Rising Tiger: A Thriller (13)

Eventually, after stories appeared in the American press, the Taliban had learned about the covert entrance the CIA had created on the backside of the airport. But, because Glory Gate didn’t serve any purpose for them, they had left it sealed and unguarded. The Taliban had neither the imagination nor the manpower to treat it as a potential weak point, which was exactly what Harvath was banking on.

Nicholas guided him to a spot halfway between the main road and the secret gate. There, Harvath turned off the bike’s ignition and laid it on its left side just in case there was even a single drop of fuel that could still be reclaimed.

He then quickly field-stripped the RPG and examined its components, before reassembling it and getting himself into a safe firing position.

The most important consideration was not to be right on top of the target. The warhead needed five meters of travel in which to become armed.

After about ten meters, the rocket’s internal motor ignites, its stabilizer fins pop out, and the round is pushed to full velocity, reaching a blistering speed of approximately three football fields a second.

At its top speed, the warhead was capable of penetrating eleven inches of solid steel. The RPG’s reputation as one of the deadliest and easiest-to-use weapons on the battlefield was well deserved. This one was going to go through the Glory Gate like a red-hot screwdriver through a butterfly’s wing.

Confirming that the back-blast area behind him was clear, Harvath sighted in his target, pressed the trigger, and sent the deadly projectile screaming toward the gate.

Less than two seconds later, it hit hard and detonated in a brilliant explosion. Harvath didn’t wait to assess the damage. Lifting the bike, he fired it up and drove straight for it.

The nearer he got, the better he could see how well the RPG had done its job. The warhead had blown half of the massive steel gate clean off its hinges. He couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect opening. Gunning the throttle, he drove right through it.

“I’m inside the wire, but black on fuel,” he radioed, letting his team know that he was almost out of gas. “What’s your location?”

“We’re on the runway, ready to take off,” said Haney. “East end.”

“East end?”

“They changed the takeoff direction. There’s a headwind.”

Harvath wasn’t a pilot, but he had flown in enough aircraft to know that taking off into a headwind created more lift, allowing the plane to get off the ground at a lower speed and in less time.

His problem, however, was that the east end of the runway was on the other side of the airport, over three and a half klicks away.

“That’s too far,” he said, the bike already beginning to sputter. “I’m not going to make it.”

“You may not have a choice,” Haney replied. “It looks like using the world’s biggest door knocker on that gate has drawn you some unwelcome attention. I’m counting six heavily armed security vehicles, all with lights and sirens, rolling in your direction.”

Sitting near the pilots, Tyler Staelin chimed in with more bad news. “The tower has just ordered a full ground stop. The entire airport is shut down. We’ve been told to taxi off the runway and immediately return to our parking apron.”

“That’s not happening,” Harvath stated. “Tell the pilots to ignore the tower.”

“You want us to take off?”

“Affirmative.”

“What about you? We’re not leaving you here.”

“No, you’re not,” he responded. “We’re going to compromise and you’re going to meet me in the middle.”



* * *



Harvath didn’t have time to do the math. He had kicked the hornet’s nest and had a phalanx of vehicles headed toward him. Increasing his speed, he risked burning through what little gas he had left in the tank.

This was an absolute, last-ditch effort and there was zero room for error. If he was off by even a hair, there was no contingency plan.

Over the radio, Nicholas called out distances. “Five hundred meters. Four hundred meters. Three hundred meters.” Then finally he said, “One hundred fifty meters. Brake now.”

Harvath braked and leaned the bike into a hard right turn. A massive plume of dust was thrown into the air. He couldn’t wait for visibility to improve. The props of the Antonov An-26’s engines could be heard as the aircraft came screaming up the runway toward him.

Hitting the throttle, he sped down the taxiway and onto the main runway. The plane was behind him and they were both headed in the same direction. Once again, Nicholas began calling out distances. In his peripheral vision, Harvath could see the column of security vehicles closing in.

When the little man called out, “Seventy-five meters,” Harvath steered the bike as close to the edge of the fifty-meter-wide runway as he dared.

As soon as the plane zoomed past, he could see Haney and Gage, harnessed up, on opposite sides of its lowered tail ramp.

Haney directed Harvath in, while Gage had his rifle at the ready, manning overwatch.

Harvath leaned into the center of the runway and lined up with the Antonov’s ramp. The security vehicles behind him were so close, he could hear the blaring of their Klaxons over the roaring of the plane. Their strobes pulsed the aircraft in bursts of hot light.

When Haney announced, “Now!” over the radio, Harvath opened the throttle the rest of the way as Gage began firing toward the security vehicles, sending them scattering off the runway.