All he saw was the endless flow of cars and people moving along 23rd Street. No one seemed to be watching the building or waiting for him outside. None of them seemed aware that a missile was about to ruin their day.
Jason said, “You have to get out of there, sir. I’m implementing the Scorched Earth Protocol now. All I need is your authorization code.”
Hicks gave him the code that would fry the hard drive of every system in the bunker, just in case they survived the blast. Anyone sifting through the rubble would only find busted computer equipment.
He heard Jason’s fingers on the keyboard. “Enacting protocol now. Keep moving, sir. OMNI’s latest analysis of the radar signature gives a high probability that it’s definitely carrying something heavy, probably a Hellfire. I’ll track your movements from here, but you’ve got to move now.”
Hicks reached for the doorknob, but stopped. “How long before impact?”
“Seventy seconds and closing, sir. It looks like they’re going to drop this thing right on top of you. You’ve got to move, sir!”
But Hicks didn’t move.
The bits of information were coming together fast.
Of all the buildings in all of Manhattan, someone had targeted his precise location. He knew why.
But how? A Hellfire missile’s targeting system could easily get confused in a densely-populated area like Manhattan. With so many targets, it might strike a similar building or land in the middle of the street. Someone was keeping it on course.
Jason had said it was a two-part weapons system. That meant someone was guiding it from the ground. And he had to find out who it was.
Hicks said, “Have the satellite zoom in on my location. Someone’s guiding the missile, probably by lasing my building from someplace close. Check the rooftops. Someone will be manning the laser to keep it from getting knocked over or keep the light from being blocked by something.”
He heard Jason’s fingers work the keyboard again. “Sixty-five seconds, James. You need to go!”
Hicks gripped the door to the outside world tight. “Keep working.”
Time was his enemy, but it was also his friend. The closer it got to impact, the more likely it was that the target team would start to move out. Even if it was only one man, the satellite would detect the movement. And Hicks would have a target of his own.
While Jason looked, Hicks scanned the streetscape from his window. It was another sunny morning in Manhattan, and the street was full of people walking back and forth in both directions, going to the store, jaywalking across 23rd Street. Kids going to school and people tapping away on their cell phones, not watching where they were going. None of them had any idea they were in the middle of a war-zone. Most of them would either die or be seriously injured from the blast radius of an incoming missile.
But there was nothing he could do to save them. He just hoped Jason could find the target within the next five seconds or…
“I have contact!” Jason yelled. “Three men on the roof of the building directly across from your position. A five-story walk-up…”
Jason kept telling him details, but Hicks was already out the door and running across the street.
“SIXTY SECONDS, James.”
Hicks threaded his way through the taxis and buses and vans stuck at a standstill in the snarl of cross-town rush hour traffic.
He drew his Ruger as he burst through the outer door of the walk-up and shot the lock on the interior door. Hicks barreled into the building, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced up to the roof. He heard various parts of the information Jason fed him as the blood roared in his ears. “…three men…tripod setup…backing away from the laser…making their way to adjoining roof facing 22nd Street…”
Hicks didn’t stop when he reached the door to the rooftop. The lock had already been broken, the door tapping lightly against the frame in the slight morning breeze.
The Ruger led the way as Hicks ran out onto the roof. The ancient door hinges squealed.
Thirty seconds to impact.
Time slowed.
Hicks knew taking out the laser was pointless. It might send the missile into a more populated area of midtown, maybe an office building, where it would kill thousands instead of hundreds.
But he still had a play for the bastards who had guided it in.
The three men were on south side of the roof.
Target One was already over the low, crumbling brick wall that separated the two buildings.
Target Two was halfway over the wall.
Target Three turned when he heard the roof door hinges squeal.
Hicks shot him first. The round struck Target Three just below the throat, splattering his blood on Target Two. He fell back against the brick wall before collapsing to the roof.
Hicks aimed at Target Two and fired just as the man flopped over the edge onto the 22nd Street building. The .45 caliber slug kept going, striking Target One in the pelvis instead. The impact sent the man sprawling.
Target Two was still somewhere behind the short brick wall, but Hicks knew he wouldn’t stay there for long, not with a Hellfire with enough ordinance to level a city block less than half a minute out. He would need to move and soon.
The weight of Hicks’s bug-out bag on his back slowed him down as he ran at a crouch toward the brick wall, the Ruger still in front of him. He hit the deck when he saw a gun barrel pop up over the top of the wall. Automatic-rifle fire filled the air as Target Two fired blindly. All the rounds went high, sailing high over 23rd Street.
Flat on his stomach, Hicks aimed at brickwork and fired. The slug punched through two layers of the crumbling masonry and struck the man on the other side. The rifle disappeared.
His internal clock: twenty seconds.
Hicks scrambled to his feet and ran to the wall. Target Three was out of commission, gurgling blood as he clutched at his throat wound. He looked over the wall and saw Target Two clutching at the bleeding hole in the center of his chest. Hicks grabbed the man’s rifle and threw it to the other side of the roof. Both men were dying. They were useless from an intelligence perspective.
Hicks hopped the wall and saw Target One lying spread-eagle on the rooftop, bleeding from the pelvic wound. His arms were flailing but his legs were useless. The bullet had probably severed the spinal cord at the base.
But he was still alive.
His internal clock: fifteen seconds.
Target One kept flailing his hands and yelled in Russian, “I don’t have a gun. Don’t shoot!”
Hicks grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him toward the roof door. The man was smart enough to stop flailing and hold his arms close to his chest, making it easier to drag him. This man had been in combat before.
Hicks pulled the door open and dragged Target One inside, pulling him down the stairs to the top floor of the building, his dead legs flopping against the treads.
His internal clock: ten sec…
A sickening crack filled the air, followed by a powerful explosion that seemed to rise from deep within the earth.
The Hellfire missile had hit its target.
The blast wave shook the entire building, making it feel as if it had bounced off its foundation. Hicks lost his footing and tumbled down the remaining stairs to the top landing, losing his grip on the wounded Russian as he fell.
The lights in the hallway blinked out as chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling and walls. The sound of shattering glass was everywhere.
Hicks landed hard on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. It had happened to him more times than he could count, so he knew enough not to panic. It still took a moment for him to catch his breath. The cloud of thin plaster dust in the air didn’t make breathing any easier and stung his eyes. His ears rang from the blast wave, but he could already hear the telltale sounds that always followed an explosion.
Panic.
People screaming, yelling, and cursing in the streets, in the building.
Car alarms bl
aring.
He finally caught his breath and did a mental check of his body. He moved his arms and legs. Nothing was broken. The Ruger was still in his hand. His chest hurt from the impact. He might have cracked a couple of ribs from the fall, but at least he could move.
And he had to move. Now.
He rolled over on his side and saw that the only light was coming from the entrance to the roof. The door was gone. Thick, darkening smoke began to waft inside.
He felt a fleeting sense of pride that he’d managed to hold on to the Ruger through it all.
The ringing in his ears began to die away as he heard the Russian scream from somewhere behind him. He turned in time to see the wounded man stab at his leg with a tactical knife, narrowly missing Hicks’s thigh.
Hicks rolled, planting a knee on the man’s prone forearm. The resulting crunch of bone and cartilage made the Russian scream just before Hicks cracked him across the temple with the butt of the Ruger. The wounded man’s body went slack. Hicks pulled the knife from his hand and stuck it in his belt. No sense in letting a good knife go to waste.
Even through the fine plaster cloud, Hicks saw the man was bleeding heavily from the pelvic wound. He shrugged out of his bug-out bag, opened it, and dug out the XStat. He plunged the syringe into the bullet hole and hit the plunger, injecting several anti-hemorrhagic sponges into the wound to slow down the bleeding. It was better than the bastard deserved, but he was no good to Hicks if he bled to death before Hicks could question him.
Hicks slung the bag back on his shoulders and got to his feet, shaking off the bits of plaster that had covered him. The ringing in his ears cleared enough for him to hear Jason calling to him via his earbud: “James. Are you okay?”
“No, but I’m alive. Two hostiles down and I kept the third one alive. Give me a status report. How bad was the blast?”
“Satellite feed shows a hell of a lot of smoke, but it looks like the missile was rigged for a deep impact. The bunker seems to have absorbed most of the blast. All three buildings above it have imploded, but the surrounding buildings are still standing. Vehicles on 23rd Street are covered in debris, but the street is filled with people. OMNI’s initial estimates are that it was a Hellfire II, a bunker-buster, but I can’t confirm that. Emergency services are streaming into your area. Two F-16s are already in the air and emergency services are closing in on your position. NYPD has helicopters in the air. What do you want me to do?”
Hicks grabbed the unconscious Russian by the collar, pulled him onto his shoulder, and began to fireman-carry him down the stairs. “Get Stephens to bring a Varsity Squad with him to the site. Tell him to use his old DIA credentials to lock down the site if he has to. Get the Trustee to clear it with the local agencies. I want our people in command of the site before anyone else starts digging around.”
“Consider it done. What else?”
“Contact Scott at the Annex.” The Annex was the University’s secondary facility, located in Alphabet City, that served as the University’s detention and medical facility. “I want his people on full alert and to get the med unit ready. I’m coming in with a target with a gunshot wound to the pelvis and a possible fractured spinal column. We need to keep the son of a bitch alive long enough to question him about this.”
“They’ll be ready by the time you get there,” Jason said. “Do you need Varsity transport to get you there?”
“Negative.” Hicks had to shield his eyes as more plaster began to fall from the stairwell ceiling. The powder and the extra weight of the Russian made it difficult to keep his balance on the narrow stairs, but he kept moving. “Have Scott order a security sweep of the area around the Annex. If these bastards knew about 23rd Street, they might know about that one, too. If they find anyone, they are to detain if possible but kill if necessary.”
“I’ll let them know. Anything else?”
Hicks skirted around the dazed building residents who were beginning to fill the halls, asking each other what had happened and if it was another terrorist attack. They barely paid any attention to Hicks or the man he was carrying. They weren’t panicking yet, but that was temporary. He had to get out of the building before they did. “Alert all Faculty Members everywhere to go dark until further notice and be on the lookout for any suspicious activity.”
“I’ll do that right after I have the Annex up and running,” Jason said. “Anything else?”
Hicks paused at the top of the second landing, ignoring the shoves and curses of the people behind him who suddenly had to get around him.
Something Jason said struck him.
Transport.
“I know the smoke cover is thick, but have OMNI zoom in on 22nd Street in front of my location. Do a thermal reading for any parked vehicles that might have an engine running.”
He heard Jason’s fingers working the keyboard. “I just alerted Stephens and sent a message to the Trustee. I’m working on the thermal imaging now, but why?”
“Because these bastards brought a lot of equipment with them and they sure as hell didn’t take the bus. I’ll bet they had a driver and he’s probably waiting for them right outside.”
HICKS CONTINUED to lug the wounded Russian out into the chaotic scene on 22nd Street. It was easy to blend in with the crowd of confused, frantic people darting in all directions. It was the same kind of scene Hicks had witnessed following every bomb attack he’d survived all over the world. No one knew what had just happened. No one knew what might happen next. And more than a few of them were anxious to see the carnage for themselves.
He spotted the black Chevy Tahoe exactly where Jason had told him it would be, parked half a block away on the north side of the street, facing east. Dark-tinted windows made it impossible to see inside, though OMNI’s thermal scan registered only the driver inside. A smart move. The fake diplomatic plates made it less likely that a cop would bother them.
Knowing the driver was looking for the three Russians to come out of the building, Hicks put on a show, limping as he lugged the wounded man across his shoulder. The driver would be looking for three men in a hurry, not a wounded stranger carrying a friend to safety.
Hicks limped alongside the driver side door before pulling the Ruger from his jacket pocket and firing once into the window at near point-blank range. The glass wasn’t bulletproof, and shattered on impact. The driver slumped over to his right.
Already frightened people screamed as they ran away from the sound of gunfire. Hicks reached through the shattered window, unlocked all the Tahoe’s doors, opened the rear door, and dumped the unconscious Russian into the backseat.
He unbuckled the dead driver and dragged him onto the sidewalk. He slipped his bug-out bag from his shoulders and used it to sweep the broken glass off the seat. He tossed the bag onto the passenger seat and climbed up behind the wheel. He used the sleeve of his jacket to smear away some of the blood that had hit the windshield. It wasn’t spotless, but enough to pass casual inspection.
With the motor already running, he put the SUV in drive and pulled away from the curb, heading east. The passenger window had caught most of the splatter and had been punctured by his shot. Hicks lowered it to avoid suspicion. Every cop in the city would be on edge. He didn’t need one of them pulling him over to ask a lot of questions he didn’t want to answer.
He heard Jason in his ear as he gunned the engine to beat a red light. “Did you kill the driver?”
“What do you think?” He hit the gas and made the SUV cut through a narrow gap that had opened in northbound traffic. Traffic was already beginning to thicken and he needed to get to Alphabet City as soon as possible. “Status report.”
“Stephens said he’s on his way to the blast site. The Trustee said she’s already making the necessary phone calls to make sure all public statements are cleared by federal authorities first. I also alerted all Faculty Members to go dark until further notice. Scott is prepping the Annex as we speak. What else do you need me to do?”
Hicks saw
the Tahoe had been outfitted with a police package: full lights and sirens. Christ, these bastards thought of everything, didn’t they? He hit the cherry lights and siren to help clear the traffic that was beginning to slow in front of him. He’d have to get south before he got caught up in a traffic jam. It was only a matter of time before the NYPD started shutting down streets, if they hadn’t already.
“Have a Varsity team pick up the two bodies I left back on the roof. I want their prints and pictures run through OMNI as soon as possible. Then contact the field team in Europe. Tell them to lock down but get ready to mobilize. We’re activating Moscow Protocol.”
Jason wasn’t typing. “Jesus.”
The sirens were working. Traffic was beginning to move out of his way.
Hicks floored it. “That’s right, Ace. We’re going to war.”
HICKS TOOK the turn into the underground garage too hard, throwing sparks as the bottom of the SUV scraped over the speed bump on the ramp.
The garage door automatically closed behind him as he pulled the SUV to a screeching halt at the bottom of the ramp.
Scott and members of his Varsity Squad were already waiting. Hicks unlocked the doors and the Varsity members gently pulled the Russian onto the gurney and wheeled him inside. Far more gently than Hicks thought he deserved.
He called after them as they moved. “Tell the doc he’s paralyzed from the waist down and is losing a lot of blood. Tell him I don’t need him alive for long, just long enough to question him.”
Scott fell in behind Hicks. “Jason called it in already. Doc Fischer is ready to work on him as soon as he gets him on the table.”
“Good. Our perimeter secure?”
“I’ve got men stationed two blocks out in every direction,” Scott said. “If something comes our way on ground or in the air, we’ll know about it. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.”
Hicks wasn’t done. “I want your people to take apart that SUV for any signs of a tracking device. I didn’t pick up any signals from my handheld, but we need to be sure.”
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 7
