The sun was rising. The black German helicopter gunship flew toward it. He chewed on the end of the unlit cigar. “Don’t worry, Doctor Rourke. That island he’s going to has never been used by us and never been used by them. It’s volcanic, unstable. It’s perfect,” Darkwood smiled, clapping John Rourke on the shoulder. Rourke just looked back toward the silhouette of the departing gunship, saying nothing at all. It was the only practical alternative, of course, but that didn’t mean he liked sending Paul off with the gunship, despite the fact Paul had taken so quickly to learning how to fly it. There was a difference between some technical skills and the experience bred out of time at the controls. Darkwood kept talking. “Those Marines I sent with him will get the thing camouflaged and the John Wayne’s in the immediate vicinity right now and will put a boat ashore to bring them in. In just a few hours, Mr. Rubenstein will be safely at Mid-Wake, reunited with your daughter.
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