by Bob Mayer
"Shall we?"
*****
A C-130 with its engines running had its back ramp opening even as it turned around and faced back up the runway. Six men wearing free-fall parachutes with weapons and rucksacks strapped to their bodies waddled out toward the plane. In the lead was Master Sergeant Dublowski, a barrel-chested man in his mid-forties.
He hopped up on the ramp, the crew chief lending a hand. As soon as the last man was on, the ramp began closing and the plane began accelerating.
*****
Midway over Georgia, the Tomahawk cruise missile with the money on board was flying comfortably at an altitude of two hundred feet. Designed to be able to hug the ground at less than twenty feet, this flight was no challenge to the on-board computer. The route that had been programmed into it was a winding one that followed the front range of the Appalachian Mountains. The indirect route put it thirty-five minutes out from the vicinity of the Omega Missile LCC.
*****
Drake had unhooked Kilten's laptop and connected one of the leads to a small satellite transmitter. It was a rough-looking setup, but it worked. Drake had a special backpack, which fit the pieces in securely. He walked over to McKenzie, who had just finished battering the Omega Missile emergency destruct mechanism into a nonfunctioning mass of metal with his artificial arm.
He turned to face the guards he had brought down. "We're going to do a security check on the surface. Let no one but me back in. Clear?"
"Clear, sir," the senior Canadian ex-paratrooper said.
McKenzie and Drake moved to the elevator. The door shut and they headed toward the surface.
"You're not going back for them, are you?" Drake said.
"If they can get out, then they get out," McKenzie said. "It's a question of how long it's going to take them to realize that I'm not coming back."
"They have the same planned escape route we do. If they don't make it, then there's a bigger cut for you and me. The bottom line is that right up to the last minute, we have to make the Pentagon believe we're inside the launch facility. Otherwise, we'll never get away."
"Why do the men believe you?" Drake asked.
The doors opened and the vault door slowly swung wide. McKenzie turned to Drake as they waited. "Why does anyone believe anything? Hell, they got paid fifty thousand apiece up front. They think that makes me trustworthy. And they want the five hundred thousand payoff we promised each one."
They stepped into the foyer. McKenzie called in several of the surface guards and ordered them to go down and augment the two men already down in the LCC. The vault door swung closed. There were three Humvees left parked there. Two were manned by two men each. The third was empty and McKenzie led Drake toward it.
"Let's roll."
Chapter Twenty
thorpe was leading the way down the tunnel when Parker grabbed his leg. "Hold on a second."
She climbed by him, sliding her body over his in the tight confines of the crawlway. She paused on top of him and gave Thorpe a strange look. "Excuse me!"
Thorpe wriggled slightly and his hand came up holding the device he had used on the bolts. "It was the Leatherman."
"Oh." Parker moved ahead of him. "There's a motion sensor right up ahead."
"I thought you said we could get in this way."
"We can get in this way. I didn't say we could do it without getting spotted. The security people wouldn't leave this totally unguarded." She inched forward, then stopped. "It's right here. Give me that tool of yours. I think I can disable it."
*****
On the surface, McKenzie and Drake got in the Humvee and drove off to the southeast. They left behind the two Humvees with M-60s manned, standing guard on the surface. In the tree line, Everson watched the vehicle drive away. One less machine gun to deal with.
*****
Moving quickly toward the southeast, four turboprop engines straining to the max, the C-130 cargo plane was gaining altitude as fast as possible. Inside, the special forces team led by Dublowski sat around an oxygen console.
A crew chief walked up to Dublowski. "We're passing through thirty thousand feet. We're going to depressurize in one minute."
Dublowski turned to the team. "Hook in to the console."
The men connected the hoses from their high-altitude rigs into portals on the console.
The crew chief was hooked into the aircraft. "Depressurizing," he called out, then settled his mask on.
The back ramp slowly cracked open, the gap widening until there was a level platform at the rear, open to the sky.
The crew chief was now speaking to the team over their FM radios. They each had an earplug in and small boom mikes in front of their mouths. "Five minutes to drop!"
*****
The Humvee left a plume of dirt behind as it sped down the road. McKenzie was looking around when he spotted the shattered tops of several trees in the woods to the left. He spun the wheel, catching Drake by surprise as they raced in that direction.
They bounced along the forest floor until they came upon the crashed Blackhawk. McKenzie bounded out of the Humvee, weapon at the ready.
He saw the wounded pilot, pistol in hand, and the boy behind him.
"We're the good guys," McKenzie called out, dropping the submachine gun to hang on its sling and holding up empty hands. "We're here to help."
"Thank God someone got here," Maysun said, lowering his pistol. "We need some help. There's—" the next word froze in his throat as McKenzie fired one of his nerve darts and it hit the pilot in the neck. Maysun slumped over, unconscious.
"And who might you be?" McKenzie asked as he walked up to the young boy who had his hands on Maysun's shoulders. Tommy shook the pilot, trying to wake him up.
Tommy's hands left Maysun's shoulders and grabbed the pistol. He swung it up and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.
"Whoa!" McKenzie yelled, snatching it easily from the boy's hands. "You have to take the safety off first." McKenzie's face split into a wide smile as he read the name tag on the boy's shirt. "Tommy Thorpe. I know your daddy. I'll take you to him."
Tommy tried to pull free. "My dad said not to leave here for any reason."
McKenzie had neither the time nor the inclination to be persuasive. He reached down, grabbed Tommy's arm and hauled him back to the Humvee. He had Drake tie the struggling boy's hands together and put him in the backseat.
He continued south of the LCC, paralleling the Anaconda River. McKenzie slammed on the brakes as a guard suddenly came out of the trees, weapon at the ready. The guard waved them onto an overgrown trail that led to the riverbank.
"Everything secure, Johnson?" McKenzie asked.
"Yeah," the guard replied. "We're good to go." He looked around. "Where are the others?"
"They'll be along," McKenzie said.
"Who's the boy?" Johnson asked.
"A bonus," McKenzie said.
As McKenzie unloaded the Humvee, Johnson began dragging a camouflage net over the top of it. McKenzie led Drake down the bank and the two of them pulled a camouflage net off two Zodiac boats tied to a tree. There were half a dozen other boats secured there. Once the two boats were clear, McKenzie gestured at Drake to open the laptop.
"Can you pick up the cruise missile with our money?"
Drake's fingers rattled over the keys. "Yes. It's about two hundred miles out and coming fast. ETA in sixteen minutes."
McKenzie pulled the remote from inside his shirt and flipped open the cover. "Now, to open the silo you said push black, right!"
Drake's face went white. "No! Green. Black sets off the nuke! It says it right there!"
McKenzie smiled. "Just joking. Everyone seems to have lost their sense of humor. We're rich. Enjoy it." He pushed the green button and flipped the cover shut. "Let's go sailing."
*****
"That should do it," Parker handed the Leatherman back to Thorpe.
"Should?" Thorpe asked.
Parker didn't reply. She resumed crawling,
leading the way. They reached an intersection. A tunnel came in from the right.
"Where's that go to?" Thorpe asked.
"One of the other silos," Parker replied.
Thorpe paused, sniffing the air. "You smell something?" He wet a finger and held it up in the intersection. "There's air moving down this way from that silo."
Parker paused. "That shouldn't be. That silo is sealed airtight until it opens—" She stopped speaking as they both had the same realization.
Thorpe looked down and noted that there were tracks in the dust going down that tunnel. "Someone's been to that silo recently!"
Parker put it all together. "The access panel is open and the silo doors just opened. That's why we feel air moving. It's going to launch! Move!"
Thorpe pushed her as they scurried straight ahead.
*****
McKenzie was sitting in the back of the boat, next to the motor. He checked his watch, then opened up the remote again. He pressed the blue button.
*****
A rushing noise was the first indication of the launch for Parker and Thorpe. A story crossed Thorpe's mind that he had heard while training in maritime operations about how when drowned bodies from sunken boats were recovered, it was often discovered that some of the corpses had boot marks on their shoulders from their crewmates trying to get up ladders faster than them.
Thorpe pushed Parker harder. "Move!" he yelled.
Inside the missile silo, flames were pouring out of the bottom of the ICBM. The flame filled the entire silo and part of it rushed through the access panel that Drake had left off in his rush to get back to the LCC.
Flames billowed down the tube. Thorpe and Parker could hear it coming, a crackling, thunderous noise.
"Move! Keep moving!" Thorpe yelled, looking past Parker's shoulders, seeing only a long stretch of pipe, his heart pounding, knowing there was no way they would make it to the end.
Parker reached a drain opening. Her fingernails ripped as she pulled up the grate. The opening was two feet by two. It went straight down into darkness. The sides were smooth metal and there were no handholds or ladder.
"Go! I've got you!" Thorpe pushed her in.
Behind them, the fireball hit an intersection and split, going both ways with equal ferocity. As Parker slid in headfirst, terrified, she felt Thorpe's hands on her ankles. She freefell for a second, then came to an abrupt halt as Thorpe's grip held.
Lying on his stomach in the tube, Thorpe looked over his shoulder and saw the flames coming. He pulled his toes up and allowed Parker's weight to pull him into the drainage tube. As he felt his shins painfully go over the edge, he spread his feet, boots slamming up against the sides of the opening, still in the crawlway, holding him in place. Parker screamed at this second drop, thinking Thorpe had lost her, but she came to another sudden halt as his feet held.
Flames roared above them, searing Thorpe's boots and his camouflage pants. Thorpe felt the pain, but didn't loosen his hold on either end. Then the flames were gone.
On the surface, the ICBM was out of the silo, accelerating, heading straight up.
Parker's voice was muffled. "Are you all right?"
Thorpe's voice was strained from pain and exertion. "Yeah. Listen, can you press up against the side of this thing and hold yourself from falling? Like a rock climber in a chimney?"
"Yeah, I think so."
Parker spread her arms against the sides of the drainage tunnel.
"I'm going to let go of your legs now," Thorpe said. "As soon as I do, push them against the wall."
Thorpe let go and Parker locked herself into place. Thorpe pressed his arms against the walls and painfully extricated himself from the drainage tunnel. He rolled onto his back and looked down his body. The green canvas of his jungle boots has been partially melted into his socks. Thorpe took a deep breath and flexed his toes and feet, feeling the agony. The metal in the bottom of the boots had helped keep some of the heat out. Painful, but walkable.
Thorpe reached down and helped Parker back out of the drainage tunnel. When she got into the main tunnel she sniffed the air.
"Whew, that sure burnt things up."
"That's my feet you're smelling," Thorpe said.
Parker looked down. "Oh my God."
Thorpe pointed down the tunnel toward the LCC. "As long as we don't have to tango, I'll be all right. Let's get moving."
Chapter Twenty-one
"Sir, we have another launch. An ICBM with a nuclear warhead." Colonel Hurst delivered the news in a monotone.
Coffee spilled over General Lowcraft's hand as he slammed the mug he'd been holding onto his desk. "Son-of-a-bitch! What's the trajectory?"
Hurst stared at his computer screen a few seconds too long.
"I asked what the goddamn trajectory is!"
"Uh, vertical, sir."
Lowcraft stared at him. "What the hell does that mean?"
Everyone in the War Room had been stressed for too long. "That means it goes straight up, then straight down, sir," Hurst said. "It's targeted for the Omega Missile Launch Control Center."
Hill had been following this. "What's happening?"
Lowcraft ignored the national security adviser. "Time to impact?"
"Thirty minutes."
Hill pressed his hands down on his own desktop.
"Please explain what is going on. Why would they fire a missile at themselves?"
General Lowcraft was staring at the front screen, thinking. "I take it to mean that Kilten and McKenzie are covering their tracks."
Hurst spoke up. "But that doesn't make sense, sir. They have to stay in the launch facility to control Omega Missile."
Lowcraft shook his head. "Kilten's been one step ahead of us the entire way so far. I have no doubt that he's overcome that little problem. What's the warhead in this missile?"
"Forty megaton." Hurst said.
"Jesus!" Lowcraft exclaimed. "We were only going to use a twenty to take out the LCC. Give me an updated readout on what a forty-megaton blast would do."
The screen in the front cleared, then new circles appeared. Hurst summarized it quickly. "Blast and thermal effects would reach those four towns around the epicenter with over fifty percent casualties. Fallout would reach New Orleans within six hours with lethal doses of radiation. Ten percent fatalities of those exposed."
Lowcraft turned to Hill, who promptly picked up the red phone to get ahold of the president. While the national security adviser was doing that, Lowcraft began issuing orders to evacuate those towns and to contact the mayor of New Orleans.
An army officer near the front of the room stood up. "Sir, what about the Special Forces team? They're ready to jump!"
"They already knew there would be a nuclear weapon inbound," Lowcraft said. "They have to try."
"Order in the Stealth and B-2," Hill suddenly said, hanging up the phone.
"What for?" Lowcraft demanded.
"Just in case," Hill said. "This launch could be an attempt by Kilten to stop us from attacking. We need to keep control."
"Control?" Lowcraft snorted.
"You said this ICBM would take thirty minutes to go up and then come down and impact?" Hill asked. When he received an affirmative nod, he continued. "And our aircraft can attack in twenty minutes from where they are now, correct? Then we gain ten minutes. In that ten minutes there is the possibility that Kilten might launch another missile. I would also think that Kilten and his people will be trying to escape the area in that ten minutes since the money pod will be in that area around that time. We can catch them with our nuke."
General Lowcraft wasn't pleased with that reasoning, but Hill spoke for the president. He gave the order for the Stealth fighter and the B-2 bomber to release from their holding position and head toward the Omega Missile LCC.
*****
"This is nuts," the navigator-bombardier of the B-2 muttered as he received the order to assume a bombing path toward Louisiana. He glanced across at the pilot. "You have any clu
e what the hell is going on?"
"Same as you do," the pilot said as he turned the bomber out of the racetrack they had been in and followed the Stealth fighter to the south. "We're to take out a hardened position at our target coordinates."
"But what position? Who's there?"
"I don't have any idea," the pilot said.
"We're going to nuke Louisiana?" the nav-bomb still couldn't believe what was happening.
"It's a test. They'll stop us before we drop," the pilot said confidently.
"And if they don't?"
"Then we drop," the pilot said succinctly, "and God alone can help us then."
*****
Inside the cargo bay of the C-130, the loud sound of the engines and the air swirling in the open ramp made normal speech impossible. The crew chief leaned close to Dublowski and pointed at the front of the plane, then at his headset. He took it off and handed it to the team sergeant. Dublowski put it on over his FM plug.
"What's up?" Dublowski said.
The pilot's voice sounded in his ears. "This is Colonel Harrows. We've received word that there's been an ICBM firing from one of the silos around our target. The missile is targeted for the LCC."
"How much time until detonation?"
"Twenty-eight minutes."
"Anything on the B-2 or the Stealth?"
"Negative."
"All right," Dublowski said.
He took off the headset and handed it back to the crew chief. He then spoke to his team on the internal FM net. "There's another nuke inbound at the target area, but if we take the LCC we ought to be able to stop that."
The crew chief held up one finger.
"One minute out," Dublowski said.
Every man got up and disconnected from the console, hooking into their personal oxygen. They all moved toward the ramp, following Dublowski. The light turned green. Dublowski threw himself out into the air, and the entire team followed.
