The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020), Rick Jones [free ebooks for android txt] 📗

Then he heard the unmistakable noise of rotor blades, that whop-whop-whop sound.

Through the thin wall of smoke, something emerged through the hazy veil with the slowness of a bad dream, something that caught Ghazi entirely off guard. He had not seen the vehicle coming until it started to materialize and push its way through the gauzy haze, a creature from the mist.

. . . whop-whop-whop . . .

It came closer to the helipad and hovered over it, the rotors now fanning and breaking apart the plumes and turning them into fast-moving commas of smoke. Ghazi’s eyes began to water as smoke swirled around him like mischievous phantoms, dark and foreboding.

. . . whop-whop-whop . . .

In the cockpit by the open door of the chopper, someone was riding shotgun with something that sparkled with a gemlike sparkle, either from glass or metal, with that star-point glitter giving reasonable cause for Ghazi to raise his weapon.

. . . whop-whop-whop . . .

As Ghazi directed his aim to the craft’s underbelly, and knowing that he was low on ammo, Ghazi set off a short burst. Metal pinged against metal, a unique sound, both hollow and tinny, as holes magically appeared along the chopper’s undercarriage. As the vehicle started to peel away, Ghazi redirected his aim and set off another burst of gunfire, this time catching the chopper’s rear rotor. Sparks flew, danced in the air, and quickly died off. Pieces of metal broke away and took a number of different trajectories, with some of the shrapnel embedding deep into the surface of the helipad, though none had struck the terrorist.

The chopper started to spin wildly with its twisting revolutions picking up speed and turning faster and faster. The top-like spinning became almost blinding as the chopper started to edge towards the building’s side and over the drop. Screaming could be heard, that of a man suddenly realizing his fate. And then the chopper dropped and disappeared entirely from Ghazi’s view.

* * *

The chopper had pushed its way through the thin gauze of smoke until the H of the helipad was visible. Adolphus Hoorn maintained control of the camera with both hands, the electronic equipment having a value that was more than €10,000. Everything appeared in focus, crisp and clear, a live view with the feed going back to the station in real time.

“This is Adolphus Hoorn reporting to you live from the Kristallpalast, a state-of-the-art tower that became the focal point of tension between administrators when the building was proposed for construction amidst Vienna’s historically Baroque architecture—”

Then the camera caught a figure on the rooftop, a man who was clad entirely in black and wearing a face covering, a balaclava. In his hand was an AK-47, whose point was being leveled at Hoorn’s direction.

“Back-back-back-back-back!” Hoorn yelled. But it was too late as a series of rounds stuck the chopper’s underbelly. There was the pinging of metal against metal as bullets pierced the chopper’s hull and breached the cockpit. The instrument panel smashed upon the bullets’ impacts, causing sparks to shower. But the most devastating affect was when a pair of rounds struck Wilhelm Heickert, who jerked violently in his seat as though receiving a high-voltage charge before slumping over the cyclic stick, which in turn caused the vehicle to spin uncontrollably.

Adolphus Hoorn dropped the camera, which caught live images of spinning chaos, as he grabbed onto a strap to hold him in place. The audio caught Hoorn’s screams that were both primal and filled with a sense of finality as the chopper continued its course of spinning revolutions.

And then the aircraft began to nosedive and descend, the chopper nothing but dead weight giving way to gravity. The aircraft spun and fell with its rear tail-spinning out of control to take out a series of windows, the crescendo of noise both loud and earsplitting. The vehicle then caromed off the side of the building, first rolling and then tumbling in space, before exploding into a fireball with the debris falling to the streets several hundred feet below.

For Adolphus Hoorn who didn’t believe that rules were created for him, or Wilhelm Heickert whose mercenary values led him to worship the almighty euro over the written law, neither would receive accolades nor payments ever again.

* * *

From his suite, Ali Mustafa and company had seen the chopper fall from a greater height. The vehicle was nothing but a falling blur as it clipped a piece of the balcony just before it exploded. Mustafa, along with Abd-al-Mumin, raced to the broken edges of what was left of their terrace, and watched as the chopper burned on the ground below.

Mustafa quickly tapped on his earbud. “Ghazi?”

“Yes, Mustafa.”

“What happened?”

“A chopper was attempting to land.”

Mustafa realized that it couldn’t have been the chopper he demanded. It was too soon. In fact, the wreckage below appeared too small, more like a media-sized aircraft. He then shut off his earbud, extended a hand, and snapped his fingers. “My phone.”

A moment later, someone handed him the cellphone. With anger and emphasis behind the stab of number 9 on the keypad, Mustafa placed the phone to his ear.

* * *

Müller, Zeller and the rest of the Einsatzkommando unit could only watch what happened high overhead with impotence. They had seen the chopper’s approach after being advised that a vehicle not only broke airspace regulations but ignored the follow-up commands to fall back as well. According to the call letters on the aircraft’s side, it was from a local news channel.

From below, they watched the roll and tumble of the helicopter as it spun wildly out of control. After it clipped the side of the building, it then erupted into a fireball. Fiery debris along with drips of fire fell to the streets almost with glacial speed as though to prolong the agony, until it struck the pavement and shook the ground upon impact. Through the flames, Müller could read two of the three call letters on