Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  Nick sensed the clumsiness of the balloon in his fingers. He carefully rolled it and felt dense molecules shifting its mass to the bottom of the balloon while his fingers twitched involuntarily. He sat up and cradled the balloon like an infant. His feet wanted to run for cover, while his hands fought to keep the stretched latex in one piece. He was up on a knee when he heard the creak of a window opening.

  Nick stiffened. He could barely hear the muffled cough of a silenced rifle, but he felt the bullet buzz past his face. One second he was staring at the balloon between his hands, the next second he was staring at his open hands. The balloon had burst.

  Time stood still. His vision blurred and his feet were planted to the ground like cement posts. He saw Matt screaming at him while firing his rifle over Nick’s head. A thousand muzzle flashes sparkled from the tree line as he stood in front of them like a firing squad.

  With his eyes almost swollen shut, he ran. He dove through a thin bush and landed on a jagged rock that stabbed his ribcage with the pressure of a barehanded uppercut. He groaned as he rolled behind a wide tree trunk. He couldn’t see anything now, but the cacophony of gunfire raged around him like he was in the center of a fireworks display.

  Nick wasn’t sure if he’d lost consciousness, or if he’d become incapacitated. He reached for his eyes and his hand came back wet. He forced an eye open and saw that his hand was bright red. Blood. Was he hit? He felt something powdery sticking to his fingers.

  “Nick.” Jennifer Steele’s voice sounded muffled. He thought his hearing had been damaged until he saw that Steele wore a gas mask. She quickly wiped his face with a wet towel, gently blotting up whatever was there. McKenna shouted orders over the barrage of bullets splintering up the cabin.

  Nick found it hard to breath. His chest heaved up but little air was getting to his lungs. This was how it happened. Depending on the chemical, or germ, Nick had a dwindling amount of time left. “I can’t see,” he said.

  “Hang on.” Steele forced his left eyelid open and ran a cotton-tipped applicator around the inside of his left eye. Then she blinded him with a blast from her penlight. She moved his head back and poured a sterile saline solution into his eyes, then poured the remainder on his left hand and exposed an open laceration.

  “We’re on top of it,” a male voice said. Nick wiped his face and peered through a slit of his blinded eye to see the silhouette of a young soldier. He sensed it was the same one who eavesdropped on the KSF cabin just a while earlier. Nick squinted and was able to focus on the young man. He wore a black baseball cap over his buzz cut and an emerald stud on his left earlobe. He had his head down and was working with a black probe that resembled a miniature umbrella. The wide tip had a blue glow to it. He moved with precise little movements back and forth from the probe to his black medical bag. Nick noticed that he worked without a gas mask.

  “What are you doing?” Nick blinked constantly trying to improve on the shadows he was coming up with. “I need atropine. Do you have any?”

  “Yeah, in my bag.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  The man didn’t say anything.

  “What’s your name?” Nick asked.

  “Kelly.”

  “Kelly,” Nick blinked, “are you listening to me, or have the biological weapons impaired your hearing?”

  Kelly pushed a button on the probe and the blue light grew more intense in the darkness. Nick sensed soldiers advancing on the cabin behind him.

  Kelly smiled. “No, Agent Bracco, my hearing is just fine. And there is no chance that we’ve been exposed to any biological weapons.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nick gasped, sucking up thimble-sized pockets of air.

  Kelly smiled at his handheld device. “This here is the TIMS 2000. It’s the latest in fiber-optic biosensors.” He pointed to the tip of the umbrella-shaped tool like a proud father. “You see this probe is covered with antibodies that bind to specific bacteria—anthrax and the like—then the system pipes light from a laser diode through the fiber probe. It turns orange, we’re in a heap of trouble.” He held the probe closer to Nick. It glowed with a deep purple mist. “You can see that we have a strong negative result. Virtually no chance for a false negative. If there were any biological agents within a hundred yards of this spot, this thing would be a sparkling shade of orange.”

  Nick tried to get his elbows, but a jolt of pain ripped through his chest. His ribcage pinched every time he took a breath. Steele was tightening a thin butterfly bandage around his index finger to close up the laceration. “What about chemicals?” Nick asked.

  Kelly nodded. He reached over to his right and returned with a flat plastic tray that had ridges symmetrically etched into the face. An LED display beamed a numerical value across the screen. It read zero. He showed it to Nick. “Primary Ion Detector,” he said, as if he were handing him something as simple as a screwdriver.

  Nick looked up at him. He was confused and Kelly seemed to sense it. He traced a penlight over Nick’s eyes and said, casually. “It hasn’t detected anything pernicious. Plus, if you were exposed to any nerve agents, you’d have tiny, little pupils. Your pupils are quite large, despite constant attacks from our penlights. If it were a blister agent, you’d have obvious lesions. And if it were a choking agent, you’d be, well . . . choking.”

  The more Nick listened to Kelly, the more confused he got. He could hear McKenna ordering his troops to teargas the windows and moments later the whoosh of the propelled canisters flung upward.

  “Then what the fuck was in that balloon?” Nick asked.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Kelly grinned.

  Nick’s breathing had slowed considerably. His anxiety lowered itself to a level he could control.

  Kelly took the tip of his pinkie, licked it, then dabbed it into the inner part of the busted balloon. He stuck his tongue out and, with sharp precision, lightly touched his pinkie. He methodically moved his tongue around the inside of his mouth, then looked skyward and appeared in deep thought.

  Steele removed her mask and she and Nick took to the time to look at each other.

  “Well?” Nick asked, after he waited almost a full minute for Kelly to contemplate his taste test.

  “If I were to guess,” Kelly said, then took a swig of water from his canteen and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I would say mustard.”

  “Mustard gas?” Nick said, appalled at the cavalier manner the man investigated an unknown substance.

  “No. More like dry mustard.”

  “Dry mustard?” Jennifer Steele asked. “Why in the world would they put dry mustard in a balloon, send it down a wire, then shoot it with a rifle? It’s a complete waste of time.”

  Nick looked at his watch. Thirty-nine minutes before the White House missiles ignited. They’d wasted ten minutes dealing with the damn balloon. Nick knew exactly what Kharrazi was doing with those precious minutes.

  He pulled out the satellite photos taken of the cabin just before sunset. He forced himself to sit up and the grimace he made seemed to startle Steele.

  “Please,” she said, holding him upright to prevent him from toppling over. “You need to stay still. You could have broken some ribs.”

  In between short, well-paced breaths, Nick said, “There’s not much that could be done for that anyway.” He worked his way to his knees and his peripheral vision began to clear up. Matt was only a few yards away, crouched down, providing cover for the assault on the cabin. It didn’t seem as if there was much resistance left. Matt was close enough to hear everything that Nick and Kelly had discussed. He looked at Nick and said, “You got lucky, partner.”

  Nick spit powder from his mouth. He realized that it tasted like mustard. “Are they inside yet?”

  Matt peered into the magnified scope of his rifle. With his cheek clenched up against the butt of his rifle, he said, “Yes.”

  “You know Kharrazi’s gone already, don’t you?” Nick said.

 
In the corner of his eye, Nick saw Kelly swivel his head and take in the muzzle flashes from the wooded terrain surrounding the cabin. Nearby, McKenna barked orders like a born leader. McKenna was behind him now and Nick suspected he was close to the cabin.

  “I think that dry mustard is affecting your judgment, Agent Bracco,” Kelly said. “There’s nobody escaping from that cabin. Not tonight.”

  Nick looked at Matt and saw his partner make a scooping gesture with his left hand without removing his right eye from the scope. Both of them thought the same thing. They’d seen the tunnel that Kharrazi had built in the basement of the safe house back in Las Vegas.

  Nick returned his attention to the satellite photos. Steele handed him a miniature single-lens microscope with an illuminator tip. He smoothed out a patch of dirt and lay the photo on the ground. He pressed his eye into the lens and searched a particular distance around the perimeter of the cabin. It took a couple of passes, but he found what he was looking for. It was just a glint. Normally it wouldn’t be enough to warrant a second glance. But under the scrutiny of the powerful lens, Nick had discovered the unmistakable reflection of a mirror. It winked out from the middle of a large bush. Once Nick examined the shrub itself, he realized that it didn’t have the symmetrical canopy that nature would provide a mountain bush of its type. It seemed to be a manmade covering.

  Surmising how Kharrazi was going to escape only complicated matters. The next thirty minutes had to be dedicated to finding and disarming the detonator. Nick’s vendetta with Kharrazi had to be put aside for now. They didn’t have the resources to mess with him.

  Nick tried to get to his knees and stopped for a quick breath.

  “You know,” Steele said, “you could puncture a lung if you aren’t careful.”

  With every intake of air, Nick worked to increase his capacity. He got greedy with one breath and his lungs rejected it immediately. His entire chest stung as he coughed a short, staccato cough.

  Matt grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? McKenna’s inside. They’ve got the basement secure. He’s asking for you.”

  The shooting subsided. Nick muscled his way to his feet, careful to stay behind a wide tree trunk. “What’s the status?” he asked.

  “There’s a few tough ones inside, digging in, a handful maybe. The basement is clear, however, and they need our help.”

  “Kharrazi?”

  Matt shook his head.

  Nick dusted himself off and saw Rutherford, Tolliver, Downing, Steele and Silk gather around them. Smoke billowed from the two upstairs windows, illuminated by the moonlight. A half-dozen Marines were blending in with the forest, their machine guns impatiently waiting for any sign of enemy activity. There was a clear path to the basement doors, which yawned open like a bible on a priest’s lectern. Nick caught the eye of one of the Marines and gestured for cover. The Marine nodded.

  Nick led the way to the edge of the tree line. When he pulled the 9mm from his holster, his ribcage felt like he’d just taken an injection from a long hypodermic needle. He doubled over for a moment causing Steele to ask him if he should stay put. Nick thought about how close he was to Kharrazi’s headquarters, how much information they would eventually garner from this raid. With his hands on his knees he looked across the open pathway to the basement doors just thirty feet away. He knew it was the portal to his destiny. There was still time to stop the missiles. They could still find Kharrazi. He came up to force a quick breath and said, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 37

  Nick and Matt ran down the cement stairs to the cellar, followed by the rest of the team. Silk was a few steps behind them, his revolver by his side. Gunfire on the opposite side of the cabin caused them all to duck as they hit the basement floor.

  The room was musty from lack of circulation. Nick, on all fours, looked up to see McKenna standing in a darkened corner with Kelly chiseling something on the wall. They were the only two in the room besides Nick’s crew. A solitary wooden desk and fabric sofa were the only pieces of furniture in the unfinished basement. When Nick saw the stacks of newsmagazines behind the desk, he knew it was Kharrazi’s lair. The chair behind the desk was pushed in. It didn’t appear that Kharrazi was in any rush to leave.

  McKenna pointed to the adjacent room with his machine gun. “Their communications room,” he said. “Probably the nerve center of the entire operation.”

  Nick peered into the next room where Marines patrolled the area. He could see TV screens and sophisticated radio equipment layered on top of each other. Shelves were stacked with spools of wire and canisters of what Nick assumed were explosives.

  Nick nodded at McKenna, who watched Kelly creating sparks against the cement wall.

  “What are you doing?” Nick asked.

  “You said the detonator would be down here. We’ve gone through most of the basement. My guess is that baby’s inside this wall safe.”

  Nick rushed over and grabbed the chisel from Kelly’s hand. Kelly looked to McKenna for instructions.

  “What are you doing, Bracco?” McKenna asked.

  Nick stared at Kelly, looking straight through him and thinking like a chess player, four moves ahead. There was a long silence and just when McKenna was about to speak, Nick said, “There’s no time for this.”

  “If you’re suggesting we use explosives,” Kelly said, “I think there’s a good chance that will set off the detonator.”

  “I know,” Nick said.

  McKenna looked at his watch and bristled, “Listen, Agent Bracco, we have exactly thirty-five minutes to get inside this safe and try to diffuse this thing. You’re wasting valuable time.”

  Nick made eye contact with Silk and nodded. Everyone watched as Silk smiled and rolled up his sleeves. “I thought you’d never ask,” Silk said.

  Kelly backed away as Silk cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers like a concert pianist about to begin his sonata. He leaned close to the safe door and let out a mock laugh, “Shit, a Haussman 8000. It’s older than my grandfather. I used to wind these suckers open when I was just a—” he stopped when he realized everyone was staring at him. He looked at Nick. “Should be less than two minutes.”

  McKenna said, “What the—”

  Nick put his finger to his lips and everyone watched quietly as Silk gleefully twisted the knob back and forth with practiced skill. After a minute, there was a click and Silk broke into an all out smile. He pulled down on the handle and opened the safe door.

  McKenna shook his head in disgust. “Not exactly by the book.”

  When the door of the safe swung open, Nick’s mouth went dry. In the tunnel-like opening, a red digital timer beamed its fatal number. The time read 33:18 and diligently worked its way toward zero. The timer was attached to a band of multicolored wires that wound its way to a small metal box, then to something that looked like a miniature car battery.

  “Shit,” McKenna murmured.

  Kelly bent over and spread open his black bag. Everyone gave him room as he pulled out a high-beam flashlight to illuminate the interior of the safe.

  Nick motioned to Carl Rutherford to take a look. Rutherford was the team’s bomb expert and was the only one in the room who knew more about bombs than Nick. Kelly sensed his presence and moved slightly, allowing Rutherford to inspect the device with him. Everyone in the room jumped when Rutherford clicked open the metal box. It squeaked as it swung up and Kelly and Rutherford seemed to generate a mutual concern over the discovery inside.

  “I don’t see the transmitter,” Kelly said. “How is this thing sending its signal across the continent?”

  Rutherford beamed the flashlight into the back of the safe. He pointed to a clear plastic line that seemed to disappear through a narrow opening in the back corner. “I’m guessing it’s a wireless system.”

  Nick felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked down and saw that it was Walt Jackson. He looked at his watch and realized that the President was due for his press conference in less than two minutes.
r />   “I’ve got the President on conference call with us, Nick. What have you got?”

  Nick searched for the proper words. He knew Merrick would be making a colossal mistake if he gave in to Kharrazi’s demands. Nick also knew that in the next thirty minutes, he was the only person on the planet who could prevent that from happening.

  “Mr. President, Sir,” Nick said.

  His crew stood up straight and circled around him. He felt the weight of their stares. Matt stood next to Steele, holding her hand. All of them seemed anxious to hear Nick’s exchange.

  “I don’t like the sound of that greeting, Nick,” President Merrick spoke with tension thick in his voice.

  Nick saw a Marine enter Kharrazi’s private quarters from the communications room and brief McKenna on the status of the cabin. Nick pulled his ear from the phone to overhear the Marine tell McKenna the cabin was completely secure. All KSF soldiers were either dead or captured. No Kharrazi.

  “Nick,” Walt said. “Are you there? We’re holding up this press conference for your report. The President feels the only option is the withdrawal of troops from Turkey.”

  Kelly and Rutherford seemed to be in complete agreement on the assessment of the detonator. They turned to Nick and waited for him to get off the phone.

  “Hold on,” Nick said, and covered the tiny mouthpiece with his thumb. He looked at Rutherford, who was shaking his head.

  “We’re screwed,” Rutherford said, in exactly the language Nick expected from him. “It’s a Rashid special.” He turned and pointed to the metal box between the battery and the timer. “There’s a surge monitor. If we disconnect any of the wires from the battery that support the detonator—” Rutherford flipped open his fingers in an explosive manner. “Auto destruct. The missiles fire immediately.”