The Oracle Year(107)

“It’ll go like this,” she said. “You can have your little TV show, but the girl stays in the chopper while you do. We’ll tie a line around your waist, so that if we need to lift off in a hurry, you’re coming with us. When you’re done, get back in here, and we’ll let your girlfriend go at the same time.”

“No,” Leigh said. “I’m not going anywhere without him.”

“Leigh,” Will said, “it’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not going to be fine, Will! What the hell are you doing? There has to be another way!”

Will dug deep and gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster. He closed his eyes and leaned back against his seat’s headrest, listening to Grunfeld making the call.

“They’re connecting me,” Grunfeld said. “How do I convince them I really have the Oracle?”

“You’re the badass son-of-a-bitch soldier of fortune,” Will said, without opening his eyes. “I sure as hell hope you’re tougher than a TV station receptionist.”





Chapter 44




A helipad was clearly marked on the widest section of KUSA’s roof: a large black H in a white circle. A crowd had gathered around that H, at least a hundred people.

The Coach turned from the helicopter cabin’s window and spoke to the pilot.

“Keep them spinning,” the Coach said. “We’ll need to get out of here in a hurry.”

Grunfeld tested the knots on the length of black nylon cord tied around Will’s waist. The other end was lashed securely to one of the seat supports in the cabin. Without a knife, it would take half an hour to get free. At least.

“So,” the Coach said, almost apologetic. “I feel like this has to be said. Try anything, and you’ll get a bullet in the back of the head.”

“Won’t that happen anyway?” Will said.

“Probably. But act up and”—she pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Leigh—“she’ll be next. We’ll toss her out after you and fly away.”

The eyes of everyone in the cabin were on Will. From the corner of his eye, he saw Leigh move—slowly reaching for the pistol in the belt of one of the guards next to her.

Oh no, no, he thought. Leigh, don’t— She managed to get it halfway out of the holster before her hand was slapped away and the guard’s fist closed around her throat. Leigh made a strangled noise. The guard looked to the Coach for instructions.

“Jesus,” she said. “Doesn’t know when she’s got a good deal.”

She leaned in, putting her face close to Leigh’s.

“Just relax,” the Coach said. “You’ll be out of here in five minutes, if Mr. Dando sticks to the plan.”

The guard holding Leigh relaxed his grip but didn’t let go. She shoved at his arms, but she might as well have tried to topple an oak.

“Keep her quiet,” the Coach instructed. The guard’s other hand went over Leigh’s mouth.

“Take it easy, for God’s sake,” Will said.

“You want her out of here? Get on with it,” the Coach said.

Will glared at her, then put his hand on the cabin door and shoved the handle down. A meaty click as the latch released. He pushed open the door, which split at the midway point, the upper half sectioning up and the bottom expanding into a short flight of steps descending to the roof.

Will stepped out of the helicopter into an eruption of rotor wash, trailing the black nylon tether. The blades were still spinning, as the Coach had instructed, but even over the noise they generated Will could hear the shouted questions from the assembled crowd.

“Is it the end?”

“Will my husband stay with me?”

“Should I play fifteen or twenty-six in the match game?”

“Who’s going to win the next Super Bowl?”

“Is the Sword going to launch?”

“Will we ever land on Mars?”

“Where’s my daughter?”

The faces surrounding the helicopter were manic, frightened, awed.

Will hadn’t been exposed to this much raw need since he’d sifted through the e-mails people sent to the Site—forever ago. It was disorienting, like a hot spotlight shining right in his face.

Will took a deep, focusing breath. He turned back to the helicopter.

“Shut it down!” he shouted.

Grunfeld, waiting back in the open door to the helicopter’s cabin with the ropes in his hand, apparently couldn’t hear him—his face was stone blank, as ever. Will made a spinning motion with his hand, trying to evoke the rotors, then made a throat-cutting gesture, signaling for him to stop.

Finally, a reaction—Grunfeld’s eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. He shook his head. Will covered his ears with his hands and shrugged. Grunfeld frowned deeply, but shouted something back into the cabin. A long moment, and then the deep thrumming of the helicopter’s engine ceased. The rotors slowed to a stop.

Ignoring the pleas from the crowd for information about loved ones’ futures, stock tips, answers, answers, answers, Will pointed at the nearest camera crew and motioned them forward. A trim, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair seemed to be the man in charge—he was wearing a suit and had a microphone in his hand and had the polished vibe of a news anchor.