JOSEPH MAZURSKY GLANCED AT the White Hawk’s instruments to determine their distance from the landing zone on top of the hotel. Major Parker flipped through various controls on the cockpit dashboard, lit by dark green and red underlights as if this were a Christmas-themed flight. They should reach the hotel roof in less than two minutes. Approaching from the north, Mazursky looked out the bubble windshield at the lights of Paris through the falling snow. The Eiffel Tower was faintly visible. The lights seemed dimmed, as if he were seeing a lantern-lit Paris of long ago. Glancing back over his right shoulder, out the small side window, he saw the hulking King Stallion helicopter flying with them at four o’clock. “Ninety seconds, sir,” Parker said. “Where are the backup White Tops?” Mazursky asked, knowing they might well need the two other HMX-1 White Hawks from the Paris lift package if the exec lift got hairy. “Crew chief has ’em out,” Parker said. “Pilots firing ’em up.
