The world was spinning in a nauseating blur of red emergency lights and the shrieking howl of the wind. The missile strike had sheared off the tail rotor, turning our multimillion dollar transport into a three ton spinning top. Centrifugal force pinned me against the side of the cabin, my fingers clawing at the nylon webbing of the seat as gravity tried to throw me out into the black void of the Atlantic.
"Toby!" I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the roar of the engines fighting a losing battle.
Maricha Sonoko was strapped into the pilot’s seat, his face illuminated by the sparking dashboard. He wasn't panicked; he was focused, his hands dancing over the controls in a desperate attempt to stabilize our descent.
"The stabilizing fins are gone!" he shouted over his shoulder. "We'
