She clicked off and sat back, stared at Kiera. She shook her head back and forth, she struck her fist against her open palm. “I can’t believe it. He’s alive. The son of a bitch somehow managed to survive Devi’s drug and our missile. He even managed to escape the attack at Galactus.”
Kiera said, “I gave Devi the correct dosages. Devi mustn’t have given them enough. She was weak.”
Nevaeh took a breath, forcing back the rage. Her first instinct was to lash out at Kiera, but she needed her. Nevaeh knew a time would come when a decision would have to be made about Kiera Byrne, but for the next several hours, she could put it off.
“Do not make excuses, Kiera. Threatening the life of Devi’s sister should have ensured her complete cooperation. Perhaps you didn’t give her enough ketamine to do the job. Evidently many of them awoke from the drug before The Griffon went down and managed to get off safely.
“Now there is a chance they can trace us, do you understand? Not only is Broussard alive, Al-Asaad went after him believing he knew where his bomb was hidden. And we barely managed to hijack it. What do you propose we do about him?”
Kiera snorted. “It won’t matter what Al-Asaad does now. He’s going to get what he wants, what all his terrorist buddies want, only he won’t be targeting it. The bomb will go off, the electrical grids will be disabled. Planes will fall from the sky, and he’ll take credit, you can be sure of that. And he will never be able to track us here.”
“He isn’t as stupid as you think, Kiera. I’ve often wondered if there was something more to him. He was too smart, slippery.” She shrugged. “I still can’t believe Broussard survived the missile, survived Galactus. The captain I bribed should have killed him, he had enough men.”
Kiera looked impatient. “Look, Nevaeh, I don’t know what happened and neither do you. And it’s too late to care. We’re committed.”
But Nevaeh’s mind was still squirreling about. “That bastard, Broussard, is not stupid, nor are his people. They will realize quickly enough we aren’t at the spaceport, and they will come looking for us.”
Kiera laid a hand on her arm. “Calm yourself. By then it will be too late. They think you’re in French Guiana. We are on the other side of the world. Even if they figure out where we are, no one can reach us in time. The detonation will happen well before anyone could possibly arrive. Besides, we’re about to be enveloped by a typhoon. We will be well protected here in the mountains. Even if they were able to find us, no one could penetrate the facility, especially through a storm of this magnitude.”
Nevaeh stared out the window at the relentless rain, trying to gain control. Kiera said again, “Nevaeh, believe me. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way to stop us now.”
Nevaeh slowly nodded. Kiera was right. It didn’t matter now.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
T-MINUS 12 HOURS
Air Force Base Katunayake
Colombo, Sri Lanka
July 27
Once on the ground in Sri Lanka, Mike peeled herself from the seat of the jet and accepted Captain Rousseau’s hand to help her down the ladder to the tarmac.
He hadn’t been kidding, they’d made good time, just under four hours. Refueling had been an insane experience—they were hovering so close to the huge fuel jet, a Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker, according to Captain Rousseau, watching the tube snake down and attach itself—a probe-and-drogue system it was called, again supplied by Rousseau. Then, in only a minute, they were topped up and ready to fly. Doing all of this at Mach 1 was something she’d never forget as long as she lived.
And she hadn’t barfed once, even when he took her for a few barrel rolls for the fun of it, curse him. She had gotten extremely light-headed a couple of times when they pulled extreme G’s, but had managed to hold herself together, breathing deeply and shutting her eyes. She’d never felt anything so incredible as flying at 1,500 miles per hour. And the world below had not, shockingly, been a blur. No, it was stunningly beautiful, the view afforded by the Perspex bubble far-ranging, much better than riding in the window seat of a commercial airliner.
But now, it was time to refocus. They had twelve hours until the lunar eclipse. And in that time they had to find Patel and Byrne, and the facility named Aquarius. And shut off a freaking bomb before part of the world turned into chaos.
Then, to her surprise, Captain Rousseau had taken her hand and asked her to dinner. When was she coming back to Lyon? Nicholas overheard this, and said in an expressionless voice, “This has been amazing, Captain Rousseau. I would be pleased to join you.” And he beamed at the captain and shook his hand.
Rousseau understood instantly. He was French, after all.
“Of all things,” Mike said, appalled, as they walked away. “Doesn’t he realize what we have to do? Talk about crappy timing. I mean look at this mess.” Rain was pouring from the gray skies. At least they’d managed to land before the worst bands arrived, but the wind was picking up, making the palms sway and bend. Even so, the crows of Sri Lanka were everywhere. Big and glossy, with blue-black feathers and cacophonous caws, so loud and pervasive Mike felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Even on the tarmac, even in the rain, they crowded around and lined up on the hangar roofs like silent gargoyles.
As they walked to the hangar, Nicholas had to bat away two who were dive-bombing his head.
Mike laughed. “They think your hair is one of their enemies from another clan. It’s almost as black as their feathers.”
“I guess there aren’t any blond crows, a pity.” He tugged on his shirt. “It’s hot and wet.”
“Really? This is exactly like New York in a heat wave, facing down an early nor’easter. High humidity, big threat of rain.”
“A threat of rain?” Sheets of water were pouring off the eaves of the hangar. “You hardly have Category Four typhoons heading into the city. And I’ve never known New York to smell like this. Do your heat waves often carry spices and curry on the breeze?”
She nodded. “In some spots. Hey, Nicholas, we’re on an adventure, remember? And here we are, of all places, in Sri Lanka. Everything’s different, everything’s new.” She shook out her ponytail, sending droplets of water to splash on him. “Just you wait to hear what I found out from Kiera Byrne’s transcriptions of Patel’s discussions in the deprivation chamber—you’re not going to believe it.”
The wind was so strong now they could scarcely hear each other. They ran the last hundred feet to the hangar, the hot, spicy air billowing around them. Even though it was raining, perspiration beaded on Mike’s forehead. “Then again, maybe right now I’d prefer the London fog and rain. At least you don’t sweat.”
“My mum always told me ladies never sweat, they glow.”
“Tell me the next time we’re facing off at the gym. I’ll show you how I can glow.”
Vince Mills was already conversing with a group of tough-looking men and women who’d just entered the hangar next to their plane. At their curious glances, she said, “Looks like our arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed. Hopefully they’re on our side. We’re going to need all the help we can get. Listen, Nicholas, before they join us, let me tell you what I found out about Patel. Here’s the bottom line: When Jean-Pierre told her about his search for the Holy Grail three years ago, she quickly became obsessed. She desperately wanted to get her hands on the Grail because it fits in with her plan to set off the nuke in space, causing the EMP.”
“But how? To what end? Why does she need the Grail?”
“Let’s get more distance from the CIA folk. Believe me, this is private.” She leaned close. “She believes, as does Jean-Pierre, the Holy Grail will give her immortality. She must be immortal because she believes her ‘friends’ are. She’s counting on the explosion to knock a hole in the atmosphere so her ‘friends’ can come get her. Her ‘friends’ are the same beings she claims saved her life when she was detached from her tether on the space station all those years ago. The Numen. It all started out kumbaya, with the Num
en assuring Patel they’d bring peace to the world, no more war, no more famine, no more hate. But her conversations changed as she changed, became bitter, more angry. The last several years, she’s wanted to rule the Earth with the Numen’s help. She wants power, she wants ultimate control. There’s lots more, but that’s the short version.”
He stared at her. “This is all about little green aliens?”
“It would be cool if they were green, but Dr. Patel never mentioned what they looked like or their color. I don’t think she ever knew.”
“Well, this answers a lot of questions.”
“Indeed it does. Now, Carl Grace sent over their dossier on Kiera Byrne. Nicholas, she’s seriously bad news. However did she pass the background check to become the security chief at Galactus?”
CHAPTER SIXTY
That was an excellent question. Nicholas said, “I’m thinking Patel decided she wanted Byrne, got her approved.”
“Bypassed all their protocols? She managed to keep from them that Byrne had done time? I know, a few arrests for petty things. But there was a big one in 2010. She was twenty. They found her in an alley right after a supermarket blew up in Derry, caught her with a weapon and bomb-making materials. She did two years, then was released.”
“So she’s twenty-eight, twenty-nine now. What else?”
“She’s a chip off the old block. Her mother died in jail for a bombing in 1990. Also a supermarket. Her mother was an actress, then an activist, then an outspoken member of Sinn Fein. She booby-trapped a car in Belfast, rigged it to explode when three members of Parliament were driving by. She was scheduled for release under the Good Friday Agreement in 1998 but died a couple of months before she would have been freed. Byrne learned at the knee of a master, for sure. Explosives and extensive weapons training, and it looks like she went off-grid in South America for a time before she joined Patel’s security detail in 2014.”
“What was she doing in South America?”
“Unknown at this time, but one source thinks she met local terrorists and these are the people who eventually hooked her up with the big bad terrorist Khaleed Al-Asaad—sorry, the idiot Vince Mills—in one of the ISIS training camps in Venezuela. They were in the same area at the same time. Hey, my phone’s not working. Do you have a signal?”
He looked at his. “Yes.”
“That’s a relief. Let’s check in with Adam and Gray, fill them in about Byrne, and see if they have anything new for us. Or any warnings about what’s to come before we head to Aquarius.”
Nicholas flicked up the antenna for the sat phone and dialed in.
Gray answered, “You two survived your ride, I take it?”
Mike said, “We did. It was amazing. What’s happening there?”
“Oh, you know. Nothing major. We’re just at Defcon Three. Everyone is mobilizing in case a nuke goes off.”
Nicholas said, “Okay, that’s good. Listen, Gray, I have an idea. I haven’t had much time to analyze it since we didn’t exactly have Wi-Fi on the flight, but if the military is already raising the threat levels, then I’d like to give them a suggestion, should it be possible.”
“I’m all ears.”
“A nuclear bomb needs a trigger in order to explode and create fission, correct? And the fission part is what we’d like to avoid at all cost. If fission happens, the nuke goes off and the EMP follows.”
“Yes, as far as I know.”
“So if the bomb were destroyed before the trigger went off, we could avoid the nuclear explosion entirely. We could blow up the bomb and not set off the nuke.”
“Theoretically, I suppose you’re right. As far as I know, at least.”
“So if we were able to identify the satellite the nuke is on, we could conceivably destroy it before the bomb went off.”
“Conceivably.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“Since the military is now alerted, why don’t you have a quick chat with one of your friends, see about moving a defense satellite into place above the area where we believe our rogue satellite is going to be, and if Mike and I can’t stop this in time from the ground, the military can shoot it with a laser. There are satellites with that sort of capability, yes?”
“Whoa, dude. You are so far above our pay grades on this one—I don’t think I can make that happen. I mean, I could—again, theoretically—take control of a satellite, but I kind of like my job. We’d need to go to the White House for orders for something of that magnitude.”
“Gray, I don’t mean for you to do it. We’d need to get the military to handle this. I think it’s something worth pursuing. In case we can’t get it stopped from the ground, or worse, don’t make it to Patel’s installation in time, as long as we can identify where the satellite is, we can come at it from a different direction, as you Yanks like to say.”
Gray thought it out. “Okay. It’s a solid plan. I always prefer having a backup when it comes to stopping a nuclear bomb. But I think you should talk to the White House directly. I can scramble a call between you and them.”
“Good idea. And you better inform Grace from CIA about this as well. We’re here with his people, and it’s their coordination that allowed us to even be here in time. Oh, and you might want to loop in NASA.”
“NASA? Why?”
“We think there’s an additional target. The space station will be passing through the area where we think the nuke is set to go off, at the moment of the lunar eclipse. It’s possible the space station is a target, considering Patel’s previous situation with them. Perhaps they could undertake a change of course, if given enough warning. We’d hate to see the ISS be collateral damage.”
Gray said a very bad word. “Can you imagine what Zachery will say when he finds out what he’s missed?”
“No, nor do I want to imagine it.”
“Okay, hang tight. Let me wrangle up some folks for you to talk to.”
Nicholas put the phone in his pocket and shrugged at Mike. “All we can do is try.”
Mike said, “It’s a brilliant idea, though. We have to hope they have enough time to move every piece of the puzzle into place, and our assumptions are right. But if they are, then we have two shots to stop this nuke. I like two much better than only one.”
“I do as well.” He waved at the windswept, rainy scene outside the hangar. “We simply might not make it in time.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Mills walked across the hangar to join them. He gestured toward the group of heavily armed people.
“These are some of the best we have in-country. They know about Aquarius. The locals call it Taru Pratimāva, which our guide explained means ‘Statue to the Stars’ in the Sinhala language.”
Mike said, “Hey, being two-toned is better than looking like a terrorist. Did you plug any drains getting rid of all that beard hair?”
“Har, har,” Mills said as he rubbed his hand over his face. “Three minutes and a mirror, that was all I needed.”
Nicholas said, “I’m going to want to talk to our guide.”
“There’ll be plenty of time. It’s going to be at least three hours in the trucks. We can’t fly, everything is grounded and there’s no place to land.”
Nicholas looked at his Breitling. “Cutting it rather fine, aren’t we? I’m sure we could find something close—”
“I’ve seen the radar—the storm is too intense. We need to get moving right away if we have any hope of making it out before the roads become impassable. Things are going to get dicey. We’ll take three vehicles. You’ll ride with me, get filled in. I hope you FBI wusses are up for this.”
Nicholas laughed, remembering how Mills had calmly walked toward Patel’s house, his hands on his head. They could have shot him dead. Even though he was an idiot, he had guts. So, instead of slugging his very white lower face, Nicholas merely said, “We’ll see. We have to talk to both our bosses, we might as well do it together. Let’s get on the road. Put the guide in our truck, too.”
Mike looked a
round the hangar at all the grounded aircraft. “I wish Grant was here. He’d fly into the storm.”
Nicholas thought he probably would, in a heartbeat.
Their guide walked up to them and introduced himself, hand outstretched. His round face was deeply seamed, his thick hair an odd color between red and brown, maybe a bit of yellow in there as well. “I am Bernard Arndt. Normally I would take you to the Union so you could rest and have refreshments, but I understand you are in a hurry. I will get us safely to Taru Pratimāva. I have lived on the island my whole life.”
Mike said, “I wasn’t expecting a name like Arndt. Are you Dutch?”
“Yes, madam. My people are Dutch Burghers, many of whom fled during the civil war. It is only me and my wife and children, and my brother and his children, now. Ceylon has changed. We’ve suffered so many losses, the war, the tsunami. Forty-seven thousand souls, gone in a single event. Many of my people left but I stayed. Ceylon is my home. Let us go.”
“You can call me Mike. This is Nicholas. And as for him”—she nodded toward Vince Mills—“exactly what he is, I’m not sure yet.”
“Then call me Bernard.”
They all piled into the vehicle and said hello to their driver, Samuel, an older man with shaggy black hair and aviator glasses, who was chewing on a toothpick and only gave them a nod. The caravan set off, winding out of Colombo toward the mountainous nature preserves in the middle of the country. It was slow going. Their wipers were on high, the water splashing across the glass so hard it was difficult to see out the windshield.
Bernard gave them a quick lesson in Sri Lankan colonialism and the recent civil war, which explained why the military was on the streets and there were tons of roadblocks—choke points, really, cutting the trucks off from the remainder of the street, which meant they could be easily overpowered if they didn’t meet with the approval of the soldiers manning the gates. IDs were shown again and again and again to soldiers bedraggled by the rain, and even though the winds were picking up and the streets were becoming waterlogged, trishaws and cars made for near gridlock.
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