Scarecrow by Matthew Reilly Read Free Book Online Page B

charges affixed to its pillar, saw the coloured timer switches on it: red, green and blue.
    â€˜ Initiate the timers! ’ Wexley called.
    The man Schofield was watching hit the blue timer switch on his Thermite-Amatol charge.
    Blue meant one minute.
    The three mercenaries manning the other demolition charges did the same.
    Schofield’s eyes went wide.
    He and Book II now had sixty seconds till the building blew.
    He started his watch’s stopwatch:
    00:01 . . .
    00:02 . . .
    00:03 . . .
    â€˜ Captain Schofield! When this is over, we will sift through the rubble and we will find your body! And when we do, I will personally rip your fucking head off and piss down your throat! Gentlemen! ’
    With that, the mercenaries scattered, dispersing like a flock of birds to every exit on the ground floor. Schofield and Book II could only watch them go.
    Schofield pressed his face to the nearest window to see them appear on the snow-covered ground outside and spread out in a wide circle, covering every exit from the building with their weapons.
    He swallowed.
    He and Book were stuck in this building—a building which in 52 seconds was going to explode.

    Â 
    It was while he was peering out the window at the mercenary troops on the ground that Schofield heard it.
    A deep reverberating throbbing sound.
    The unmistakable sound of a fighter jet.
    â€˜The transmission from before,’ Schofield breathed.
    â€˜What?’ Book II asked.
    â€˜When we were inside the Typhoon, they picked up an incoming aerial contact: a Yak-141 strike fighter. Flown by someone they called “the Hungarian”. On his way here.’
    â€˜A bounty hunter?’
    â€˜A competitor. But in a Yak-141. And a Yak-141 is a . . .’ Schofield said. ‘Come on! Quickly!’
    They dashed for the nearest rung-ladder and climbed it—heading upwards—heading for the roof of the doomed office tower.
    Schofield threw open the hatch to the roof. He and Book II climbed out—to be immediately assaulted by the bitter Siberian wind.
    His stopwatch ticked upwards:
    00:29
    00:30
    00:31
    They cut a lonely sight indeed: two tiny figures on the roof of the tower, surrounded by the deserted buildings of Krask-8 and the stark Siberian hills.
    Schofield hurried to the edge of the roof, searching for the source of the engine noise.
    00:33
    00:34
    00:35
    There!
    It was hovering in the air over by a low dome-shaped building five hundred yards to the west: a Yakovlev-141 strike fighter.
    The Russian equivalent of a Harrier jump-jet, the Yak-141 is potentially the ugliest fighter plane ever built; indeed with its squared edges and single fat after-burning engine, it was never meant to look beautiful. But a hinged rear nozzle allows it to redirect its afterburner so that it points downward, allowing the plane to take off and land vertically, and also hover like a helicopter.
    00:39
    00:40
    00:41
    Schofield drew his MP-7 and loosed a full clip of thirty rounds across the bow of the hovering Yak, desperately trying to get the pilot’s attention.
    It worked.
    Like a T-rex disturbed from its meal, the Yak-141 pivoted in the air and seemed to gaze directly at Schofield and Book II. Then with an aerial lurch, it powered up and approached the glass tower.
    Schofield waved at the plane like an idiot. ‘Over here !’ he yelled. ‘Closer! Get closer . . . !’
    00:49
    00:50
    00:51
    The Yak-141 came closer, so that it now hovered about fifty yards out from the roof of the tower.
    Still not close enough . . . 
    Schofield could see its pilot now—a wide-faced man wearing a flight helmet and a confused frown. Schofield waved frantically, calling him over.
    00:53
    00:54
    00:55
    The Yak-141 edged a fraction closer.
    Forty yards away . . .
    00:56
    â€˜Jesus, hurry up!’ Schofield yelled, looking down at the roof beneath his feet, waiting for the Thermite