"Get the hell out!" Everett yelled as they all unfastened their seat belts, holding on to each other because of the awkward position with the Black Hawk lying on its side.
As Everett first reached the doorway, a hand shot through and pulled him up. He saw that it was one of the gate 1 security men dressed in his desert camouflage. As Everett turned to assist the others, several loud thumps slammed into the bottom of the chopper.
"Hey, someone's taking potshots at us!" Mendenhall called from the interior.
Everett turned to the lone security man.
"Where in the hell is the rest of the security element?"
"Out. We were hit twenty minutes ago; all hell is breaking loose down in the complex."
Finally, Ryan was the last man lifted from the downed Black Hawk. Everett, Rodriguez, and Mendenhall had already drawn their nine-millimeters and were firing into the hangar.
"In case you didn't know it, Captain, we're outgunned here," Jack said as he took cover next to Carl.
"You haven't missed a beat — same old song and dance, outnumbered and outgunned," Carl said as he fired two rounds into the dark, then risked a look back at the colonel. "Welcome home, Jack," he said with a smirk.
The air suddenly filled with a loud buzzing. The sound was almost recognizable as a V-22 Osprey, but the engine noise was different; it had more of a whine to it.
"Are the marines landing here at Nellis?" Mendenhall asked as he fired, emptying his weapon.
"I hope it's them," Ryan said just as his gun jammed.
Without warning, the hangar's interior lights were turned on and alarms started sounding. They could see close to fifty men inside as they suddenly tossed off goggles and held their hands to their eyes in the brightness of the floodlights.
"Well, someone back in the complex finally woke the hell up," Will said, pushing in another clip of ammunition.
Collins reached out, took a set of binoculars from the case of the camouflaged security man, brought them to his eyes, and rose up above the protection of the helicopter.
"Damn, I count over forty, no, fifty-plus bad guys… and… no, wait… cease-fire…. cease-fire, damn it!" Jack called out. "They have hostages! What in the hell is happening here? Damn, they have the director."
Everett pulled the glasses from Jack and looked inside.
"Alice, the senator, Niles, Virginia—" he called out, and then he became silent, turned, and slid down the fuselage to a sitting position after seeing one other person who was being carried by two men in dark Nomex.
The sky above them screamed as a large aircraft, a kind they had never seen before, shot overhead and then flared at the last moment before flying headlong into the facade of the old hangar. It was an unrecognizable tilt-rotor craft. Then another and another, until the fourth set down outside the hangar. Large and fierce looking, the aircraft had two loud and piercing jet engines in the place of the turbofan propellers of the American V-22 Osprey. As they landed, the engines pivoted, and were positioned to pull the aircraft instead of providing it with lift.
As the security men of the Event Group watched helplessly, the hostile element was seen running with their captives to a lowering rear ramp. The tilt-engine craft was large enough to accommodate all of them easily. In two minutes, the black-painted aircraft revved its engines, pushed out of the hangar, and was airborne in five seconds. It shot low over the desert and was soon climbing. The other men ran to their assigned craft and loaded. Everett was impressed with the time it took to load their assault element. The egress from the landing zone was all done in less than thirty seconds.
Mendenhall tugged at Everett's sleeve and pointed into the dark sky. Two F-22 Raptors, America's newest top-of-the-line fighters, shot through the air in pursuit of the attacking craft.
"Inform Nellis combat ops to observe only, not to engage. American hostages are onboard," Carl said to Ryan as he commenced broadcasting with the handheld radio.
The sound of more fighters were heard as they went to afterburner to get airborne from the airstrip at the main base. Mendenhall counted ten in all, including the two already in pursuit of the attackers.
Finally, Collins sat hard into the sand and looked at Everett. "How in the hell could they have gotten in and kidnapped the four highest ranking people we have?"
Carl didn't answer right away. Instead he looked at his friend and hoped Jack was going to accept what he had to say.
"Jack, they're not the only people they took." He looked from Collins to Ryan, who was still talking with combat operations at Nellis. "I swear, I thought she was at home recovering," he finally said.
Jack didn't ask who. He just waited.
"They took Sarah."
Collins looked from Carl to the ground, and then slowly stood and stared out to the east, in the direction the strange aircraft had taken.
Ryan lowered the radio and Will Mendenhall looked from the sky to the colonel. Everett rose and watched as Jack Collins started walking determinedly toward the now-empty hangar. All three noticed he walked without the slightest bit of fatigue showing in his step.
The assault on the Event Group home had awakened a man who was not in the frame of mind to allow this attack to go unanswered.
* * *
As the F-22 Raptors took up station behind the four stubby winged aircraft, they saw their airspeed had vaulted just past the speed of sound, impossible for a tilt-jet airframe. Still, there it was, their instruments confirming that they were indeed creeping toward mach 1.4.
Every threat detector on all ten fighters suddenly illuminated and started screaming their warnings into the headphones of every pilot in the flight.
Overhead, the missiles that had been launched off the coast of New Jersey two hours before had been on glide mode until a signal was received by the strange lead craft the fighters were pursuing. Then the six cruise missiles dipped their rounded noses and streaked for the fighters far below. Suddenly the outer casings of reinforced composite material ripped free, sending three separate parts flying into the air, and releasing ten separate radar-guided missiles. Now instead of six missiles to contend with, the Raptors were faced with sixty. The odds failed to register with the air force pilots as they broke formation and started to scatter, trying to avoid the sixty projectiles heading right for them. Threat detectors warbled, and chaff and flares started to fly from each of the Raptors in the hopes of confusing the incoming threats. Each of the ten Americans couldn't believe their stealthy craft were being picked up so easily.
By twos the fighters screamed high overhead. Vacationers visiting Las Vegas turned their heads skyward as each jet slammed their throttles to their stops, going to afterburner in their attempted escape of the planned ambush. The guests of Las Vegas's fabulous hotels oohed and ahhed as even more bright flares of exhaust converged on the Raptors, which each had seven missiles targeted upon it.
The crowds gathered on the strip were suddenly startled when the smaller flares of fire merged with the larger exhausts of the F-22s, and bright flashes of explosions lit up the already bright Las Vegas night. They watched as two of the American fighters dove and then jinked, out-maneuvering their attackers. The Raptors flew so low that one of the composite wings smashed through the great light above the pyramid of the Luxor Casino, sending glass and debris raining down upon the running crowd.
Another Raptor was struck as it tried the same maneuver as the first two, but it wasn't as lucky. The radar-seeking missile exploded just as it pulled up from its dive. Shrapnel pierced the canopy, killing the pitot immediately, and then the plane careened off the roof of the old Flamingo Hotel and crashed into a parking garage across the street.
All told, the ambush that was ordered and launched two full hours before the attack on the Event Group complex to cover the escape of the terrorists had claimed five lives at the base and eight lives in the air.
The four large aircraft continued on their way without any further hostile actions by the United States. Their course: the G
ulf of Mexico.
7
THE WHITE HOUSE,
WASHINGTON, D.C.
At the late hour, the president insisted the national security briefing take place in the less dramatic Oval Office instead of the war room below the White House. He was tired and he was angry. He listened to the briefing by the navy secretary without comment.
"Sir, we have the escort plan for the four supertankers we're attaching to the Nimitz battle group. The Nimitz is currently steaming to their appointed rendezvous and will join with the Royal Navy, who is escorting the four tankers. They plan to make the Atlantic run from Devonport, England, and convoyed by the frigates HMS Monmouth, HMS Somerset, and the Royal Navy submarine HMS Trafalgar. At the same time, we are coordinating a simultaneous convoy with the Chinese — they have a group leaving Venezuelan waters tomorrow with a Chinese battle group surrounding the two tankers. Our mysterious enemy cannot be in two places at once."
At that moment the president's secretary entered the office and gave him a message. He read it and then passed it around the room.
"Nellis?" he asked the secretary of defense.
"Damn it, the missile launch from the Atlantic made contact with ten F-22 Raptors out of Nellis," General Caulfield explained to the fifteen men in the room. "Eight were destroyed by a cruise missile system undocumented by any intelligence service."
"Do we have anything happening at Nellis that would warrant an attack?" Fuqua asked, looking to the secretary of the air force.
"Nothing. Red Flag is there — war games, that's it at the moment," the secretary answered.
The president lowered his head for the briefest of moments when he realized what else was at Nellis Air Force Base.
"Gentlemen, proceed with your plans, and keep me informed. For now, please excuse me."
The secretary escorted the security council from the office as the president turned, opened his top left drawer, brought out a small laptop computer, and opened the lid. He tapped in a command and then waited. A simple line appeared: DEPARTMENT 5656. The president waited, but no one came online.
"Jesus," he mumbled as he picked up the phone and dialed a ten-digit number. He pulled the phone away from his ear when there was a loud screech and then a recorded voice.
"The federal agency you are trying to reach is currently experiencing an emergency shutdown. This is a temporary situation. Please try this department at a later time."
The president lowered the phone into its cradle and leaned back in his chair. The feeling that he was nothing more than an amateur started to creep into his thoughts. Nellis being the target of a missile attack and the Event Group being offline was not just a coincidence, but because of the Group's secrecy from Congress and the law-enforcement community, there wasn't much he could do at the moment. For now he would have to wait for Niles to let him know just what in the hell was going on out there.
It would be a long night for the president of the United States.
THE EVENT GROUP COMPLEX,
NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA
Jack, Everett, Ryan, and Mendenhall assisted the injured pilots, crew members and the field security team into the complex using the giant elevator inside the hangar. As the grated floor cleared the first level, they could hear alarms sounding from below.
"Whatever happened here, happened on my watch. Jack, I don't know…"
"Stow it for now, Captain. Someone opened the door for these people. Our men can't be expected to secure the complex if someone's passing out keys to the damn locks."
Everett slowly nodded, not at all appeased he had failed the Group.
The elevator hit level 3 and the men were met by security, who at first stared in shock as Jack Collins stepped from the large platform. Men and women gathered at the loading dock and stared at the man who had returned from the dead. A sergeant wearing the insignia of an army soldier stepped up and saluted the colonel, then turned and looked at Captain Everett, his immediate commander.
"Sir, we have five dead and seventeen wounded. Thirty-two tranquilized Group members, one of whom is in shock. We have damage to gate two and gate one. We have five missing personnel that we assume have left the complex with the hostile assault element."
"Thank you, Sergeant. Has all power been restored?"
"Yes, sir, Dr. Golding has all systems back online."
Jack didn't wait to hear anymore as he started for the elevator across from the loading dock.
"Carry on, Sergeant. Lockdown is to be strictly enforced. Get every available security man and shut this place down tighter than a drum."
"Yes, Captain."
As the elevator doors opened on level seven, Jack stood in the doorway for a brief moment. The hallway facing them was a tangle of wires, broken plastic, and personnel. They all turned and saw who it was standing just outside the elevator doors looking at them. All were shocked to see the colonel, and one by one, they broke their paralysis and made their way to greet him as he stepped into the hallway. He was patted on the back and heard whispers of welcome home. Then he saw a familiar face parting the crowd in an attempt to reach the elevator.
"Colonel?" Pete Golding was shocked beyond words as he stared at Jack.
"Doc, I take it we had a problem?" Collins said as he took Golding's hand in his own and shook.
"They hit hard and fast, Colonel," Pete said sadly. He escorted the four men past the Group personnel and finally entered the computer center, where Pete sat on the edge of one of the desks.
Jack saw the damage to the bulletproof glass and the blood that still streamed down the wall nearest the door.
"It was my fault. I assumed the virus planted in Europa had run its course after having delivered the message. I never considered that the virus would mutate at a chosen time and shut down all security systems and… and… well, everything, just everything."
Collins looked at Everett and shook his head. Everett had given a complete report on what was happening in the world since his trip to Valhalla, but Carl just didn't know how much of the information Jack had retained.
"Doc, is Europa online?"
"Well, her peripheral systems, such as lights and phones, yes. But until I can tear down her advanced programs and find that bug, she won't be of help to us for at least twelve hours."
Jack patted him on the back. "Get whatever help you need, even if you have to bring in the Cray people, but get her up. We need her." Jack shook Pete's shoulder until he finally looked up. "Is there anything else, Pete?"
Golding looked away and then down at the floor.
"We tried to help her, Colonel. She was right there in front of us, but we couldn't get to her."
"Who?" Everett asked,
"Sarah. She was fighting back… hell… she was the only one fighting after security was taken out. When we thought they were going to kill her, a man came out of nowhere and stopped them. They took him also." He looked into Jack's eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack."
With a pat on Golding's back, Collins looked around the computer center at the many technicians that were already tearing into Europa's peripheral systems. He knew Pete would have to head for the clean room to get into her deep-seated programming. He decided to leave Golding to his daunting task.
"By the way, Doc," Jack said, turning around and facing Pete before he reached the door. "You're in temporary command of the department — acting director. We'll meet again in a few hours, so get a replacement lined up in the comp center." Jack looked at his watch. "Until then, I'll report to the president — he'll want to speak with you, so don't get lost."
Pete watched Jack as he turned for the door. He was in shock that the chain of ascension had never once occurred to him during this entire god-awful mess. Then he remembered something.
"Colonel Collins?"
Jack stopped but didn't turn around, but Everett, Ryan, and Mendenhall did.
"I have to meet with you and the captain in private. I may have discovered who the mole and traitor is. However, I need Europa to ass
ist me in confirming it. Also, the man that saved Lieutenant McIntire's life—"Pete bit his lower lip and acted nervous, but continued after a moment's pause. "It was the Frenchman — Henri Farbeaux."
Collins closed his eyes as his jaw muscles clenched. Then he took a deep breath and left the center.
"Jesus, this is getting better and better," Mendenhall said as he kicked at a large chunk of still smoldering wiring on the floor.
* * *
An hour later, Pete was on his back inside the Europa XP-7 clean room, where the brain of the system was housed. Pete had several clear programming rods in his mouth as he battled with a series of fiberoptic lines. Jack was watching him after showering, shaving, and getting a shortened checkup at the infirmary, only after promising he would be back for a more thorough exam.
His memory was retuning nicely, but the days leading up to his release were still fogged with more questions than answers. The doctor had the opinion that this memory loss may have been intentional because she found a substance in his blood that corresponded with induced coma. She suspected Jack was intentionally kept in a comatose state.
Everett joined him inside the clean room, which was anything but at that moment. None of the ten technicians present were dressed in electrostatic clothing or face masks.
"Jack, I placed Ryan and Mendenhall in charge of gathering everything we have on the attack. As soon as Pete hands off his duties to a replacement, I would suggest he continue on his mole hunt — that alone could answer a lot of questions for us."
"Agreed," Collins said as he watched Pete finally replace the crystal programming parts back inside the giant mainframe. Jack leaned over and turned on the microphone that would feed his voice into the programming chamber. "Doc, we have an appointment to keep in five minutes, and I don't think he likes to be kept waiting."
"We also have this, Jack." Everett held out a plastic-covered sample pack. Inside was a silvery substance. "There is no record of an accelerant such as this — highly flammable, very stable."
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