Survivalist - 24 - Blood Assassins by Jerry Ahern Page A

Admiral Thelma Hayes and realized that she blinked.
    Admiral Hayes’s eyes softened and she smiled. “Nothing to do with your abilities, Commander. I realize there was something between you and Dr. Rourke. And, well, with his wife perhaps back in the picture, I didn’t want your mind on anything besides your mission. I’m not trying to interfere in your personal life, but I’ve known you on and off for years, and followed your career in naval aviation. You’re a hot shot, and sometimes that can be great, but most of
    the time it isn’t.”
    Emma Shaw didn’t know what to say.
    Admiral Hayes continued. “I’m not implying that your performance in training or in combat has ever been less than exemplary. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made it past Lieutenant Commander a year ago. No, it’s just that you are one of those rare pilots who is naturally gifted at his or her work. That’s a handy thing, but it’s also a dandy way to overreach yourself. I don’t want you doing that here. The mission against the poison gas plant in Eden City will be dangerous enough. I checked your records. You’re fully trained on the new SR-901. It’s a lot of aircraft.”
    Emma Shaw almost slumped in her seat. The SR-901, she had thought, was still experimental. She’d helped in some of the high speed maneuverability testing over the Phillipines, done two of the high-altitude check flights. It was the true descendant of the old Twentieth Century SR-71, but capable of Mach Nine and equipped with plasma cannons and every state-of-the-art weapons system they could pack aboard her. From a distance, this new Blackbird even looked like the old ones. “The SR-901, Admiral?”
    “Do you have a problem with that, Commander Shaw?”
    “No, ma’am. The 901’s the best there is.”
    “You’ll be ferrying over your own aircraft. The route is to Australia, then the southern tip of Africa, then to Venezuela. That means flying through the Eden antiaircraft net around Cuba. Once you’re past that, it’s a straight shot to Eden City. You’ll have several tactical options for the return flight, depending on latest Intell. Are you in?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Admiral Hayes smiled. Emma Shaw just sat there, knowing she should be getting up out of her chair, leaving the Admiral’s office, but she was uncertain for a second whether or not her legs would work.
    The old Thad Rybka holster carrying the Metalifed Colt Lawman MKIII .357 Magnum was positioned at the small of his back. The Smith & Wesson Centennial was inside the waistband of his black BDU trousers, suspended there on its Barami Hip Grip. The old Metalifed and Mag-Na-Ported six-inch Colt Python, rebuilt for him while he slept by gunsmiths at New Germany, could have been back on his right hip, but in the full flap holster there instead was the Metalife Custom Model 629 with its six-inch Mag-Na-Ported barrel. The 180-grain Jacketed Hollowpoint .44 Magnum round was the better choice for his needs these days. Someday, Annie or the children that she and Paul would someday have could inherit the Python. Michael was into the .44 Magnum as well, having little use for .357.
    Rourke slipped the double Alessi rig onto his shoulders, the twin stainless Detonics CombatMaster .45s already holstered chamber loaded, hammer down, his usual preference. He normally used the old gunman’s trick of sacrificing the extra round over basic magazine capacity for the surety of feed derived when the top round was stripped out of the magazine into the chamber and the round beneath it edged slightly forward.
    Two Milt Sparks Six Packs were on his belt, one
    holding six standard length seven-round Detonics magazines, the other holding six six-round Detonics magazines. The Six Pack for the minigun magazines was given to him in the days prior to the Great Conflagration by Commander Robert Gundersen, skipper of the USS John Paul Jones, the submarine which had carried Rourke and Natalia to the Pacific Northwest,