The Lazarus Vendetta - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,149

damned thing is already devilishly high," he called. "It's probably flying at ten or twelve thousand feet and climbing fast."

"What's the service ceiling on this bird?" Smith asked, buckling back into his seat.

"It tops out somewhere around nineteen thousand feet," Peter replied, frowning. "But the air will be very thin at that altitude. Perhaps too thin."

"You're too late," Hideo told them gleefully. His eyes gleamed in triumph. "You cannot stop my Thanatos aircraft now! And there are enough

nanophages aboard that plane to kill millions. You may hold me captive, but I have already struck a blow against your greedy, materialistic country that will live down through the centuries!"

The others ignored his ranting, entirely intent on catching the Thanatos flying wing before it escaped above their reach.

Peter pulled the Black Hawk's nose up as steeply as he could, chasing that distant fleeing speck. The helicopter soared higher, climbing fifteen hundred feet higher with every passing minute. Everyone inside could feel the air growing steadily colder and thinner.

By the time the UH-60 reached twelve thousand feet, their teeth were chattering and it was becoming markedly more difficult to catch their breath. The density of the air around them was now only a little over half the norm at sea level. People could live and work and even ski at this altitude, but usually with a much longer time to acclimate. Hypoxia, altitude sickness, was now a serious danger.

The Thanatos drone was much closer now, but it was still above them and climbing steadily. Its single enormous wing tilted occasionally as the onboard flight controls adjusted for small changes in wind speed, direction, and barometric pressure. Otherwise the aircraft held its course, flying doggedly on toward its preordained target - the capital city of the United States.

Peter pushed the Black Hawk higher. His head and lungs ached, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he was doing. His vision blurred slightly around the edges. He blinked hard, trying to get a clearer view.

The altimeter crawled slowly through fourteen thousand feet. This far above the Earth's surface, the helicopter's rotors provided far less lift. Their rate of climb and airspeed were both rapidly diminishing. Fifteen thousand feet. And still the giant aircraft hung above them, tantalizingly close, but well out of reach.

Another minute passed, a minute of increasing cold and exhaustion.

Again Peter glanced up through the forward windshield. Nothing. The

Thanatos drone was gone. "Come on, you devil," he growled. "Stop playing silly buggers with me! Where have you got to now?"

And suddenly sunlight blazed on a huge wing surface below him, reflected back by tens of thousands of mirror-bright solar cells.

"We've done it! We're above the beast!" Peter crowed. He coughed, trying to draw more air into his straining lungs without hyperventilating. "But you'll have to be quick, Jon. Very quick. I can't hold us up here much longer!"

Nodding, Smith unbuckled his seat belt and again dropped onto his stomach by the open door. Every piece of metal he touched was chilled so far below the freezing point that it burned like fire. The outside air temperature was now well below zero.

Frantically Jon blew on his hands, knowing that they were all in real danger of losing fingers and other exposed patches of skin to frostbite. Then, cradling the M4, he leaned out into the slipstream, feeling the wind tearing at his hair and clothes.

He could make out the drone now. It was roughly two hundred feet below them. The Black Hawk slowed, matching its speed to that of its prey.

Smith's eyes teared up in the frigid wind. He squeezed them shut and roughly brushed away the tears before they froze. He peered through his sights. The upper surface of the flying wing wavered slightly and then steadied up.

He squeezed the trigger.

Rounds slammed into the Thanatos drone, shattering hundreds of solar cells. Fragments of glass and plastic swirled away and vanished astern. For a moment the wing flexed alarmingly. It slid lower.

Jon held his breath. But then the giant machine's onboard flight computers corrected for the sudden loss of power, revving its propellers higher. The drone steadied up and began climbing again.

Smith swore quietly, already fumbling for a new magazine.

Amid the noise and cold and thin, scarcely breathable air, Randi fought to remain conscious. The sharp, stabbing pain from her broken arm was merging now with a terrible throbbing ache behind her temples. She gritted her teeth, feeling nauseated. The pain in her head was now so intense that it