Zero Hour

by Clive Cussler

  “No other choice,” Kurt said. “Let’s just hope I don’t bring the roof down in the process.”

  Kurt’s instincts tended toward overkill. If a small hammer would do the job, a sledgehammer would leave no room for doubt. In this case, he tempered his basic inclinations, placing two bricks of the C-4 beside the door and jabbing a pair of blasting caps into each of them.

  “Are you sure that’s enough?” Devlin asked.

  Kurt didn’t reply.

  “Could it be too much?” Devlin asked.

  The wailing alarm was bad enough, Devlin’s questions only made it worse. “I guess we’re going to find out one way or another,” Kurt said. “Now, get these people back.”

  As Kurt attached a wire to each of the caps, Devlin backed down the tunnel, ushering the others to keep away.

  Kurt was soon backing away with them, spooling out the wire as he went. He reached the first of the alcoves and ducked into it. The newly freed prisoners crowded around him as he attached the wires from the detonator to a small handheld device that resembled one of those grip strengtheners tennis players are always squeezing.

  “What’s that?” Devlin asked.

  “Some people call it a clacker,” Kurt said. “It sets off the explosives.”

  Around them, the prisoners ducked and covered their ears. Fortunately for Kurt, the clacker was a tiny generator, not a battery-powered object or it would have been drained by the flash-draw that took out the snowmobile.

  “Ready?”

  Devlin and Masinga nodded in unison. With a quick compression, Kurt squeezed the clacker. The action sent a tiny electrical pulse racing down the wire. The pulse set off the blasting caps, which in turn detonated the C-4.

  A thunderous explosion racked the subterranean halls, and a concussion wave surged down the tunnel and into the alcove. Kurt felt the air knocked out of him and was thrown to the ground along with everyone else in the cavern.

  Getting up quickly, he fought his way through clouds of dust and down the tunnel. As he neared the far end, the dust began to clear. He saw light and an open room ahead. The door lay on its side.

  Stepping into the hall, Kurt found no resistance. “It’s clear,” he shouted. “Let’s go.”

  Devlin and Masinga came running up first. Kurt handed them weapons taken from the dead guards, and the three of them moved out with the crowd of prisoners close behind.

  • • •

  THE SHRILL CALL OF THE ALARM caught Thero’s attention as he began to run through the start-up checklist. He paused, wondering what could be happening.

  As he waited, Hayley called out, “George, it doesn’t have to be like this. Tell your father there’s another way.”

  Thero looked to his left. His son was there, staring at Hayley like a lovesick schoolboy.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Thero shouted. “She never cared for us. She would have come to Japan if she had. She betrayed us and brought these men to our door.”

  “I only want to help,” Hayley said.

  Thero was trying to concentrate on the start-up procedure. He had no time for his son’s weakness.

  “I can get you out of here,” Hayley said. “Both of you. You can fulfill all your dreams peacefully. You know that’s what you really want. You know that’s the right thing to do.”

  Thero began to feel confused. His son urged him to reconsider. “Father, I think—”

  A reverberating explosion shook the room. It came from somewhere deep in the cavern. Thero’s mind cleared. The alarm, the explosion. They were under attack.

  When Thero looked up, George was gone. He must have run off somewhere. “Coward!”

  “Please!” Hayley cried.

  “Silence!” Thero shouted. He didn’t have time to worry about his son anymore, he had to strike before he was trapped and buried like the last time in Yagishiri. Even if they stopped him, he would lash out and wound the world for what they’d done.

  “If you do this,” Hayley said, “they’ll know where you are. They’ll come here and destroy this place and you along with it.”

  Thero looked down at her and stepped closer. “Of course they will,” he said. “But I’ll be gone. And I’ll take what they threatened me with to use against them.”

  He pointed to an object resting by the wall. The Russian suitcase bomb. He could either use it to obliterate some enemy or sell it for millions.

  Thero saw the fear in her eyes as she stared. He relished it and went back to his console, reaching over to the intercom and switching it on.

  “Janko!” he shouted. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re under attack,” Janko said. “Must have been . . .”

  The staccato sound of gunfire blocked out the rest of Janko’s statement.

  “Janko?”

  “They’ve released the workers,” Janko shouted. “There’s a riot down here. We’re being overwhelmed.”

  “Bring your men up here,” Thero ordered. “We can hold them off from the control room.”

  “I’ll send them now,” Janko said, his words punctuated by another blast of gunfire.

  Thero turned his attention back to the power grid. The levels were coming up. As soon as they reached the green margin, he began the initiation sequence, and the first ghosts of effervescent light began flittering through the cave on the other side of the window.

  The sight mesmerized him, as it had always done before. So much so, he never saw Hayley Anderson sneak up on him.

  She tackled him and threw a punch into his face, but Thero had few nerve endings left there. He felt the impact and little more. Enraged further, he flung her off and slammed her head against the console, knocking her cold.

  He felt a short spasm of remorse, but it passed. She deserved it. Another traitor.

  He stood and went to the window. The orb had locked itself into place. Target: Australia. The system was beginning to draw energy from the zero-point field.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  With the gale rising in strength, Paul and the other NUMA commandos had a difficult time boarding the MV Rama, but once they were aboard, things calmed down. They marched to the bridge and took over command of the ship.

  The Vietnamese captain then led them to the sick bay, where Captain Winslow and four members of the Orion’s crew were being held. They also found several of the Russian commandos laid up and dehydrated.

  “Grab their weapons,” Paul said to the Gemini’s chief. As his men traded in their wooden rifles for real ones, Paul felt a sense of control building.

  He made his way to Captain Winslow, who eyed him strangely.

  “Paul?” the captain said, glancing at the Australian flag armband. “You make a career change recently?”

  “Sort of,” Paul said. “Gemini is standing by to help. What’s the story here?”

  Winslow explained about the sinking of the Orion and the rescue/abduction of the survivors at the hands of the Russians.

  “How’d you get control of the ship?” Paul asked.

  “Obviously, we didn’t.”

  “But this ship’s been tracing out the path of the constellation of Orion for the past thirty hours,” Paul said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  Winslow smiled. “Kurt,” he explained. “He had those Russians chasing their tails. Zigzagging all over the place. He said it was to keep the final destination secret. Who’d have thought he was sending up a message at the same time.”

  “Where is he?” Paul said. “We haven’t found him.”

  “The Russians took him, Joe, and the Australian woman with them. They’re staging some kind of raid on Heard Island. That’s where Thero’s base is. That’s where he’s hiding.”

  Paul turned to the Vietnamese captain. “Where’s your communications center?”

  • • •

&nb
sp; THE NEWS THAT KURT, Joe, and at least some of the Orion’s crew had survived was met with joy in Washington, D.C. It was tempered by the hands of the clock. Zero hour was a hundred and twenty minutes away.

  Pitt looked at Heard Island on the map. Printouts of the Russian spy photos indicating Thero’s assumed location were coming through on the fax machine. The more Pitt studied them, the more precarious the situation appeared.

  “Everything this guy has done is underground,” Pitt said. “Looks like he followed the pattern here. I have to give this info to the NSA.”

  Yaeger looked grim. “They’re going to put a spread of missiles on that target.”

  “I know,” Pitt said unemotionally.

  Yaeger leaned in close. “Kurt and Joe are probably there right now.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Pitt said.

  “So they’ve been brought back from the dead just to be obliterated by Tomahawk missiles from our own submarines?”

  Pitt glanced up at his old friend without a hint of malice. He understood exactly what Yaeger was saying. “I don’t do this lightly, Hiram. But we have no other choice.”

  He pressed the intercom button. “Get me Jim Culver at the NSA.”

  Joe Zavala felt the rumble of the explosion as it surged through the cave. He and Gregorovich pricked up their ears and soon heard gunfire. It sounded as if a chaotic battle were raging in the cavern.

  “It’s coming this way,” Joe said.

  Gregorovich nodded his agreement.

  Joe went back to working on his freedom, straining and pulling and trying to rip his left hand free. It was no use, this cuff fit tighter.

  Gregorovich pointed with his chin. “Over there,” he said. “Pliers. Maybe you can reach them.”

  Joe looked at a cluttered desk across from them. Pliers, brass knuckles, and a few other tools of the intimidation trade rested on it. He stretched toward them, but they were at least six inches out of reach.

  “Come on,” Gregorovich urged.

  “What am I, made of rubber?”

  Gunfire and shouting echoed right outside the door.

  Joe stretched again but flailed inches from the table.

  The door swung open. One of Thero’s men backed into the room, his eyes and his rifle aimed out through the door and down the hall.

  As he fired off a burst at some unseen enemy, Joe lunged for him, wrapping his free arm around the man’s neck and yanking him backward.

  The man dropped his rifle and grabbed at Joe’s forearm, trying to pull it away from his windpipe. Joe held on, every muscle in his body straining, his powerful arm locked in a sleeper hold.

  The man flailed and kicked, but Joe had all the leverage. Strangely, being anchored to the wall only helped. Soon, the man went limp in Joe’s arm.

  Joe held him like that for another full minute and then let him go. The man splayed out on the floor, and Joe stretched down and retrieved the rifle.

  Twisting his body, he tried to aim the weapon at the chain cuffing his left hand to the wall, but the barrel was too long. He turned toward Gregorovich. “Looks like you’re first.”

  Gregorovich stood and leaned away from the wall. “Better make it quick. Before someone else shows up.”

  Awkwardly, Joe tried to aim the rifle at Gregorovich’s chains with only one hand on the grip.

  “Watch it,” Gregorovich said as the rifle swayed toward his body.

  Before Joe could steady his aim, the door flew open again. Joe swung the rifle toward it.

  “Hold on, buddy!” a familiar voice called.

  “Kurt!” Joe blared. He lowered the gun. “It’s about time you showed up. I almost had to rescue myself.”

  “I don’t know, you look like you have things well under control,” Kurt said. “Can I offer some assistance?”

  “Maybe you’d better do this,” Joe said, handing the rifle over.

  Joe tensed as Kurt took careful aim and blasted the chain off his arm and then did the same for his feet. He stepped forward, glad to be free. Kurt freed Gregorovich the same way seconds later.

  Kurt explained about the prisoners and the melee going on outside. He handed Gregorovich two pistols he’d confiscated from Thero’s prison guards.

  “I think we’re gaining the upper hand, but we’re running out of time,” he said. “Any idea where Hayley is?”

  “Thero took her,” Joe said. “He had something he wanted to show her. I’m guessing we both know what that is.”

  “Which way?”

  “Not exactly sure,” Joe replied. “But I believe he used the words bring her up. It’s just a guess, but if I was a villain with an underground lair, I’d probably put my own quarters somewhere near the top.”

  Seconds later, Devlin and Masinga came rushing in. Their status report seemed to mesh with Joe’s guess.

  “Thero’s men are retreating up to the higher levels,” Devlin explained. “We tried to follow, but they sealed off the corridor. We did find something of interest, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The radio room.”

  Kurt grinned. “Now we’re making progress. Time to call in the cavalry.”

  Dirk Pitt’s message to Jim Culver stirred up a hornet’s nest of activity. Within ten minutes, a briefing was under way in the White House Situation Room. Culver was there, along with the President, Vice President Sandecker, and several ranking members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. A cadre of advisers and aides backed them up, while Pitt and Yaeger watched the proceedings on a flat screen, patched in via a secure video link.

  A brief set of remarks gave way to the prime question: With time almost up, could anything be done to stop Thero?

  To that end, the only voice of importance was a rear admiral whose operational title was COMSUBLANT, an acronym that meant he was the Commander of U.S. Submarine Forces in the Atlantic.

  Even though Heard Island was a long way from the Atlantic, the admiral was also in charge of the submarines currently assigned to the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean. These were the closest vessels to what was now considered the target zone: Heard Island.

  “. . . the Tomahawk missiles these ships carry have an extended range capability,” he said in answer to a question from the President, “putting both the Albany and the New Mexico within range of Heard Island, but just barely.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Culver asked.

  “The time frame. The Tomahawk is a subsonic weapon.”

  “Meaning?”

  The admiral sighed. “Time from launch until impact is over three hours. According to the timetable you’ve given us, we have less than ninety minutes until this man acts.”

  The room went silent. All of them knew what that meant.

  “How could this happen?” Culver asked aggressively. “We ordered vessels to begin moving into position two days ago.”

  “The navy reacted as soon as we were directed to,” the admiral said. “But Heard Island is one of the most remote spots on the face of the Earth, and we don’t spend a great deal of time patrolling the bottom of the world. The USS Albany was the closest operational vessel at the time and it was over four thousand miles away.”

  An aide rushed into the room and handed Culver a note.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter,” Culver said. “Our early warning network has picked up a neutrino wave in the southern hemisphere. We don’t have a location, but I’m pretty sure we can guess where it’s coming from.”

  “So Thero isn’t going to give us ninety minutes,” the President said. “Talk about jumping the gun.”

  VP Sandecker spoke next. “We’d better inform the Australian prime minister. Tell him doomsday is coming early.”

  Pitt watched the proceedings stoically until the buzz of his intercom interrupted. It was Ms. Conry from communications.

&nb
sp; “I have an incoming radio call for you, Dirk.”

  Pitt pressed the talk button. “Now is not a good time.”

  “It’s Kurt Austin,” she replied. “He’s calling on a shortwave band. The signal is very weak.”

  “Put him through,” Pitt said without hesitation.

  A distorted squeal of static and shortwave frequency interference came through the line seconds later.

  “Kurt?” Pitt asked. “Can you hear me?”

  More static, and then finally Kurt’s voice.

  “Barely,” he said. “We’re on Heard Island. We found Thero’s base of operations. It’s underground. Near the front of the Winston Glacier.”

  “We know,” Pitt said. “Hiram managed to figure out your signal and Paul and Gamay bluffed the MV Rama into surrendering. What’s your situation?”

  The sound wavered again, punctuated by bursts of interference. “We’ve managed to start a small uprising and we’ve taken over half the station, but Thero and his men have walled themselves off on a higher level. We can’t get to them.”

  “The NSA sensor grid is picking up neutrino emissions,” Pitt said. “We believe Thero is charging his weapon now. Can you confirm that?”

  “Not exactly, but it would explain the lighting issues we’ve been having,” Kurt said. “You’re going to have to hit this place hard to knock it out. We’re at least a hundred feet below the surface.”

  “We can’t get any ordinance on-site in time,” Pitt said. “You’re going to have to stop it from there.”

  The silence and distortion returned.

  “Kurt? Do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Kurt said. “I’ll see what we can do.”

  The static ended abruptly as Kurt cut the line.

  • • •

  SILENCE PERVADED the radio room on Heard Island.

  “No help coming,” Kurt said. “It’s up to us.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Joe asked.

  Kurt looked at Gregorovich. “Any idea what happened to that box of fireworks you brought from Moscow?”

  “Thero’s people took it with Hayley.”

  “Then we’d better get to that control room,” Kurt said.