"Michael, thank God it's you," Armont said into the mike. "Guess what,
we almost went to war against the U.S. Special Forces. We have just
surrendered. Incidentally, nice work up there. Or maybe you just got
lucky." He laughed. "Seeing you rappelling leads me to suggest that you
probably ought to stick to other lines of work."
"I hear you," Vance said. "By the way, the bad news is Ramirez got
away."
"So he was in the Sikorsky?" Armont sighed with resignation. "Blast, I
was afraid of that."
"Well, this may not be over yet. The vehicle got up, but we're not
quite sure where it's headed, bomb or no bomb. I want to try to get
into Command, or what's left of it, and try to find out. Before some
Delta cowboy fires a Hellfire missile in there."
"Good idea," Armont agreed. "It would also be nice to keep a handle on
Ramirez's getaway chopper. But I assume somebody will interdict him.
The almighty U.S. Navy owns this airspace, as we found out the hard
way."
"Don't count on anything. He took along Mannheim as a hostage.
Insurance. This guy is no slouch. I'd be willing to bet he's got
something up his sleeve. One thing he's got is at least one more bomb.
Bill saw it on the chopper. And he might be just crazy enough to use
it, God knows where."
"Then I don't know what the U.S. can do if he's got a hostage, and a
bomb. They're sure as hell not going to shoot him down. Where do you
think he's headed?"
"That's question number two, but if we can get into Command, maybe we
can figure out a way to track him from there. Somehow."
"Good luck," Armont said quietly, and with feeling. "And stay in
touch."