Page 11 of Hellbent

Jack smiled. “And you’re dumb enough to think that puts you at an advantage.”

He bulled forward, grabbed the cameraman’s rip-cord handle between his teeth, and flung his head back.

There was a moment of perfect stunned silence as the parachute hit the cabin floor.

The wind lifted the nylon gently at first, like a caress.

And then the canopy exploded open, knocking over the men in the cabin. The cameraman was sucked sideways out the open door. The Black Hawk lurched violently as first the chute and then the cameraman gummed into the tail rotor.

The Black Hawk wheeled into a violent 360. Jack gave a parting nod to the sprawled men and stepped off into the open air. On his way out, he saw the powerful ripstop nylon wrapping around the bent metal blades.

By instinct Jack snapped into an approximation of the skydiver’s stable position, flattening out, hips low, legs spread and slightly bent. His hands were cuffed, but he pulled his shoulders back, broadening his chest, keeping his hanging point above his center of gravity. The wind riffled his hair. He watched the sparse house lights wobble below, like trembling candles holding strong in a wind. He figured he’d have hit 125 miles per hour by now, terminal velocity for a human in free fall.

He’d always loved flying.

Jack thought of the malnourished twelve-year-old kid who’d climbed into his car all those years ago, blood crusted on the side of his neck. He thought about their silent hikes through the dappled light of an oak forest outside a Virginia farmhouse, how the boy would lag a few paces so he could walk in the footprints Jack left shoved into the earth. He thought about the way his stomach had roiled when he’d driven that boy, then nineteen years old, to the airport for his first mission. Jack had been more scared than Evan was. I will always be there, Jack had told him. The voice on the other end of the phone.

The ground was coming up fast.

I will always be there.

Jack shifted his legs and flipped over, now staring up at the night sky, letting gravity take his tired bones. The stars were robust tonight, impossibly sharp, the moon crisp enough that the craters stood out like smudges from a little boy’s hand. Against that glorious canopy, the Black Hawk spun and spun.

He saw it disintegrate, a final satisfaction before he hit the ground.

* * *

Evan stood in the darkness of the Vault, breathing the dank air, watching the live feed with horror.

The dizzying POV of the camera flying haphazardly around the cabin, banging off tether straps, jump seats, screaming men. And then airborne, free of the cabin, spinning off into the black void. The only sound now was the violence of the wind.

Evan’s brain was still stuck thirty seconds back when Jack had walked out the cabin door as calmly as if he were stepping off a diving board.

The virtual ground came up and hit Evan in the face.

Static.

Evan’s last panicked text to Van Sciver remained below: NO WIAIT STOP I’LL TELL YOU WHEREWW I AM

His next exhalation carried with it a noise he didn’t recognize.

The cursor blinked.

Van Sciver’s response finally arrived: TOO LATE.

Evan removed his contact lens and fingernails and put them back in the case.

He walked out of the Vault, through his bedroom, down the hall, and across the condo to the kitchen area.

The glass of vodka waited on the island.

He picked it up with a trembling hand.

He drank it.

5

Common Interests Are Important