"Michael, thank God it's you," Armont said into the mike. "Guess what, we almost went to war against the U.S. Special Forces. We have just surrendered. Incidentally, nice work up there. Or maybe you just got lucky." He laughed. "Seeing you rappelling leads me to suggest that you probably ought to stick to other lines of work."
"I hear you," Vance said. "By the way, the bad news is Ramirez got away."
"So he was in the Sikorsky?" Armont sighed with resignation. "Blast, I was afraid of that."
"Well, this may not be over yet. The vehicle got up, but we're not quite sure where it's headed, bomb or no bomb. I want to try to get into Command, or what's left of it, and try to find out. Before some Delta cowboy fires a Hellfire missile in there."
"Good idea," Armont agreed. "It would also be nice to keep a handle on Ramirez's getaway chopper. But I assume somebody will interdict him. The almighty U.S. Navy owns this airspace, as we found out the hard way."
"Don't count on anything. He took along Mannheim as a hostage. Insurance. This guy is no slouch. I'd be willing to bet he's got something up his sleeve. One thing he's got is at least one more bomb. Bill saw it on the chopper. And he might be just crazy enough to use it, God knows where."
“Then I don't know what the U.S. can do if he's got a hostage, and a bomb. They're sure as hell not going to shoot him down. Where do you think he's headed?"
“That's question number two, but if we can get into Command, maybe we can figure out a way to track him from there. Somehow."
"Good luck," Armont said quietly, and with feeling. "And stay in touch."