Cold Warriors (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #3)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Sixty minutes from the failsafe transmission!” came Kane’s voice over the speakers.

  “Confirm, sixty minutes?”

  “Yes, from the moment of the transmission.”

  “Does somebody have an updated time?” asked Morrison.

  “Forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds remaining,” said Leroux without looking up, he already having programmed the computer with a countdown of the transmission.

  “Put that up on the screen.”

  Leroux hit a couple of buttons and moments later his Malware display was replaced with the countdown timer.

  “How the hell are we supposed to evacuate over a hundred sites in forty minutes?”

  “We can’t,” said Morrison, his voice already resigned to defeat.

  “Whatever you do don’t cut the power.”

  Kane’s words echoed through his head and Leroux’s heart leapt as he jumped to his feet.

  “Why don’t we just cut the power?”

  Approaching Parker Dam, Arizona

  Lieutenant Rick Messina looked out the window of the Black Hawk helicopter he and half his men were in, the rest in a second chopper just behind them. The mood had been somber since the moment word of the Memphis detonation had arrived, the realization of how important their jobs actually were and that this was not some veiled exercise or wild goose chase chilling.

  And his current destination had him in a near panic.

  They were heading for Parker Dam to help evacuate the locals, it being a confirmed site for one of the hidden nukes. It hadn’t gone off yet, and his last briefing half an hour ago suggested there was no reason to suspect it would, but all sites across the country were being searched and evacuated if possible.

  I can only imagine what they’re doing at places like Grand Central Station in New York!

  Their mission was relatively easy compared to many of the other units having to deal with highly populated areas. Here they were dealing with a few thousand, almost all with vehicles, most out of the estimated blast radius, but downriver of the dam, therefore vulnerable to flood waters should the dam burst.

  Guilt racked him over and over again.

  Get to campground ASAP!

  He had sent the text message thinking he was saving their lives, and instead he had sent them into one of the few danger areas in Arizona.

  I’ve killed them.

  He shook his head and gripped his thigh hard to ward off the tears that threatened to spill over his eyelids.

  They’re perfectly safe. Just execute your orders and get them out of there.

  Repeated texts failed to reach them, coverage never good in the area, and Angela most likely asleep. He tried again, almost all of them trying to communicate what they knew with loved ones as soon as word had been received that the list had been made public. Communication between buddies in the various units had confirmed the few locations in Arizona, and those had been sent out via text almost immediately. Now with the mass evacuations occurring across the country, the locations had been provided to the public to try and save as many lives as possible. The problem was too many people were asleep.

  He leaned forward and looked at the pilot.

  “Can this thing go any faster?” he asked over his mike.

  “Not if you want to get back,” was the reply.

  “To hell with getting back. We just need to get far enough from the river. Worry about getting back later!”

  There was no reply but the helicopter dipped slightly and he could hear the engines strain a little harder, the pilot apparently agreeing with his thoughts.

  We have no more time!

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  The door to OC3 opened and Leroux barely glanced, his eyes glued to the screen showing the national power grid as it rapidly darkened. It had taken a Presidential order to get the private companies to shut down and a guarantee to pay for any damages that might result. A few had apparently resisted with a second message sent from the White House that anyone disobeying the order would be arrested and charged under anti-terror laws quelling any dissent except to express the worry that they might not be able to turn things back on.

  Nobody cared.

  It was more important to stop the weapons from detonating than pick up the pieces later.

  “Shutdown complete,” came a voice over the speaker.

  A figure moved to Leroux’s left and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He assumed it was Morrison, still providing comfort, but when he looked up he could see Morrison standing five feet away. He turned to look at who was touching him.

  “Sherrie!” he cried, jumping up and hugging her, not caring who saw them, or more accurately not able to control the impulse to take her in his arms regardless the consequences. She returned the hug, tight, and he felt her shoulders heave several times as she silently sobbed.

  “Transmissions beginning to be received from disconnected weapons.”

  He freed her from his grip and smiled at her, both their eyes filled with tears as they turned, his arm draped over her shoulders, holding her tight. They watched the display showing the known locations begin to light up as the weapons sent their call-home signal to see if the Soviet Union had collapsed and if the failsafe, as described by Levkin, should be employed. Leroux shook his head as he thought of the failsafe, its aim clear—to destroy the apparent victor in any Armageddon that may have occurred, its designers presumably so arrogant they felt nobody should have the planet if the USSR couldn’t.

  “Deactivation codes being transmitted to live weapons.”

  On the screen a counter showed over 514 weapons deployed, 442 in the United States. The ‘Believed Active’ counter sat at 279, with the ‘Believed Dormant’ counter at 163. The counter showing ‘Call Back Transmissions Received’ was rapidly increasing, already at over 30, with the ‘Deactivation Codes Transmitted’ running at less than half the rate, only at 13.

  But it was the ‘Presumed Deactivated’ counter that sat stubbornly at zero that had everyone’s attention. Leroux held his breath, unknowingly, his grip on Sherrie increasing to the point where she shifted her shoulders, bringing his attention to what he was doing.

  He looked down.

  “Sorry.”

  Her eyes never left the screen.

  The counter ticked to 1.

  “We have our first presumed deactivation.”

  Cheers erupted from the packed room as the counter then flipped to 2, all the other counters increasing rapidly as the weapons dialed home for instructions, and those instructions were transmitted by the victors in a war lost decades ago.

  Leroux began to breathe slightly easier as the deactivated counter continued to spin up and the indicator of ‘Presumed weapons still active’ counted down toward zero.

  Presumed.

  That was the problem they were facing. They were making the assumption that the weapons on the pictures Kane had taken that were black were actually dead already, safe to find and deactivate at a later time.

  But what if we’re wrong?

  The counter rapidly dropped, and after less than ten minutes was down to just one remaining weapon.

  “What’s the status on that last weapon?” asked Morrison.

  “It’s dialed home, sir, but it’s not acknowledging receipt of the deactivation code.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means it’s still active and will detonate in less than three minutes.”

  “Send the code again!” yelled Morrison.

  “I have, sir, several times. It won’t acknowledge receipt.”

  “Location?”

  “Parker Dam, Arizona.”

  River Island State Park, South of Parker Dam, Arizona

  Angela Messina woke to confused sounds around her. It was still nighttime, and a quick look at her watch had her really confused. Camp rules basically banned any noise at this hour, all-night partiers frowned upon and usually self-policed by the other campers.

&nb
sp; But this was different.

  This was the sounds of people packing up and vehicle engines roaring to life.

  This was panic.

  Her heart began to race as she unzipped her sleeping bag then crawled forward to unzip the tent. She scrambled outside, flashlight in hand, and gasped as she rose.

  The entire camp seemed awake, tents being torn down, bags tossed into the back of trucks and those apparently in the know early, already pulling away.

  She rushed over to the kids’ tent and unzipped it, grabbing their legs and shaking them.

  “Wake up!” she yelled.

  Her son woke first, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

  “Get your sister up and get dressed. Now!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so!” she yelled, his eyes popping open wide at her outburst, his head rapidly bobbing in acquiescence. Angela left the tent and ran toward one of the vehicles being loaded.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the woman she recognized from the evening before, her name escaping her.

  “It’s all over the news. There’s a nuclear bomb at the dam!”

  Angela nearly blacked out, the thought of her children all that kept her from collapsing right then and there. She looked at her SUV parked nearby then the tents and their gear and made a split second decision.

  To hell with packing.

  She ran back to her tent, grabbed her cellphone and car keys, then as she crawled out, she found her two kids standing outside their tent, gaping at what was going on around them.

  “Let’s go, now!” she said, running toward the SUV.

  “What’s going on?” asked the kids in unison, but she ignored them, instead unlocking the doors with the fob and climbing into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as she yelled for the kids to get inside. As soon as doors were shut and she confirmed with a shoulder check that both were in the backseat, she put the vehicle in gear and peeled away from their parking spot.

  “What about the tents?”

  “Forget the tents. We have to get out of here!”

  “What’s going on, mom?” asked her daughter, beginning to panic as they were cut off by another vehicle, everyone now stuck in a long line of vehicles barely inching forward.

  She looked in her side view mirror and the entire horizon behind her flashed with a brilliant light that lit everything around them in every direction, impossibly long shadows bending toward the ground, then shooting up into nothingness once again as the intense light faded, replaced with a fireball, brilliantly orange, red and yellow against the night sky.

  The kids were looking back at the explosion, crying now, as even they realized the seriousness of the situation. But she was certain they didn’t know the half of it.

  If that took out the dam, the Colorado is about to flood, and we’re dead.

  “Let’s go!” she yelled at the vehicles ahead of her, too many brake lights, too many turned heads looking at the explosion. She looked to her left and saw a gradual rise that crested several hundred feet above. She hit the button switching the vehicle to four-by-four mode then cranked the wheel to the left, hammering on the gas. She quickly shot up the rise, taking out the small brush in her way, swerving to avoid several larger trees, fortunately sparse.

  She crested the rise and found herself on a flat expanse leading to the highway, clogged with traffic, but at least moving in the right direction. She hammered on the gas, rushing across the cleared area, then wedged herself into the flow on the 95 heading south, away from the dam, but hugging the river the entire way.

  We need to find a way off this!

  But to her left, all she could see were unforgiving hills, unpassable.

  She slammed her fists into the steering wheel as they crawled along, 210 billion gallons of water beginning its rush down the Colorado River.

  Approaching Parker Dam, Arizona

  Rick Messina looked at the gridlock below as hundreds of vehicles tried to escape along a road that followed the exact path of the impending flood. And it appeared the traffic wasn’t able to pick up much speed as desperate residents continually forced themselves on to the roads rather than be left waiting for a break in the non-stop traffic.

  The good news was that the word had obviously gotten out. The bad news was that it was every man for himself out there.

  They need to head inland, away from the river!

  His phone vibrated in his hand and he looked at the call display.

  Angela!

  He answered.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No! Oh my God, no! Don’t you know what’s going on?” she cried.

  “Yes. Now I need you to stay calm. Where are you?”

  “We’re on the highway, heading south.”

  “Are the kids with you?”

  “Of course the kids are with me! What the hell kind of—”

  “Stay calm.” Messina motioned for the map to be handed to him. “Do you know where you are?”

  “We just left the campground and are stuck in traffic.”

  His finger found the campground and traced the road.

  “Okay, have you reached the gas station yet, the one on your left?”

  “No, but I see it up ahead.”

  “Okay, just after that is a dirt road on the left. Take it, follow it a few hundred feet past some trailers, then it splits. Take the left split, then follow that as far as you can. That’ll take you through the hills and away from the river. Just keep going and eventually you’ll reach a high point where you can stop.”

  “Okay, I see it, I see it!” cried Angela. “I’m turning now!”

  Horns honked and tires screeched and Angela remained silent for several moments, the whimpers of his children obvious over the hands-free kit his wife was using.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, we’re on the road!” she said, then in typical Angela fashion paused. “What the hell kind of road is this? Are you sure this is a road?”

  “It’s more like a trail. How’s your gas?”

  “Full.”

  “Then just keep going!”

  “Sir, you’ve got to see this,” came the voice of the pilot over his headgear, at the moment only over one ear. He turned and looked out the front of the chopper and gasped. A massive wall of water, several stories high at least was pushing down the Colorado, the banks burst on either side as what remained of the town of Parker Dam rode the crest of it, debris ranging from houses to vehicles being carried along.

  “Hon, I’ve got to go. You keep going ahead and you’ll be safe.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m in a helicopter. Don’t worry about me. When this is over I’ll find you.”

  “Okay, I love you.”

  “I love you too. Love you kids!”

  “Love you too, Dad!” they yelled in unison, the terror in their little voices still obvious.

  He ended the call, stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

  “We’re too late here,” he said over the comm. “Let’s go downriver and see if we can do any good there.”

  “Roger that,” replied the pilot, banking and sending them down the river and away from the impending wall of unleashed natural fury, the world’s deepest dam no longer, and the unnatural reservoir, held by force behind a massive wall of concrete, suddenly freed, trying to reclaim the territory it once held.

  “What’s that?” yelled one of his men, pointing out the side of the helicopter. Messina looked down, not seeing what the corporal was seeing until a search light suddenly focused on a vehicle stopped on a side road, a woman waving with both arms at them.

  “Can you get us down there?” asked Messina.

  “Yeah, but you’ll have less than two minutes before that water is on us.”

  “Do it.”

  The helicopter lowered and when they were just a few feet from the ground Messina and two of his men jumped out, hitting the ground then running toward the woman, her screams for help barely audibl
e over the pounding of the blades.

  “Help me!” she yelled as they reached her. “I have a flat tire!”

  The roar from the approaching water was deafening and Messina looked to see the dark mass, lit only by the stars and moon, approaching rapidly, the pilot’s estimate of two minutes way off.

  “Let’s go!” he yelled, grabbing the now frozen women by the arm. She wouldn’t budge.

  “Pick her up!” he ordered, his two men grabbing her and carrying her to the chopper, rolling her inside as they climbed in after her. The wall of water was so close mist could be felt, the thunderous approach louder than the chopper.

  “My baby!” she screamed as she suddenly snapped out of shock.

  “What?”

  “My baby! She’s in my car!”

  Messina, half in the chopper, spun, and with one last glance at the wall of water, jumped back down and raced toward the car as fast as he could. He slammed into the side, unwilling to lose any time in slowing down, then pulled open the door and found the baby in a car seat. He quickly unsnapped her then pulled out the tiny bundle, probably only weeks old, then turned toward the chopper.

  The roar of the wall of water was all encompassing now, overwhelming his senses as he sprinted toward the helicopter now rising from the ground. He saw one of his men hooked into a harness, leaning out the side of the helicopter, his hands extended as Messina raced toward them, the baby cradled in his arms.

  A quick look to his left and he knew he had no more time. He said a silent prayer and raised his right hand, the baby tightly gripped in it, then as if going for a touchdown pass, fired the baby as hard as he could toward the outstretched arms of his fellow guardsman, but as the baby hurtled through the air he realized with a deadening of his senses that his throw was short.

  The corporal who had first spotted the woman, and who was now in the harness, jumped from the chopper, arms outstretched, rapidly dropping toward the baby, catching her as she began her descent, his arms quickly drawing her in and cradling her against his chest as his comrades above pulled them both to safety, the helicopter rising above the impending threat.