Book II hit the kill switch and the chopper's engines died instantly. Its rotor blades began to slow.
Water rushed into the cargo hold.
It didn't come in through the open rear loading ramp just yet - since the ramp was designed to rest just above the water's surface in the event of a water landing - but rather it entered the crashed helicopter via the small access hatch that Schofield and Book II had used to enter it earlier.
A Super Stallion is built to stay afloat for a short while in a water crash, but since Schofield and Book had discarded the chopper's floor access hatch when they'd entered it, this Super Stallion wasn't even going to do that.
It was sinking. Fast.
Schofield ran into the cockpit. "What the hell was that? Something hit us!"
"I know," Book II said. He nodded out through the windshield. "I think it was them."
Schofield peered out through the forward windshield.
Hovering above the water in front of their sinking helicopter, partially obscured by the veil of wind-hurled sand - and flanking the anchored South African bipod - were the two remaining Air Force Penetrators.
The Super Stallion sank with frightening speed.
Water gurgled up through the access hatch, expanding outward as it rose up into the cargo hold, pulling the rear end of the chopper down into the lake.
As more water rushed into it, the helicopter dropped lower in the water. Within a minute, the rear loading ramp fell below the waterline and from that moment on, water came flooding in through the wide rear opening.
Up in the cockpit, Schofield and Book II were standing ankle-deep in water when abruptly the entire chopper tilted sharply skyward.
"Any risky ideas now?" Book II shouted, grabbing for a handhold.
"Not a one."
The Super Stallion continued to sink slowly, rear end first.
With the Football still hanging from his side, Schofield looked out through the cockpit's forward windshield.
He saw one of the Penetrators approach Gunther Botha's bipod. It hovered directly in front of the tiny rivercraft, like a gigantic menacing vulture.
Schofield saw Botha stand in his pod and face the black Air Force helicopter - waving. With his arms flailing, he looked like a tiny pathetic figure beseeching an angry bird-god.
Then, without warning, a Stinger missile shot down from the right-hand wing of the Penetrator, trailing a dead straight finger of white smoke.
The missile hit Botha's pod and blasted it out of the water.
One second Botha was there, the next he was gone, replaced by a frothing circle of ripples.
Kevin's pod, however, remained intact – severed cleanly from Botha's by the missile impact.
His pod and the cracked remains of the bipod's crossbeam just bobbed in the water under the steely gaze of the hovering Penetrator.
From his position inside the sinking super stallion, Schofield blanched.
They'd just killed Botha!
Holy shit!
His Super Stallion was now three-quarters underwater - its entire rear section underneath the surface. Only its domelike glass windshield and the tip of one of its rotor blades still protruded above the waterline.
Water began to lap up against the outside of the windshield.
The entire rear cargo hold was now filled with encroaching dark-green liquid - water that wanted to rise into the cockpit, and devour the whole helicopter.
The chopper sank further.
Through the green-tinged waves slapping against the windshield, Schofield saw the Air Force Penetrator swing in above the half-destroyed bipod and lower a rescue harness down to Kevin.
"Ah, damn it," he said aloud.
But the Super Stallion just continued to sink – down and down - and the last thing Schofield saw before the windshield was completely covered over by lapping green water was the image of Kevin being hauled up toward the Penetrator on the harness and being pulled into the rear section of the attack helicopter's three-man cockpit.
Then the windshield was covered over completely-and Schofield saw nothing but green. The two Air Force Penetrators were well aware of who was inside the Super Stallion.
Their calls to "Looking Glass" on- a designated alternate frequency had gone unanswered for the last few minutes. Indeed, it was a transponder trace on the Super Stallion that had led them to this crater - where they had found Botha and the boy.
The two Penetrators hovered above the sinking Super Stallion, watching it founder, watching it drown.
Inside the lead Penetrator sat Python Willis, the commander of Charlie Unit. He gazed intently at the sinking Super Stallion, making sure it disappeared beneath the waves.
The Super Stallion's cockpit went under, followed by the tip of its rotor blade - the last remaining part of the helicopter above the waterline.
A legion of bubbles rose instantly to the surface as every ounce of air inside the sinking helicopter was replaced with water.
The two Penetrators waited.
The Super Stallion disappeared into the inky green depths of the lake, trailing multiple lines of bubbles.
Still Python Willis waited - until the bubbles stopped coming, until he was sure that there could be no air whatsoever inside the sunken helicopter.
After a few minutes, the water surface became calm.
Still the two Penetrators waited.
They lingered another ten minutes, just to be absolutely certain that nobody came up. If anyone did, they would finish them off.
Nobody came up.
At last, Python made the decision and the two Penetrators wheeled around in the air and headed back toward Area 7.
No one could have stayed under that long, not even inside an air pocket. The air in a pocket would have gone bad by now.
No.
Shane Schofield - and whoever else was in that Super Stallion with him - was now, without a doubt, dead.
* * *
Gant, Mother, Juliet and the President were still on Level 4, in the semi-darkened observation lab. Hot Rod Hagerty and Nicholas Tate were also still with them.
"We should move," Gant said.
"What are you thinking?" Mother asked.
"No. What are you doing, Sergeant Gant?" Hot Rod demanded.
"We shouldn't stay here," Gant said.
"But this is a perfectly good hiding place."
"We should keep moving. If they're searching for us, and we stay in the same place, they'll eventually find us. We should move at least once every twenty minutes."
"And where exactly did you learn this?" Hagerty asked.
"It's in the training manual for Officer Candidate School," Gant said. "Standard evasive techniques. Surely you read it at some point in your career. Besides, there's something else I'd like to check out..."
Hagerty went red. "I will not be spoken to like that by a sergeant..."
"Yes. You will," Mother stepped up to Hagerty. At six four, she towered over him. She nodded over at Gant: "Because that little chickadee is smarter and cooler in a combat situation than you'll ever be. And, for your information, she ain't gonna be a sergeant for long. Soon she's gonna be an officer. And I'll tell you something, I'd put my life in her hands before I put it in yours."
Hagerty pursed his lips. "Right. That's..."
"Colonel Hagerty," the President said, stepping forward, "Sergeant Gant has saved my life twice this morning – on the train downstairs and then on the platform. In both instances, she was decisive and cool-headed in a situation that would have brought many other people unstuck. I am happy to trust my safety to her judgment."
"Fucking-A," Mother said. "The power of estrogen, man."
"Sergeant Gant," the President said. "What are you thinking?"
Gant smiled, her sky-blue eyes gleaming.
"I'm thinking we do something about that transmitter attached to your heart, sir."
* * *
In his sterile windowless room on the second-to-bottom floor of the Pentagon, Dave
Fairfax was still hard at work decoding the intercepted telephone conversations that had come out of United States Air Force Special Area (Restricted) No. 7.
Having decrypted the incoming and outgoing messages in Afrikaans, Fairfax was pretty pleased with himself.
There was, however, still one thing that nagged at him. The two messages in English that he had found in amongst the Afrikaans messages.
He played the two messages again, listened intently.
16-JUN 19:56:09
ENGLISH - ENGLISH
VOICE 3:
Everything is in place.
Everything is in place.
Confirm that it’s the third.
Confirm that it’s the third.
22-JUN 20:51:59
ENGLISH - ENGLISH
VOICE 3:
Mission is a go.
Mission is a go.
One thing was certain. It was the same voice on both messages.
A man's voice. American. Southern accent. Speaking slowly, deliberately.
Fairfax pushed his glasses up onto his nose, started typing on his keyboard.
He brought up a voice analysis program.
Then he compared the taped voice's digital signature - or "voiceprint" - with the signatures of every other voice in the DIA's mainframe, every voice the Agency had ever secretly recorded.
Spiked displays whizzed across his screen as the program accessed the Agency's massive database of voiceprints. And then the computer beeped:
6 MATCHES FOUND
DISPLAY ALL MATCHES?
"Yes, please," Fairfax said as he hit the "Y" key. Six entries appeared on his screen:
NO.
DATE
DIVISION
SOURCE FILE
1.
29-May
SPACE DIV-0
SAT-SURV (FILE 034-77A)
2.07-Jun
SPACEDIV-01
SAT-SURV (FILE 034-77A)
3.
16-Jun
SPACEDIV-02
USAF-SA(R)07 (FILE 009-21 D)
4.
22-Jun
SPACEDIV-02
USAF-SA(R)07
(FILE 009-21 D)
5.
02-Jul
SPACEDIV-01
SAT-SURV (FILE 034-77A)
6.
03-Jul
SPACEDIV-01
SAT-SURV (FILE 034-77A)
Okay, Fairfax thought.
He discarded the third and the fourth entries – they were the two messages that he'd just played. Their division designator, spacediv-02, meant his own section, Section 2.
The other four messages, however, were the property of Section 1, the main unit of Space Division located across the hall.
The source file for the Section 1 messages, SAT-SURV, stood for "Satellite Surveillance." Section 1, it seemed, had been tapping into foreign satellite transmissions lately.
Fairfax clicked on the first entry:
29-MAY 13:12:00
SATELLITE INTERCEPT (ENGLISH)
VOICE 1:
They did the test this morning. The vaccine is operational against all previous strains. All they need now is a sample of the latest version.
Fairfax frowned. The messages in Afrikaans had also mentioned a vaccine. And a successful test. He hit the next entry:
7-JUN 23:47:33
SATELLITE INTERCEPT (ENGLISH)
VOICE 1:
Virus snatch team is en route to Changchun. Names are CAPTAIN ROBERT WU and LIEUTENANT CHET. Both can be trusted. As discussed, the price delivery of the vaccine to you will be one hundred and twenty million dollars, ten million for each of twelve men involved.
Changchun, Fairfax thought. The Chinese bioweapons production facility.
And a hundred and twenty million dollars, to be divided among twelve men.
This was getting interesting.
Next:
2-JUL 02:21:57
SATELLITE INTERCEPT (CHINESE - ENGLISH)
VOICE 1:
Copy that, Yellow Star. We'll be there.
What is this...? Fairfax thought.
Yellow Star?
But that was the... He clicked on the final message:
3-JUL 04:04:42
SATELLITE INTERCEPT (ENGLISH)
VOICE 1:
WU and LI have arrived back at Area 7 with the virus. Your men are with them. All the money has been accounted for. Names of my men who will need to be extracted: BENNETT, CALVERT, COLEMAN, DAYTON, FROMMER, GRAYSON, LITTLETON, MESSICK, OLIVER and myself.
Fairfax was looking at the names on the last message when suddenly the door to his subterranean office was flung open and his boss - a tall, bald bureaucrat named Eugene Wisher - stormed into the room, followed by three heavily armed military policemen. Wisher was in charge of the operation going on across the hall - the tracking of the newly launched Chinese space shuttle.
"Fairfax!" he bellowed. "What the hell are you doing in here!"
Fairfax gulped, eyed the MP's guns fearfully. "Uh, wha... what are you talking about?"
"Why are you accessing intercepted transmissions from our operation?"
"Your operation?" Fairfax said.
"Yes. Our operation. Why are you downloading information from the mainframe that pertains to the classified operation going on in Section 1?"
Fairfax fell silent, deep in thought, while his boss kept yelling at him.
And suddenly it all became very, very clear.
"Oh, Christ," he breathed.
It took some explaining – at gunpoint – but after five minutes, Dave Fairfax suddenly found himself standing in front of two DIA Assistant Directors in the operations room across the hall from his windowless office.
Monitors glowed all around the room, technicians worked at over a dozen consoles - all of it related to the tracking of the newly launched Chinese Space Shuttle, the Yellow Star. "I need a personnel list for Special Area 7," the twenty-five-year-old Fairfax said to the two high-ranking DLA chiefs standing before him.
A list came.
Fairfax looked at it. It read:
UNITED STATES AIR FORCE
SPECIAL AREA (RESTRICTED) 07
ON-SITE PERSONNEL
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET
NAME UNIT
COMMAND UNIT
Harper, JT (CO)
7TH SQUADRON
Alvarez, MJ A - Frommer, SN E - Arthurs, RT C - Gale, A D - Atlock, FD B - Giggs, RE B - Baines, AW A - Golding, DK D - Bennett, B E - Goldman, WE A - Biggs, NM C - Grayson, SR E - Boland, CS B - Hughes, R A - Boyce, LW D - Ingliss, WA B - Calvert, ET E - Johnson, SW D - Carney, LE E - Jones, M D - Christian, FC A - Kincaid, R B - Coleman, GK E - Littleton, SO E - Coles, M B - Logan, (MAJ) KW A - Crick, DT D - McConnell, BA B - Criece, TW A - Messick, K E - Davis, AM E - Milbourn, SK D - Dayton, AM E - Morton, IN C - Dillan, ST D - Nance, GF D - Doheny, FG A - Nystrom,JJ D - Egan, RR B - Oliver, PK E - Fraser, MS C - Price, AL C - Fredericks, GH A - Rawson, MJ C - Sayles, MT B - Stone, JK C - Willis, IS C - Sommers, SR C - Taylor, AS B - Wolfson, HT A
CIVILIAN STAFF
Botha, GW MED - Franklin, HS MED - Shaw, DE MED
"Anybody else see a pattern here?" Fairfax said.
All of the men named in the intercepted transmission were from the unit designated "E" - or in military parlance "Echo."
"The only man in 'E' who isn't mentioned," Fairfax said, "is this one, 'Carney, LE.' I can only assume that he's the man speaking on the tape."
Fairfax turned to the two DIA chiefs standing beside him. "There's a rogue unit at that base. A rogue unit that has been communicating with the Chinese government and its new space shuttle. All the men in Echo Unit."
* * *
"...Echo Unit. Report..."
"...This is Echo leader" the voice of Captain Lee "Cobra" Carney replied.
Cobra spoke with a slow Southern drawl - measured, icy, dangerous. "We're in the Level 3 livin' quarters. Just swept the two underground hangar levels. Nothin' there. Workin'
our way down through the complex now, coverin' the stairwell as we go."
"...Copy that, Echo leader..."
"Sir," another of the radio operators turned to Caesar Russell, "Charlie Unit just arrived back from the lake. They're outside, and they have the boy."
"Good. Losses?"
"Five."
"Acceptable. And Botha?" Caesar asked.
"Dead."
"Even better. Let them in through the top door."
* * *
Gant and the others headed for the fire stairwell at the eastern end of Level 4.
"I know this isn't exactly relevant to the present situation," Mother said as she and Gant walked side by side, "but I've been meaning to ask you about your little date with the Scarecrow last Saturday. You haven't said anything about it."
Gant gave Mother a crooked grin. "Not looking for gossip, are we, Mother?"
"Why, hell yes. That's exactly what I'm looking for old married hags like me get off hearing about the sexual gymnastics of pretty young things like you. And I was just, you know... interested."
Gant smiled sadly. "It didn't go as well as I would have liked."
"How do you mean?"
Gant shrugged, kept walking, gun in hand. "He didn't kiss me. We had a great dinner at this quiet little restaurant, then we walked along the banks of the Potomac, just talking. God, we talked all evening. And then, when he dropped me home, I was hoping that he'd kiss me. But he... just... didn't. And so we stood there awkwardly and said we'd see each other later, and the date just... ended."
Mother's eyes narrowed. "Oooh, Scarecrow. I'll kick your ass..."
"Please don't," Gant said as they came to the door leading to the stairwell. "And don't tell him I told you anything."
Mother ground her teeth. "Mmm, okay..."
"In any case, I'd rather not think about it right now," Gant said. "We've got work to do."
She opened the firedoor a crack, peered through it, her gun raised beside her face.
The stairwell was dark and silent.
Empty.
"Stairwell's clear," she whispered.
She opened the door fully, took a few steps up the stairs.
Mother moved into position behind her, both of their eyes looking up the barrels of their guns.
They came to the Level 3 landing, saw the door leading into the complex's living quarters.
There was no one here.
That's odd, Gant thought.
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