A piece of early action in “Goshawk
“Flushed with adrenaline, David hesitated for what seemed like an eternity to look cautiously up and down the long hall and listen, and then listen some more before continuing. Convinced he was alone, David stepped sideways through another doorway looking out over a vast, open hangar where eight small planes and two helicopters were parked, two partly encased in portable aluminum scaffolding. Chocked aircraft looked strangely abandoned in the gathering gloom. The hangars long, hazy tube stretched toward a 40-degree opening to a wide, snowy landing field dotted with glowing, blue runway beacons with a backdrop of rows of pointed evergreens stretching as far as the eye could see. David’s own plane languished closest to the runways, just inside the hangar’s maw but more than 20 yards from where he stood. Two men in greasy coveralls were working under the tail section of a dark olive helicopter, tools scattered around them on a torn canvas tarpaulin. Only the occasional crackling arc of their welding torch interfered with David’s view of his plane in the half darkness.
David slowly pulled the zipper of his bulletproof jacket up tight and methodically coaxed a supple black leather glove over the knuckles of each hand, a somewhat calming procedure. Only a few more yards to safety, he thought to himself. He reminded himself again to just take it slow and easy, one careful step at a time.
Just as David stepped lightly down the lime-colored utility mats covering each of seven corrugated aluminum steps leading to the hangar floor below, a hairy hand snagged his right boot! He reeled forward, bags tumbling away, and caught himself with both hands on the railing just in time to bring his feet sharply together. Quickly sliding his hands apart on the smooth iron railing, David arched his back and snapped the toes of both steel-shank boots into the left temple of a thin man now crouching near the right side of the steps. His swarthy assailant slumped to the concrete, as a stiletto clinked to the cold floor. Fearing one of the workmen had noticed or heard something, David Garvey held his breath, but the welding continued unabated.
Already beyond distressed, David dropped to his knees beside the prone body, shaking. Reaching into the side pocket of his duffel bag, he removed two bulky foil packets, ripped open their seals, and poured two mounds of glistening finger-sized cords on the gray concrete beside his unconscious attacker. The white plastic worms wriggled as if newly born.
He rolled the inert man over onto his stomach, then wrapped one fleshy cord tightly four times around each ankle and three more times around both ankles together. He used the second coil of the moist thongs to bind both wrists in similar fashion behind the waist of the man’s grimy gray jump suit. After counting silently to fifteen, David bent down and removed his left glove to snap the now nearly opaque bonds with the nail of his left index finger – click, click. Already they were taut and stiff.
Next, David unfolded a soft, dusky patch of fabric from the same pocket of his larger bag and used it to tape the assailants jaw shut, leaving an ample breathing hole. As an added precaution against further interference, David unscrewed the cap of a tiny glass vial and removed a dropper filled with pomegranate-colored liquid. He squeezed three drops into the man’s upturned ear.”
