Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [91]
"But..."
"I'm serious, Ju. I could idle half the factories in Shen Zhen with a memo."
"Mr. Wexler, please be reasonable. We have no control over the actions of the People's Liberation Army..."
"I don't want to hear excuses, Chairman. We will pull our contracts out of China if this invasion doesn't stop."
"But surely we can work out an agreeable solution to this crisis. You need us the same way we need..."
"Taiwan can do the work. Or maybe we'll just build a few factories in the USA. And it doesn't end there," Wexler warned. "I also have friends in Bentonville, Arkansas. If those folks decide to cancel their contracts, the Chinese economic boom will come to an abrupt and permanent end..."
* * *
7:44:09 a.m. PDT
Over the high desert of Nevada
It had taken Jack Bauer over an hour, but in the end he managed to cut through the red tape and commandeer an MH-6J "Little Bird" helicopter. This particular model was being used for desert reconnaissance by the Immigration and Naturalization Services, so it didn't have all the bells and whistles to which Jack had become accustomed.
The Little Birds he flew in his Delta Force days had a FLIR passive imaging system, and two 7.62mm mini-guns mounted on the sides, along with a pair of 7-shot, 2.75-inch rocket pods — features he could have put to good use on his present mission. Fortunately the MH-6J was nimble and quick, and capable of flying nap of the earth over varying terrain and weather conditions. Best of all, because the Bird was so compact, the craft presented a low profile on radar — though not low enough to completely avoid detection.
As soon as he lifted off, Jack Bauer contacted Tony Almeida on the man's stolen cell phone. Tony was hiding somewhere inside of Groom Lake Air Force base, trying to figure out a way to rescue the hostages. Jack and Tony established a time and place for a rendezvous, well aware that the chances for either of them to make that connection was probably negligible.
In the middle of the conversation, Tony's call abruptly ceased. Jack tried and failed to reach him again, and deduced the base was being jammed, either by the Chinese or by the United States military. Jack could not raise Nina, Curtis, or Morris, either.
Thirty minutes into his gut-wrenching, low-level flight, Jack slowed his aircraft and tested the GPS system. Like the radios and cell phones, the satellite signal was being jammed. Cursing, he glanced over at the area map displayed on his monitor. Jack determined he was less than fifteen miles from the base, and approaching out of the sun. Bauer hoped the blazing orange ball rising on the eastern horizon would be enough to mask his arrival.
* * *
7:47:40 a.m. PDT
Somewhere in the Nevada desert
The vehicle slammed through another ragged ditch. Sand filled the open compartment and Morris pitched forward. Seat belts straining, he was yanked backwards again as the sandrail climbed out of the hole. The little man had been jolted so badly he nearly lost the electronic device he'd been fumbling with.
"Dear God, woman. Would you please slow down!"
Morris was yelling. Not because he was angry, but because it was the only way his voice could be heard over the ear-splitting roar of the rear mounted engine.
Nina Myers shifted into low gear. In a cloud of choking dust they climbed back to level ground. "I can't slow down," she cried. "I'm already going too slow. The ground is rougher than this map indicates."
"That what you get for listening to a pair of braindead hippies," Morris shot back.
Sixty-five minutes ago, Nina, Curtis, and Morris had "acquired a pair of sandrails — not "dune buggies," as the men who owned the machines were quick to point out. Dune buggies were converted vehicles, usually Volkswagen Beetles because of their rear-engine design. Sandrails,