By Amy J. Fetzer
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Extra resources for Damage Control
The chopper rocketed with the speed of a Black Hawk. He grabbed on and looked back as the flares tumbled to earth. The missile chased, slamming into the mountainside a second later. Fire blossomed, expanded in a rolling orange cloud. Flames and debris flattened trees, tumbled shale rock. The sight faded as they flew farther into South Ossetia Georgia. But the MiG wasn’t giving up. Over the radio, the Georgian military warned the fighter jet to turn back immediately or be shot down. 50-caliber machine gun at the pilot.
Not with troops and a MiG climbing up their ass. The kidnappers had transported Mills from Greece to Chechnya without raising a single flag. If it weren’t for Safia and some Chechen rebels, they’d have never located the little geek. Information on this simply did not exist. A tight, small network, he reasoned, yet with the Russians, the possibilities he could immediately list were staggering. The least was selling weapons to unfriendlies like Iran. There was power behind this, enough that they’d risked returning to assure the trail was obliterated.
Everywhere. “Be advised. ” “Well, that just stole the joy,” Max said. Sebastian shouldered his rifle, then slipped off his pack and, with a penlight, followed the leads. He lifted the baggy shirt a fraction. Now that’s a big party favor. Slim tubes of C-4 were molded to Mills’s rib cage, his skin the only thing separating him from enough explosives to blow the entire prison into kibble. The phone was wired into it. And from the look of it, the fading battery wouldn’t matter. There’s a secondary power source, he thought, and through his night vision goggles, he studied the water, not daring to disturb it till he was certain the guy’s feet weren’t wired as well.