Day Of Wrath Read Free

likely to pay for disobeying a White House order. What mattered now was the job at hand.
    Even if Nielsen and the others couldn’t see what he was doing aboard this helicopter, Thorn was determined to make himself useful. If an accident had downed the An-32, he could at least help out with the grunt work-searching for wreckage, bodies, and personal effects. If they turned up evidence that sabotage had brought down the Russian plane, he would move hell and high water to help the FBI and the MVD find the bastards who were responsible. He owed John Avery and the others on the O.S.I.A inspection team that much.
    The Mi-26 banked suddenly, spiraling tightly to the right and losing altitude in the turn.
    Thorn looked down. They were orbiting a patch of forest that at first looked no different than any other for hundreds of miles around. Even this far from any industrial city, dead pine trees stood out among the survivors—stark brown, branching skeletons against a dark green backdrop.
    “There it is!” Nielsen said urgently.
    Thorn followed the other man’s nod and saw the An-32 crash site for the first time. When it slammed into the forest canopy, the turboprop had torn a long, jagged scar across the countryside—splintering trees, gouging the earth, and flattening the undergrowth for several hundred yards. Blackened scorch marks showed where aviation fuel spraying from the mangled wreckage had ignited.
    The Mi-26 continued its orbit, slowing further to hover over an area several hundred meters east of the crash site.
    Orange panels laid across the muddy ground in a ragged clearing marked a makeshift landing pad. A Russianmade Mi-8 helicopter sat off to one side of the clearing. Mechanics and other ground crewmen swarmed over the smaller bird, refueling it and attaching a cargo-carrying sling.
    Thorn mentally crossed his fingers. He hoped the Mi-26 pilot had perfect depth perception. With its rotor turning, the giant heavy-lift helicopter was more than a hundred and thirty feet long. From this high up, trying to set it down in the space available looked akin to threading a sewing needle with a garden hose. If they came down too far in one direction, they’d hit the trees. Too far in the other, and they’d slam into the parked Mi8 and half a dozen fuel drums. Neither alternative seemed particularly appealing.
    Almost without thinking, he fingered the thin, almost invisible scar running across his nose and down under his right eye.
    That scar and a couple of small metal pins in his right cheekbone were souvenirs of a helicopter crash he’d survived as a young captain.
    Walking away from one whirlybird crack-up was enough for a lifetime, he decided.
    Turbines howling, the Mi-26 slipped lower, slid right, then back left, and settled in to land with a heavy, jarring thump. Almost immediately, the engine noise changed pitch, sliding down the scale as the pilots throttled back. The helicopter’s massive rotors spun slower and slower and then stopped.
    They were down.
    Thorn breathed out softly, unbuckled his seat belt, snagged his travel kit from under the seat, and stood up—grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. To stay fit at forty, he relied on a rigorous daily exercise regime, and too much sitting left him stiff. Unfortunately, except for a five-minute stop at Arkhangelsk to board this helo, they had been in the air since leaving Andrews Air Force Base the day before. And the aisles aboard Air Force passenger jets were too narrow for running or vigorous calisthenics.
    He controlled his mounting impatience while Nielsen and the others carefully gathered their own gear and assembled at the forward left side door. For now, this was the NTSB’s show. They were entitled to set the pace. Air accident investigations always put a premium on slow, methodical, and absolutely painstaking work. No matter how tough it might be, he would have to rein in his own innate impulse to push for rapid, decisive action.
    At least he