Free The Paris Protection by Bryan Devore

on the president’s jet, which was surrounded by a dozen Air Force guards and Secret Service CAT agents.
    The hangar doors were opened just wide enough for any of the dozens of Secret Service or Air Force security vehicles to pass through. Mazursky ran out into the snow flurries—his first true glimpse of the weather system he’d been monitoring on radar all evening.
    “Be better if it were a clear night,” he said.
    “Yes sir,” Parker replied, running at his side.
    “The others coming?”
    “Twenty seconds, sir.”
    He saw one of the most expensive helicopters in the world waiting thirty yards in front of him. The green and white fifteen-million-dollar custom Black Hawk—known, oddly, as a White Hawk—was a beautiful aircraft, with a long, sleek body like a shark’s. Large and powerful in the front, with a long tail, it looked built for speed and agility. It was just one of over twenty helicopters in the Marine HMX-1 fleet used to fly the president, and he was proud to be its pilot. Inside the United States, the Marine Corps used either the old Sikorsky VH-3 Sea Kings or the newer Lockheed Martin VH-71s. But overseas, they used the White Hawks, which were slightly smaller and more easily transported on the Air Force C-17 cargo jets, yet had the same communications and defensive capabilities as the larger Sea Kings.
    “Warm her up,” Mazursky ordered. “I’ll do the walk-around.”
    The White Hawk had been buttoned up in the hangar, but the support crew had pulled it back out after getting the call from the HMX-1 White House Liaison Officer.
    He turned on his flashlight and began examining the exterior. The HMX-1 mechanics were the best in the world, and they kept the president’s birds in perfect condition. There had never been an in-flight mechanical failure in the history of the HMX-1 fleet, dating all the way back to the Eisenhower administration, so he had no concerns about the White Hawk’s readiness. It was by far the best-serviced helicopter he had ever flown. But a quick preflight walk-around was a safety precaution drilled into him since his first days of flying, decades ago.
    The cold wind was picking up, and thick, wet snowflakes hit the side of his face. Ducking under the tail, he touched the smooth, moist metal. After examining the tail rotor, he moved down the right side and circled around the bubble nose. Seeing no imperfections, he pulled the door latch handle and climbed in the right side of the warm cockpit.
    Parker was flipping through switches, lighting up the large instrument panels in an array of crimson-lit square buttons and soft-green glowing displays.
    Mazursky pulled the dual shoulder strap over his head and snapped the harness buckle to secure him in the seat. Putting on his white helmet, he said, “Comm check.” He punched in the radio code of the selected channel into the square keypad on the large instrument console between the seats.
    Flipping through the small, four-inch-thick VH-60 operating manual to the proper page, he began running through the checklist items for the pre engine start cockpit procedures. Once their harnesses were strapped, he continued through the long series of challenge-response steps. Reading through the checklist, he said, “Circuit breakers and switches—set.”
    “Back me up,” the copilot replied.
    Parker reached above his head and checked several indicator LEDs. Then he checked “CD ESS BUSES” on the aft portion of the overhead console, and “BATT/BATT UTILITY BUS” on the lower console.
    Then they went through the avionics-off frequencies set. Mazursky verified each against the checklist as Parker performed the set actions with the COMM cont-transmitter, GPS/Doppler mode set, transponder master switch, and other settings. Finishing the routine, the copilot flipped another switch above his head and said, “Blade deice power switch, OFF.” Then, checking a few more items, he said, “APU control switch, OFF. APU fire T-handle,