CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Reid ducked as low as he could while strapped in and covered his head with both hands as bullets pounded and clanged against the side of the chopper.
“Hang on!” The pilot yanked the stick. The NH-90 spun in place ninety degrees, now moving sideways as it continued to descend toward the cruise ship.
Watson reached into his jacket for his Glock 19, but a stray bullet struck him in the shoulder. He grunted through gritted teeth as blood sprayed against the seat back.
“Watson is hit!” Reid shouted.
“I’m okay,” he hissed, gripping his shoulder. “Just set us down!”
The fusillade of bullets ceased, at least for a moment, and Reid hazarded a glance through the binoculars. The two men were each carrying a Sig Sauer MPX—gas-operated submachine gun, nine-millimeter rounds,
