Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [114]
“How ‘bout that! Class of ‘70, too. Well, here we go again, sports fans. I take it you don’t much like airplane rides?”
Before Carroll had a chance to answer in the extreme negative, the Bell copter jumped straight up from the parking lot cement. The ascent left Carroll’s small intestine somewhere behind. The chopper pierced the smoky city morning, hugging the dusky walls of nearby buildings. The pilot cleverly avoided swift winds sweeping off the river.
Then the copter swung out wide toward the East River. A second helicopter, another Bell, joined in from due south.
“No, I’m not real crazy about helicopters. No offense, Luther.”
Adrenaline flowed wildly, it raged like a flooding river through Carroll’s body. Down below, he could see traffic streaming on the FDR highway.
The police pilot eventually spoke up over the rotors’ noise. “Beautiful morning, man. You can see Long Island, Connecticut, almost see Paris, France.”
“Beautiful morning to get shot in the fucking heart.”
The black pilot snorted out a laugh. “You been to Viet Nam all right. Let’s see, we’ve got two, three armed patrol helicopters on them right now. Pick up more help once we find out which borough they’re goin’ to. I think we’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right, Luther.”
“You see them down there? Little toy taxicabs. See? See right there?”
“Yeah, with little toy M-16s, toy rocket launchers,” Carroll said to the pilot.
“You talk just like ex-infantry. Ironic-type shit. Makin’ me all misty-eyed.”
“Still infantry from the look of things. Except I’m afraid we’re fighting the Green Berets today.”
The pilot turned to Carroll with a knowing look. “They’re bad dudes all right. Definitely Special Forces.” He nodded as if to a secret beat. He almost seemed proud of the Vets’ bravado. Their street fighting style had hit a chord.
A thousand feet below, the FDR Drive was a delicate ribbon of silver and shiny jet black. The Vets cabs looked intensely yellow, almost tawdry down there. As the lineup of cabs crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, both Bell helicopters swung high and wide to avoid being seen. The copters actually briefly disappeared into low-flying clouds.
Carroll’s shirt was already soaked through. Everything seemed to be happening at a distance. The world was slightly fuzzed and unreal. They were going to solve Green Band after all.
On the Brooklyn side of the bridge, he could see that traffic was heavy but moving. The steady whoosh of cars, an occasional bleating horn, traveled all the way up to the helicopter cockpit.
“They’re getting off at the Navy Yard exit! This is Carroll to control. The Vets convoy is exiting at the Navy Yard! They’re proceeding northeast into Brooklyn!” Carroll screeched into the microphone.
Chapter 86
AT THAT SAME INSTANT, a deafening explosion jarred the underbelly of the police helicopter with a jolt that seemed to rattle right through Carroll’s bones.
His head cracked hard against the metal roof and sharp bolts of pain stabbed behind his eyes.
Then a second jarring blast struck the reverberating cockpit.
Splinters of glass flew in all directions. Star fractures cobwebbed across the windshield. Everywhere, metal was ringing with gunshots. Glaring red flashes were angrily ribboning the sky.
“Ohhh, goddamn, I’m hit. I’m hit,” the pilot moaned as he slumped forward.
Meanwhile a machine gun loudly chattered off to Carroll’s left. Carroll caught a brief glimpse of floating, blinking red lamps on the right and the hulking shapes of two choppers he hadn’t seen before.
Christ! Two Cobras were attacking them.
Suddenly the sky was filled with bright, jarring yellow orbs of light, with roaring fire and billowing black smoke.
The companion police helicopter had disintegrated before Carroll’s disbelieving eyes.
Where the chopper had hovered just seconds before, there was nothing except for leaping gold and orange flames. Nothing was left except this eerie, fading afterimage in the sky.
Carroll could see that