were huge, with a main rotor almost fifty feet in diameter, but they
could turn on a dime and these did. They came about and opened fire
with their chain guns on the cinderblock portico where Armont and Hall
and Voorst were ensconced.
The 30mm rounds tore around them, sending chunks of concrete flying,
but the structure was temporarily solid enough to provide protection.
Armont ducked out and got off another burst, keeping on the heat, then
back in again.
Now the Agusta was hovering just above the nose of the VX-1 vehicle,
and Vance had disappeared on the other side. What, Armont wondered
again, could he possibly be doing with the vehicle . . . ? Then the
answer hit him, as transparent as day.
_Merde!_ He's going to try and retrieve the bomb.
Good Christ, he thought, the man has gone mad. He may know how to trace
hot money halfway around the globe, but he doesn't know zip about a
nuclear device. He'll probably set the thing off by accident and blow
the entire island to--
A spray of cannon fire kicked up a line of asphalt next to where he was
standing, and he retreated for cover deeper behind the cinderblock
portico. They're not going to fool around long with that chain gun, he
told himself. We're going to be looking at rockets soon, and then it's
game up.
"We've done what we can for Michael," he yelled, getting off one last
burst. "We've got to get back inside before they get tired of playing
around and just fry this place."
"I hear you," Willem Voorst agreed, already headed deeper inside.
"Mike's on his own."