far, he had seen no sign of any hunters on the ground. But he knew the military often used drones to flush out quarry, to chase them into the arms of ground troops. He had to assume that might be the case or that others might be circling down upon his position.
Gotta keep moving .
But first he had to find Kane—which could prove challenging. After leaving the meeting with Frank, Tucker hadn’t bothered to equip the shepherd with his Kevlar jacket and communication gear. He mentally kicked himself for not doing so, but how could he have anticipated this aerial ambush on the road back to his motel?
Okay, so we do this old school .
By now, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. In the faint moonlight coming through the conveyor opening, he spotted another door opposite the one he had dived through a moment ago. The dark rectangle was about two yards up the wall on this side. He imagined it led into the main factory building. As well as he could tell from his brief and frantic survey of the grounds, there were four silos attached to the central building, one at each corner, like turrets on a castle.
When he and Kane had split up, the shepherd had taken off for a silo on the other side of the main building. Kane was likely still
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