by Tom Clancy
At once a massive crack opened in the deck, and a large piece of the landing gear — one of the wheel arms — burst up into the hold, severed hydraulic lines dancing like bleeding snakes as the nails-on-chalkboard scraping continued.
Brent glanced over at his people, expecting them to be praying some more or cursing or screaming or doing something that would indicate that they were railing against their fate — or at the very least, afraid to die. But there was none of that now. They eyed each other and nodded. They’d had good lives. Done good work. Made a difference. And screw it, if today was the day, they would take it like warriors. Just take it.
In that moment, as he seemed to hang there between worlds, between life and a sudden and horrific death, he never felt more proud of a team. He took a deep breath.
If I’m going to die, then bring it. I’m in good company.
And then, quite suddenly. .
It was over.
The Sphinx burrowed itself into the earth and came to a sudden halt, lying there, somewhere, creaking, the engines still groaning but winding down — as opposed to Brent’s heart, which jackhammered in his chest.
His ears betrayed him for a moment. The world went muffled, almost silent.
And then it hit: the fear of fire and explosion. And the racket returned, the volume on ten. “On your feet! On your feet!” he cried. “Lakota, blow the exit door! Everybody evac right now! Right now!”
Brent unbuckled from his seat and rose, counting off his people as Lakota worked the release mechanism on the side door and the hatch yawned open.
The pilot and co-pilot hustled through the cabin and joined the group. The co-pilot was nursing her left arm but seemed otherwise okay. Everyone was on the ready line to pile out, everyone except the quiet man, Park. Brent saw him still seated in his chair and unmoving. He raced past the line as the others shifted out. He got to Park, found him unconscious, felt his neck for a carotid pulse and got one. Brent wasn’t sure if the fumes had gotten to him or something else, but he unstrapped the guy and took him up in a fireman’s carry. With his knees buckling, he turned for the doorway—
To find a wall of flames blocking his path.
With a gasp, he realized the fire wasn’t coming from inside the Sphinx.
The words slipped from his mouth. “Oh my God…”
Their hot landing and even hotter exhaust had set fire to the brown grass field outside. It was midsummer, and parts of the U.K. had been suffering a record drought. The others had made it out seconds before the ground beneath them burst into flames.
Brent’s worst nightmares regarding an explosion would not play out. He wouldn’t die in a crash and fireball like Villanueva had. He’d die in a grass fire created by the ninety-three-million-dollar taxicab in which he’d been a passenger.
You call that a blaze of glory? Aw, if he died, he’d go to customer service with his receipt for a life well lived and ask God for a refund. He deserved a much more dramatic death.
Then again, he was assuming he’d go upstairs instead of downstairs, where the fires of hell would be fueled by the gas tanks of a million burning Corvettes.
He lowered Park to the deck, his gaze sweeping the compartment for a fire extinguisher.
There! On the wall ahead, near the entrance to the cockpit. He darted for the long red cylinder and tugged it free from its rubberized holder. Smoke now billowed into the hold and burned his eyes. He pulled the extinguisher’s pin as he swung around toward the flames.
* * *
The air raid sirens came as a muffled hum from somewhere outside, beyond the boy’s room, and the Snow Maiden paused a moment to prick up her ears and listen.
Patti had warned her about trouble — but nothing quite as dramatic. Were the Russians making a move? She’d expected the Americans or Haussler to show up…
“Is the city under attack?” asked Chopra.
“Those sirens go off a lot,” said the boy. “Usually just a warning.”
The Snow Maiden cocked a brow. “Not this time.”
“How do you know?” the boy asked.
“I know. Both of you — up. We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” Chopra demanded.
It didn’t matter if he knew, so she just told him the truth. “Geneva.”
“Geneva? Why there?”
“I know a good restaurant for lunch. Now quiet. Let’s move.” She motioned with her pistol toward the door.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Hussein, rubbing his neck. “You can’t kidnap me. That’s ridiculous. That’s probably not even a real gun.”
She grinned. “You’re right. This is ridiculous. And I have no use for you, so…” She moved toward him, raised the pistol, and felt pretty comfortable about putting a bullet in his head.
“Please,” cried Chopra. “You have no idea who… I mean, he’s just… he’s a boy. There’s no need to kill him. Hussein, you will come with us!”
The kid snorted. “Yeah, right.”
Chopra began to lose his breath. “Hussein, we’ll go with her now.”
“You heard me, old man. I’m staying.”
The Snow Maiden couldn’t believe what she was hearing from this little punk bastard. She walked up to him, smiled, then quickly punched him in the face so hard that he fell back onto the floor. Then she fired a round not three inches from his kneecap. The bullet burrowed into the floor. “Now get up. You’re coming!”
He looked at her, at the gun, then began shaking and struggling to his feet. Chopra went to him, and together they ambled to the door.
She predicted they would gasp when they viewed the carnage she had wrought in the kitchen.
They gasped.
And she needed no further demonstration that she was a woman of her word, that she would kill them if they didn’t cooperate.
She’d parked her rental car around the corner but decided on the spot that they would take Southland’s sedan and make at least one more car exchange that she’d arrange with Patti. She dug into the dead man’s pocket, tugged out his keys, and ordered Chopra and the boy into the car, with Chopra at the wheel. She and the boy climbed into the backseat.
“Just get us out of here. Now,” she ordered. “South, toward Dover.”
He started the car and pulled out. She kept the pistol aimed at the back of his head and flicked her gaze to the boy. “All right, I want to know everything.”
Before Chopra could answer, engines roared overhead, and she leaned down to watch a squadron of fighter planes streaking away.
“Something’s happening,” said Chopra. “Something very big and very bad.”
“What do you want with us?” asked Hussein.
She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re just baggage.”
“You want him?” The boy sounded confused.
“Chopra, why don’t you tell him about the secrets you carry? You’re one of the last keys left. Maybe the only one. From what I’ve read, the boy’s father was very paranoid that way, and there were very few who knew.”
The boy snorted. “What’re you talking about?”
“Come on, Chopra, tell him why I’ve come,” she urged the old man.
“She’s here because the Russians want what is left of Dubai for their own. They think they can decontaminate the oil and gain even more control over the European market. But they’re overzealous fools, and they’ll suffer another defeat — even worse than their invasion of Canada.”
“You think I’m working for the Russians?” she asked, almost chuckling. “No worries there, old man. Those days are long gone. Long gone.”
“Then who are your employers, and what do they want?”
“We know about the secret reserves. We know about the gold. And you’ll get us into the vault.”
“So you’ve come to rob Dubai of what little it has left? That won’t happen. Dubai will rise again. And I’ll die before I see you inside the vault.”
She took a long breath. “You’ll come around. A man like
you does not respond well to torture.”
“He’s not the only one who can get you into the vault.”
“Shut up, boy, you’re bluffing.”
“What I mean to say is yes, there aren’t many who can get you inside, but once you’re in, he can’t give you the locations to the oil reserves, the ones my father kept secret. He doesn’t know the password, and he wouldn’t pass the DNA scan. Only someone with my family’s blood can give you what you want. I’ve been there. My father was very careful about this. He taught me a lot. I know exactly what to do. I’ve never forgotten.”
“This is a good story to help keep you alive, huh?” she asked. “You want me to think you’re valuable. That’s pretty clever for a little boy who knows more about video games than the real world.”
“He’s more valuable to our world than you know,” snapped Chopra.
“To be frank, I agree,” she answered, probably stunning him, though she couldn’t see his expression. “Let Dubai return to the world’s economy. In fact, I’d like to see the emirates return to power and undermine the Russian economy. I’d like to see Mother Russia fall to her knees. But I still want the gold and the locations of the oil reserves.”
“I’m willing to negotiate,” said Hussein.
“No, you’re not!” cried Chopra. “There’s no negotiation with this… this terrorist!”
“Shut up, old man, does it look like we have a choice here?” shouted Hussein. “Now listen to me, Snow Maiden, or whatever your name is, he can get you the gold but not the oil. I’ll give you the locations, but you’re going to split that gold with me.”
She marveled over the boy’s naïveté and actually found it as charming as it was pathetic. “Okay,” she said quickly. “I’m willing to do that.”
“Very well, then. We have a deal.”
“There’s no deal, Hussein. You don’t know who she’s working with. We’re not giving her anything. And that gold doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to your country and to the other nations who’ve made deposits.”
“If you don’t deal with me, then you’ll both die,” she told them. “And Dubai will perish with you. At least if you work with me there’s a chance the country will return to power. I have friends who can help. We have the same goals, just different methods of achieving them.”
“Are you listening to her, Chopra? I’m sixteen. I’m not going to die. Now you work for me, old man. You take orders from me! And this is what we’re going to do!”
“Don’t make this mistake,” Chopra said. “Let me talk to you alone. Let me tell you about what your father really wanted. Let me share with you my own dreams for our country.”
“Our country?”
“Yes. Ours.”
“You’re from India.”
“But my heart is in Dubai, with you. Don’t make this deal with the devil. You haven’t given me a chance to speak with you, to express your father’s wishes, to share with you all the things — all the dreams — he shared with me.”
The Snow Maiden grinned darkly at the boy. “He’s quite dramatic. This is, in the end, nothing more than business. And we both know that.”
“Dubai will never rise again,” said Hussein. “It’s nuked. It’s dead. Just a contaminated junkyard.”
“Please, Hussein, you can’t think that way,” said Chopra. “You must listen to me!”
“All I can do now is take some of that gold and try to build a future for myself and my sisters. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Do you hear me, Chopra?”
“No, you’re wrong. This is wrong! Please, Hussein, I’m begging you…”
“No more talk, old man,” said the Snow Maiden. “The young sheikh has made up his mind.”
* * *
Brent sprayed himself a tight path through the burning grass, then tossed the extinguisher down to Heston, who seized it and continued hosing down the hatch area.
With his eyes tearing heavily, Brent hoisted the still-unconscious Park over his shoulders and, with Lakota’s help, climbed out of the Sphinx and began running through the foam-covered path paralleled on both sides by rising flames. Brent could do little more than run half-blind, the footfalls and screams and pounding of his heart driving him on as once more images of fireballs swelled in his mind’s eye. Oh, yes, there in his mind, the images were quite clear.
That blaze of glory he sought was suddenly not far out of reach. He realized the grass fire would ignite the fumes inside the Sphinx’s ruptured fuel tanks. And within a few more seconds twin booms resounded behind him, followed by a concussion that swept him off his feet. He smashed into the ground, and Park went tumbling off his back.
Copeland was at his side as he hit the ground. Brent rolled over and rubbed his eyes. “I’m good. It’s Park! It’s Park!”
“Roger that, sir, I got him.”
As the medic began to examine Park, Brent sat and his vision began to clear. He was trying to catch his breath but almost lost it again as he took in his surroundings.
The landscape had contorted into a postapocalyptic charcoal painting, with a ribbon of mottled white separating two fields of unrelenting fire. Those fields swept out toward a greater curtain of flames beneath which lay the shattered remains of the Sphinx, its rotors tipped forward into the dirt but still rotating like a pair of massive grass edgers. The fuselage had split in two and was bathed in orange and blue beneath the faint shadow of the wings, one intact, the other hanging half off at an improbable angle. A mound of still-settling earth completely obscured the aircraft’s nose, where yet another dust cloud was still rising into the air.
And above it all hung a morning sky filling steadily with wide columns of black smoke, while smaller ones corkscrewed upward on the periphery of the crash site.
Lakota was muttering a roll call to herself, while the pilot and co-pilot were just behind Brent, talking with the tower and their superiors on portable radios.
Brent coughed, cleared his throat, and activated his Cross-Com. “Hammer, this is Ghost Lead, over.”
Dennison appeared in a data box in one corner of his HUD. “Ghost Lead, this is Hammer. We’ve got evac transports en route. ETA should be ten minutes.”
“Roger that. I’ve got a man down and a sky busier than A’stan on a weekday. What the hell’s going on?”
“The Russians know she’s in London, Brent. They’re dropping in ground troops. Could be a full battalion.”
“They’re fools. We’ll cut ’em off. And they won’t damage the infrastructure, not when the Brits are buying all their oil.”
“We know that. And they know we know. This is just a diversion. We haven’t picked up Haussler yet, but we know he’s there somewhere. We finally got the sister to talk, and we have the location of the boy. He’s near Sandhurst. GPS coordinates uploading now but we can’t get our satellites in close for a look. The Russians are jamming us. You’ll proceed there immediately. The Voecklers will rendezvous, but they’ll get there first.”
“Roger that.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a little problem in London.”
“Yes, you do…”
Brent blinked hard to clear his vision, then regarded Copeland, who was holding an oxygen mask up to Park’s face. Park was conscious and breathing steadily.
“He’ll be all right. Might be a little high for a while,” said the medic. “Fumes got to him before he could mask up.”
“Thanks, bro. Good job. I mean it.”
“Thank you, sir. You sure you’re all right? Looks like you could use a little more oxygen.”
“No, no, I’m good. I’ve just never liked flying.”
Copeland cracked a smile. “Me neither, sir. And I hate landing even more.”
Brent gave a little snort and shook his head at the burning field. Then he turned back.
Clouds of dust rose in the distance like small dust devils, and Lakota, who’d lifted a pair of binoculars to her face, cried, “Here come our rides! Get ready to saddle up!”
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She then jogged over to Brent. “Saw the new GPS on our target.”
“Yep.”
“You think she’s still there?”
Brent took a long breath. “Without eyes in the sky? All we can do is hope — and get our asses in gear.”
* * *
The Brits had sent out a pair of Huskies that resembled the JSF’s HMMWV or “Hummer” but were smaller, so the team had been forced to pile into the small flatbeds. The vehicles were normally crewed by four, but these had only a driver and gunner manning a big fifty-caliber out back. Brent rode shotgun in one truck, Lakota in the other.
While en route to Sandhurst, Dennison told Brent that the helicopter transports she’d secured were now unavailable, so they were forced to take the Huskies all the way down to Sandhurst, at least a two-hour drive through rolling countryside.
He reminded Dennison of the crash landing and lack of satellite and helicopter support, that these were circumstances beyond his control and that the time delay might result in loss of the target.
“I understand that, Captain. But you have your orders. And your mission. Hammer out.”
She didn’t want to hear it. And if the op went south again, he would take the fall. She’d already gone to bat for him and couldn’t do any more.
So now he could play it two ways: be the stressed-out maniac barking at his people… or remain cool, calm, and collected, a man already resigned to his fate who stared into the sun as it was about to explode and said, “No problem, people. Let’s get to work.”
He leaned over to the driver. “We need to be there yesterday.”
“Right. Tell your folks out back to hang on. There’s nothing I like more than breaking the speed limit!”
Brent smiled. “You and me both! Go for it!” He then passed word back to the others as the Husky leapt forward with a roar and subsequent vibration working up through the reinforced floor.
After a burst of static, George Voeckler appeared in Brent’s HUD: “Ghost Lead, this is Romulus, over.”
“Go ahead, Romulus.”
