Chapter 13 - THE TARMAC.
The jet was picking up speed, the blue runway lights flashing past it in a dizzying blur.
I pushed my body past the point of exhaustion, ignoring the agonizing burn in my calves and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.
The airstairs had already been retracted, leaving the smooth, aerodynamic hull of the plane completely sealed.
A black SUV raced alongside the accelerating aircraft, flanking it like a loyal hound protecting its master.
A man leaned out of the SUV's passenger window, bracing an automatic weapon against the roof.
He opened fire, the bullets chewing up the asphalt mere inches from my heavy combat boots.
I didn't break my stride, raising my right hand and firing a single, desperate shot at the vehicle's front tire.
The bullet found its mark, blowing the heavy rubber to shreds and sending the SUV violently out of control.
It flipped end over end, crashing off the runway in a spectacular explosion of glass and crumpled steel.
The jet's landing gear was still deployed, the massive wheels spinning just yards ahead of me.
I channeled every ounce of remaining strength into one final, explosive sprint.
Lunging forward, I reached out and grabbed the thick hydraulic strut of the rear landing gear.
The sheer force of the moving aircraft nearly ripped my arm out of its socket.
I dragged my boots along the rushing asphalt, fighting against the terrifying wind resistance to pull myself up.
My gloves gripped the freezing metal as I hauled my torso onto the heavy mechanical assembly.
The jet's engines roared as the pilot throttled up for takeoff, the thrust threatening to blow me back onto the runway.
I wrapped my arms and legs tightly around the hydraulic strut, pressing my face against the icy steel.
The nose of the plane suddenly pitched upward, and the ground fell away beneath me in a terrifying rush.
I was clinging to the underbelly of a jet soaring hundreds of feet into the freezing night sky.
The mechanical bay doors began to groan, preparing to close and seal the landing gear inside the fuselage.
If I was still wrapped around this strut when the wheels retracted, I would be crushed to death instantly.
I reached up, my fingers desperately searching the dark, greasy machinery for the manual emergency release hatch.
My fingers brushed against a heavy metal latch painted in high-visibility yellow.
I pulled it with all my might, praying that the engineering schematics I had memorized years ago were still accurate.
The hatch popped open, revealing a narrow, claustrophobic crawlspace leading into the cargo hold.
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I scrambled inside just as the massive hydraulic doors slammed shut beneath me, locking out the roaring wind.
I collapsed onto the cold aluminum floor, gasping for air in the pressurized darkness of the belly of the beast.
