Chapter Twenty-five
in the war Room, Hill was on the phone with the president, telling him not only of the two missiles, but also telling him that it was very likely that the Israelis had exercised the Samson Option.
Lowcraft was listening to him in disbelief. He was stunned that the Israelis had a nuclear weapon secreted in a house in Washington that the U.S. knew about and yet had done nothing.
"It's politics," Hill said in a dull monotone, putting the phone down. "The president will call the Israeli president and square it all away."
"Politics?" Lowcraft was stunned.
"You don't think they stayed out of the Gulf War just because we asked them?" Hill asked. "They snuck that bomb in years ago. We found out about it and realized we could use it for leverage against them by keeping it there. After all, the one you know about is better than the one you don't."
"We also had our Red Flyer teams to keep them on their toes. We sent a Red Flyer mission into Israel every six months or so just to show them we could penetrate their airspace with our Combat Talons any time we wanted to and put a tac nuke on the ground. For the exercises we'd leave a conventional bomb configured as a tac nuke in place as our calling card."
Lowcraft had a dumbfounded look on his face. "The Israelis having a nuclear weapon in Washington was leverage for us! And we've been running training missions into Israel simulating putting an SADM in? That's goddamn illegal!"
Hill wasn't concerned about Lowcraft. Now that the president was truly clued in, Hill knew his political life was over. There probably would be criminal charges, the lawyer part of his brain told him. To have it all end because one old man asked a question.
There was a buzz and Hill flipped open his cellular phone. Hill slumped back in the chair after hearing the report from the other end. "You don't have to worry about it anyway. A CIA strike team has taken out the Samson Option." He looked up. "How long until our airplanes take out the LCC?"
"Two minutes, thirty seconds," Colonel Hurst replied. "Sir, our planes will strike the LCC twelve minutes before Tel Aviv is hit," Hurst said.
"Will that stop the two ICBMs?" Hill asked.
"I doubt it," Lowcraft said.
"But it might?" Hill pressed.
"Anything's possible."
"Give the final go to the B-2," Hill ordered.
*****
Inside the B-2 the pilot and navigator-bombardier listened in disbelief as they received their final authorization to drop their weapon. The Stealth fighter was several miles ahead and already going into its final approach with the bunker-buster bomb in its payload.
"We're going to nuke Louisiana," the nav-bomb muttered.
The pilot said nothing. His concentration was on flying the aircraft. He didn't want to think about what they were about to do. "Arm the weapon," he ordered.
With a shaking hand, the nav-bomb flipped a red switch.
*****
As Kilten's program scrolled up the screen, Parker desperately searched for a way she could wrest control back from the other computer. The clock in the front of the room was down to twelve minutes, but the missile heading her way wasn't the highest priority in Parker's mind. She rapidly typed a question for the computer:
How long until first missile strike?
Computer:
Fourteen minutes. Target Tel Aviv
Inside the War Room the countdown was being called out as all eyes followed the red lines on the screen. "Thirteen minutes to touchdown Tel Aviv! One minute LCC!"
The red line was nearing the shore, closing on the Israeli capital. "How long do we have here?" Hill asked.
"Seventeen minutes."
*****
Parker's fingers were working furiously, her head beginning to nod as she found the program she needed.
She grabbed the phone. "General Lowcraft, this is Major Parker. I can stop them! I can stop the two missiles. Just give me some more time."
*****
Overhead, in the clear blue sky, the pilot of the Stealth fighter pressed a button on the side of his yoke, then pulled back hard on the stick as he kicked in his afterburners. He wasn't worried about getting away from the large black bomb that fell out of the bottom of the plane and was arcing its way toward the small building on the surface. He was worried about the inferno the B-2 thirty seconds behind him was getting ready to let loose.
The bunker-buster landed square on the LCC surface building. The delayed detonation fuse allowed the heavy bomb to crash through the roof and five feet into the floor before it ignited the specially designed charge inside.
A forty-foot-deep crater was ripped into the concrete protecting the LCC.
*****
Parker was thrown against her shoulder straps as the sound of the explosion reverberated through the LCC. A large plume of dust came in the already buckled elevator doors and she could hear rock and earth crashing down in the shaft. She knew she was now buried in the LCC.
Parker prayed that she could still transmit. "General, stop the attack! You've got to trust me!" The message went into a cable then up to the alternate satellite dish that Drake had rigged.
*****
"Twenty seconds until LCC nuclear impact!" Colonel Hurst yelled as Parker's voice faded off the speaker.
In the War Room, Hill slapped his palm on the desk. "She's trying to save her ass. Fry the LCC before that missile hits here!"
"Abort the B-2," Lowcraft ordered.
"Ignore that order!" Hill yelled.
"I'm in command here," Lowcraft yelled back. "You're a damn criminal and I'm not going to listen to you spout orders one second longer."
"I'm in charge!" Hill yelled as he gestured at Lugar. The aide's hand snaked inside his jacket and came out holding a large caliber revolver.
In response, several officers at desks wheeled about, their own pistols in their hands.
Colonel Hurst met General Lowcraft's gaze, then spoke into his headset. "Abort!"
*****
"Jesus!" the pilot yelled as he heard Colonel Hurst's voice.
The navigator-bombardier's thumb was less than an inch from the release button and heading down when the word came.
He jerked his thumb away. "Oh my God, oh my God," the nav-bomb muttered as he very carefully began the process of putting the nuclear weapon in their bomb bay back into an inert status.
"I'm going to have someone's ass for this," the pilot swore as he pulled back and banked away from the wreckage of the LCC.
*****
Parker was looking up, waiting for the end. The clock kept ticking, the red numbers winding down. She grabbed the mike.
"War Room, this is Major Parker. Over."
*****
"This is the War Room," General Lowcraft replied. He was watching military police handcuffing Hill and Lugar. "You've got your time, Major. Make it count. You're the only thing that stands between those nukes and Washington and Tel Aviv."
*****
The pilot of the Blackhawk was pushing his skills to the utmost following the river, leaving behind a trail of spray from the rotors' downwash.
Thorpe was looking directly ahead. Less than two miles away he could see that there was a spread of open water. He looked at the map. It was a large reservoir formed by the main channel being dammed. Beyond and around it lay the swamp that stretched to the Intercoastal Waterway. There were several minor routes around the dike into the swamp. If McKenzie made it into the swamp with Tommy— Thorpe didn't want to think about that.
"There's something in the water," the pilot said over the intercom. "Dead ahead."
Thorpe looked closer and saw the two Zodiacs. "Let's get them!"
*****
McKenzie heard the chopper. He turned and looked back the way they had come, then spun about and looked downstream. Within sight, the river opened into the lake. Two miles across the smooth surface of the lake he could see the dike blocking the main channel.
"Faster!" McKenzie yelled.
Drake had abandoned the computer and had his hand on the outboard engine throttle. He opened up the throttle all the way. The lead Zodiac was now half flying across the water but the pod was slowing them too much. Johnson held his submachine gun at the ready to fire if the chopper got closer.
McKenzie took the rope that was tied to the pod inside the second Zodiac and pulled on it, slowly bringing the second Zodiac closer until its prow was just behind the engine of his boat.
"Stop!" McKenzie yelled.
Drake cut the throttle and the two boats coasted to a stop. "Give me a hand," McKenzie ordered, stepping over the gunwale and into the second Zodiac.
"What are you doing?" Drake asked in alarm as McKenzie cut the ropes holding it in place and put his shoulder to the pod.
"Do as I tell you!" McKenzie shoved, and with Drake's assistance, the pod rolled over into the water where it bobbed on the end of its line. McKenzie reached back into the first boat and grabbed Tommy with his artificial arm and lifted him over into the second boat as he yelled and pounded futilely on McKenzie's arm.
"Shut up," McKenzie yelled at the boy as he quickly looped the rope binding Tommy's hands through the safety rope that ran along the top of the front pontoon. McKenzie quickly tied off several square knots.
*****
The Blackhawk was now less than twenty feet above the water. Inside, Thorpe manned the left M-60 while Dublowski manned the right one. They were less than a mile away from the two stopped Zodiacs and the lake.
"What are they doing?" Dublowski asked.
"I don't know," Thorpe's finger was itching on the trigger of the machine gun as he saw movement in the boats. He would have started firing already if Tommy wasn't out there.
*****
McKenzie pushed down the outboard motor that had been canted up in the second Zodiac. He pulled the starter cord and it roared into life.
"Say hi to your dad for me," he said to Tommy as he twisted the throttle and locked it full open. His mechanical hand squeezed down on the metal, crushing it in place. As the Zodiac accelerated, McKenzie jumped into the boat with Drake in it. Tommy's Zodiac built up speed, rushing straight across the lake toward the dike two miles away.
"Let's go!" McKenzie yelled at Drake.
*****
"What the fuck!" Dublowski exclaimed as they watched the two Zodiacs part, one heading across the lake, the other turning to the right and driving toward the swamp on that side. They could see Tommy tied off in the first one and the men in the second.
"Which one do we go after?" the pilot asked in Thorpe's headset.
Thorpe looked from one to the other, then looked back in at Dublowski across the cargo bay. The older NCO said nothing and Thorpe knew he would back whatever decision he made one hundred percent.
"The one with my son," Thorpe ordered.
The Blackhawk swooped down to less than ten feet above the surface of the lake in pursuit.
*****
McKenzie smiled as he watched the Blackhawk go after the other boat. The beginning of the swamp and concealment beckoned less than a quarter mile ahead.
*****
Inside his boat, Tommy was ripping at the ropes with his fingers, slowly undoing the knots that McKenzie had tied. He could feel the rush of wind across his face. Water spray from the Zodiac bouncing across the surface of the lake splashed up, blinding him when he tried to look forward.
Tommy looked over his shoulder as he heard the sound of a helicopter. His heart rose as he saw his dad leaning out the side, held in by a harness. He was waving at him, less than two hundred feet away.
*****
"Lower," Thorpe ordered.
The pilot had them down to less than ten feet above the surface of the water and he edged down a couple more feet. Thorpe looked past the boat they were rapidly gaining on and saw the dirt wall of the dike four hundred yards in front of Tommy.
"Put me right over the boat!"
The pilot did as he was told but another hundred yards went by before Thorpe could look down on Tommy, hair blown about by the rotor downwash. Thorpe met his son's eyes and could see the fear in them. Thorpe gave a thumbs-up, then unsnapped the strap across his chest.
He fell the ten feet, the forward speed of the chopper giving him enough velocity to match the boat. Still, he hit the left rear pontoon and had to desperately grab at the safety line to keep from sliding off.
"Dad!"
"I'll be there, Tommy," Thorpe said as he scrambled into the boat. He looked past his son at the rapidly approaching dike, now less than two hundred yards away. The chopper was following them, less than forty feet behind. Turning to the motor, Thorpe twisted on the throttle but it didn't move.
"Damn," Thorpe cursed as he saw that the metal had been crushed in place at full open. He drew his knife and moved up next to Tommy, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. "I've got you."
"Stop the boat, Dad," Tommy said.
"I can't," Thorpe replied as he sliced through the rope holding his son. The dike was now a hundred yards away. Thorpe knew he had less than ten seconds.
"We're going to have to jump overboard," Thorpe said.
"I can't, Dad. We're going too fast."
"Trust me, Tommy " Thorpe held him, poised on the edge of the pontoon. "We'll be all right. I'll make sure you don't get hurt."
Tommy looked at him and nodded, his chin trembling. "All right, Dad."
"Let's go," Thorpe said. He rolled over the side with Tommy in his arms. His back hit the water and the position cushioned his son from the impact. They went under and Thorpe kicked, pushing them to the surface. He cradled Tommy as he coughed and spit out water.
"We made it!" Tommy cried out, gripping him tight around the shoulders.
"Yeah, son, we made it," Thorpe said as he watched the zodiac smash into the dike and crumple, the weight of the engine flipping the boat end over end, smashing it into the earth.
The Blackhawk came to a hover over their heads and Dublowski lowered a line off a winch.
*****
Colonel Hurst was reading a computer screen. "Our Patriot missile batteries near Tel Aviv are responding. Defensive launches are going up now."
Lowcraft was shaking his head. "Just great. Our own missiles are defending against a Trident launched from one of our own subs. And we don't even have any Patriots here to protect Washington."
"What are the chances the Patriots will take out the Trident?" Hill asked. He was under guard by the MPs, but still a spectator to the two red lines on the screen.
"Zero to none," Lowcraft said, "but the Patriot battery was a great political placebo you gave the Israelis." He pointed at Hurst. "Get me the commander of that Patriot unit," General Lowcraft ordered.
*****
Parker was wondering if what was left of the forty feet of reinforced concrete and large spring suspenders would work as they were advertised. The clock turned to 9:45, then 9:44. She knew that Tel Aviv would last only two minutes longer than her location, with Washington following four minutes after that.
The program was complicated. She'd known Kilten was a genius but this was almost beyond her. The key word was almost. She had the added spur of her—and millions of others'—very survival. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, her mind working furiously to unravel Kilten's puzzle.
*****
Drake was driving more slowly now, negotiating the treacherous shallow water. McKenzie was carefully watching their route on the map, telling Drake which way to go. "Another two miles and we'll be at the floatplane. Then we'll be out of here," McKenzie said.
The lake was gone, hidden behind a wall of trees and the sky overhead was crisscrossed with branches. McKenzie knew they were safe.
"What about the others?" Johnson asked. "The guys at the LCC?"
"We'll give them thirty minutes," McKenzie said. "If they aren't there by then, we take off and they have to use the alternate plan."
*****
A mile away on the lake, Thorpe and Tommy were pulled into the cargo bay of the chopper.
*****
The clock went down to 8:00. Turned over to 7:59. Parker sat back in the chair and closed her eyes for a second as she furiously searched her mind for an answer to her predicament.
"Yes!" she yelled. "I see it." She leaned forward over the keyboard.
*****
McKenzie did another map check, then picked up the bulky sniper rifle from the floorboards and put it across his lap. He slowly maneuvered the muzzle so that it pointed at Johnson, the third man in the boat. McKenzie pulled the trigger. The round blasted Johnson out of the boat and sent the body flying twenty feet, splashing down in a bloody mess in the swamp. Alligators immediately started sliding into the water for the meat.
Drake eyed McKenzie with a worried look.
"More money for each of us," McKenzie said. "Oh, don't look so concerned, Drake. I won't shoot you. You're my buddy. It's me and you the rest of the way. And remember, I need you to fly the plane."
*****
Thorpe wrapped a poncho liner Dublowski had handed him around Tommy. The Blackhawk had gained altitude and was hovering over the lake at five hundred feet. Thorpe looked to the southwest where McKenzie and the Zodiac had disappeared.
"We'll never find him under all that foliage," Dublowski was at his side, looking in the same direction.
"He's got to have a way out," Thorpe said. "A plan to get away."
"He has a balloon, Dad," Tommy said from deep inside the poncho.
"What?" Thorpe asked.
"He has a balloon. I saw the helium and some rope under a blanket in the boat."
Thorpe looked across Tommy at Dublowski and their eyes locked. "Helium and rope?"
They both said it at the same time: "Fulton rig."
Thorpe keyed the radio. "Head southwest," he ordered the pilot.
*****
"How far to the floatplane?" Drake asked as he turned a bend in the small creek he was navigating and entered a small pond. The money pod dragged behind them, half submerged, the contents dry.
McKenzie had the map on his knees, covering the barrel of the large sniper rifle. "This is far enough," he said. "How are our missiles doing?"
Drake stared at the computer screen. "Seven minutes until the LCC gets hit. Nine minutes for Tel Aviv. Thirteen for Washington."
"Excellent." McKenzie smiled. "Then it's time to say good-bye."
"What?" Drake's face was a mixture of confusion and growing awareness. The look was wiped off by the half-inch-diameter bullet hitting him in the jaw and taking most of his head off as it continued its trajectory. The body flipped overboard, the laptop computer going with it.
*****
The clock in the LCC was now down to 6:00. It changed to 5:59.
"Goddamn!" Parker screamed as her computer screen went blank before she could finish reprogamming and regaining control. McKenzie must have done something to the system. She knew she would have to reboot the mainframe in the LCC and that would take about six minutes. "Oh, God," she muttered as she hit the reboot button.
*****
McKenzie ripped open the tarp in the back of the Zodiac. He checked his watch and speeded up the pace of his action. First he threw a small anchor overboard, locking the Zodiac in place in the center of the pond. Then he popped open the top on a long tube as he turned the valve on the helium canister. A blimp-shaped balloon slowly slithered out of the tube. The blimp was eight feet long and four feet in diameter, connected at the bottom to the climbers' 12-mm rope in the bottom of the boat.
McKenzie didn't bother to watch as the blimp rose, reaching up above the height of the weathered trees surrounding the pond. He was buckling on a monkey harness, cinching down all the connections. He grabbed the free end of the 12-mm rope and connected the sewn-in loop to the front center of the harness with a locking snap link.
Then he turned and untied the money pod from the back of the boat. He tied that rope off to another snap link on the waistband of his harness. He reached into his vest and pulled out an FM radio headset, settling it on his head. It was already set to the right frequency.
Finally he looked up. The blimp was still rising, another fifty feet of slack in the boat before it would come to a halt. Still it was already over three hundred feet up.
McKenzie spoke into the voice-activated mouthpiece. "Alpha Two, this is Alpha Six. Over."
*****
Forty miles above the surface, the ICBM was coming straight down. The nose cone was just beginning to glow red from contact with the atmosphere. Through a haze of clouds, the Gulf of Mexico lay in an arc far below.
*****
"Six, this is Two, we are on course and one minute out. We have you in sight."
The C-130 was over twenty-five years old and had been bought fourth-hand from the Cambodian government. It had actually cost McKenzie more money than the plane's original price to add the special equipment that the plane now had. There was a specialized steel yoke that had been welded to the front of the plane like a pair of whiskers, along with a powerful winch and crane in the cargo bay that faced the rear ramp. There were also rubber fuel bladders in the front half of the cargo bay, bulging with enough JP-4 to take the C-130 to a country that didn't have an extradition law with the United States.
The pilot saw the orange blimp floating in the clear blue Louisiana sky and lined up the nose of his aircraft for the rope which he knew hung below the blimp.
*****
Thorpe and the pilots of the Blackhawk also saw the blimp.
"What do you want to do?" the pilot asked.
The copilot was looking out the left window. "We've got a One-Thirty inbound!"
Thorpe saw both the C-130 and the blimp. "Put us at the bottom end of that rope below the blimp." He knew exactly what McKenzie was doing and he knew that unless they acted quickly, McKenzie would succeed.
Thorpe grabbed the only thing handy, a parachute harness from the firewall of the cargo bay, and strapped it on as the Blackhawk swooped down toward the pond. He looped a snap link through the chest strap, securing it in place. The pilots slowed as they approached the rope, afraid of fouling the blades. Thorpe tapped Dublowski on the shoulder and pointed at his ruck, yelling in his ear what he wanted. Dublowski pulled out a small green bag and looped it over Thorpe's head.
Thorpe could see McKenzie seated in the boat, the rope coming down to him. "Lower," Thorpe said. He turned to Tommy. "Stay with Sergeant Dublowski . I have something I have to do."
Tommy had seen the Zodiac also. "He's a bad man, Dad."
"I know." When the chopper was less than twenty feet from the pond surface, Thorpe jumped.
*****
Inside the LCC the clock now read 3:20. Parker's hands were gripping the arms of her chair as the computer screen ran through its self-diagnostics as it powered back up. 3:19...3:18...
Like a mantra she repeated to herself exactly what commands she would have to type to abort the two missiles once she could access the computer again. The clock told her she wouldn't have that time.
*****
"Sir," Colonel Hurst called out, "I have the Patriot battery commander on the line. He's reporting negative strikes on the inbound. They've shot their wad. It's going in. Four minutes, fifty-five seconds until Tel Aviv hit. Eight minutes, fifty-five until we get it."
Many in the War Room were watching the two red lines creep closer to their targets. Others, like those in a sinking ship, were writing notes to loved ones, despite the knowledge that such notes would most likely never be recovered. Some were desperately trying to get an outside line, trying to call their families.
General Lowcraft knew that discipline had broken down, but he understood that there was nothing they could do and that was precisely the reason people were reacting the way they were. He keyed the microphone.
"Major Parker, I don't want to disturb you, but it would be most helpful if you did whatever it is you said you could do to abort these missiles."
"You fucked up trusting her," Hill said, twisting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to adjust his cuffed hands.
Lowcraft turned to the former national security adviser. "As you said earlier, the most important thing is that I take responsibility. And I do."
*****
McKenzie had heard the Blackhawk long before he saw it. He watched Thorpe jump into the water, even as the voice in his ear reported ten seconds out. McKenzie looked up and saw the C-130 roar by overhead.
*****
The rope was caught by the whiskers and dragged into the exact center. A sky anchor clamped down on the rope and held it in place, while just above the anchor a blade cut the blimp free.
*****
Thorpe was swimming hard toward the Zodiac. He was five feet away from McKenzie when the rope suddenly went taut and McKenzie's grinning face was yanked up out of the boat into the air.
Thorpe twisted and reached out, grabbing the rope leading to the money pod. He pulled in a bit of slack and pressed it through the snap link on the chest of his parachute harness. He was just in time, as the slack in that rope was ripped out of his hands and the rope, pod, and Thorpe were lifted into the air, the latter sliding down the rope until he slammed into the top of the pod.
Tied together, the two men and the money cleared the trees at the end of the pond and flew off to the south, dangling at the end of the rope tether leading to the C-130.
*****
The pilot of the C-130 went into a steep climb, the rope caught in the sky anchor, now pulling back along the belly of the plane by both the plane's speed and attitude. In the rear of the C-130, the Colombian mercenary who McKenzie had hired for this job was watching the procedures from the back ramp. "Shit, man, we've got two people and the money! I thought there was only supposed to be one. We also got a helicopter trailing us!"
"Just grab the rope!" the pilot yelled.
The mercenary extended the arm of the crane and lowered a hook on a steel cable toward the rope.
*****
"Fuck!" McKenzie yelled, seeing Thorpe ten feet below him. Wind whistled by at a hundred and thirty knots, twisting and turning the rope.
Thorpe reached into the green pouch and pulled out the small black box inside, slapping the metallic rear against the money pod and pushing a button. Then he wrapped both hands around the rope, getting both feet fixed on the top of the money pod. He began climbing.
*****
Parker looked up. The clock turned to two minutes and then below. The radio crackled to life again.
"Anytime now, Major, would be most helpful," General Lowcraft's voice was quite calm.
Parker watched the screen. She knew it was almost there, but not close enough. "I'll get it, General," she replied, her fingers poised above the keyboard for lack of anything else to do.
*****
McKenzie looked down at the snap link on the waistband of his harness. His hand wavered over it. He knew if he released it, the pod and Thorpe would drop away and he would be free. Thorpe climbed closer, over halfway up the rope.
McKenzie kicked at Thorpe's face, narrowly missing. Thorpe grabbed hold of the foot and used it to get even closer, wrapping his arms around McKenzie's legs.
*****
Inside the C-130, the mercenary had hooked the rope. He threw a lever and the steel cable pulled up the rope until it locked in place in the crane itself. Then he threw another lever and the winch slowly began to wind the rope in.
*****
Dublowski had both arms around Tommy and was watching from the Blackhawk, mesmerized as the two men dangled at the end of the rope. The helicopter was following the C-130, a half mile back. The brown line of beach and the sparkling blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico and international water beckoned just ahead.
*****
"Fuck you!" McKenzie screamed, removing his hand from the snap link and reaching down with his artificial arm and striking at Thorpe.
"Give me the control for the nuke," Thorpe yelled back. "You're finished."
"Bullshit!" McKenzie replied. "You're finished."
They were less than fifty feet from the back ramp of the C-130 now and both could see a man standing there with a submachine gun in his hands.
"You don't have to blow the nuke," Thorpe pleaded.
McKenzie grinned and reached around his neck with his good hand and held up the remote on its red strap. "You're so fucking naive. You lose!" He pulled it off and tossed the remote away into the air.
Thorpe didn't hesitate, swiftly pulling the release on his chest strap and falling away from the rope.
*****
In the Blackhawk, everyone gasped as the figure fell away from the line. The other figure and the pod moved more quickly now, gaining on the ramp.
*****
Thorpe could see the red strap streaming behind the remote as it plummeted to earth. He arched his back and freefell headfirst in that direction. Below lay beach and surf. Thorpe prayed that the remote would hit the beach and not the water.
The wind whistled in his ears but he knew that he was falling as quickly as the remote and that their trajectory would be basically the same. He kept his eyes on the red streamer, less than four hundred feet above the ground. He held on until the last possible second, then pulled the ripcord, the chute billowing out, two hundred feet above ground all the while watching the red streamer go down and land on the sand.
Thorpe grabbed the risers, dumping air, going down faster than safety dictated toward the landing spot. He landed, feeling something in his lower left leg crack as he hit the ground too hard.
Thorpe cut loose the chute and pulled himself through the sand toward the remote.
*****
The clock in the LCC was now down to 1:00. It changed to :59.
Parker had watched the computer boot up every day for the past couple of weeks during their daily checks. She knew the computer still had more than a minute before it was booted. Her hands were still poised, but her lips had stopped mumbling the programming and were now praying.
*****
Six miles above the surface, the ICBM was coming straight down. The nose cone was glowing bright red from the speed. Directly below was the tiny square of the LCC compound with smoke drifting out of the shattered concrete.
*****
McKenzie was now level with the back ramp, the rope pulling him in. His feet touched metal and he stood up inside the plane, unhooking himself from the rope. He joined the mercenary as the money pod bumped against the back ramp, then slid over and into the cargo bay.
"I did it!" McKenzie exulted. Then he saw the black box attached to the money pod. He knelt down and looked at it, then his eyes shifted out the ramp to the Blackhawk helicopter following a half mile back.
*****
Inside the Blackhawk, Master Sergeant Dublowski could almost see McKenzie's eyes looking back at them as he pressed the firing handle on the radio transmitter.
McKenzie had his hands around the box, trying to rip it off, when it exploded, blowing him to shreds. The explosion roared up the cargo bay and reached the fuel bladders.
The C-130 became one huge fireball, pieces of wreckage littering the clear sky.
*****
Inside the LCC the clock now read :20 above Parker's bowed head ... : 19 ... : 18 ...
*****
Thorpe's fingers closed on the remote. He flipped the lid open. There were five different colored buttons, but their functions were neatly spelled out below each one.
*****
Parker looked up. The clock turned to :05 .. . :04 . . .
*****
Thorpe moved his finger to the yellow button and pressed down.
*****
The missile exploded in midair, barely a hundred feet above the LCC compound, scattering pieces of itself everywhere. The nuclear warhead slammed into the ground without detonating.
*****
Parker watched the number turn to :00. Nothing happened.
She looked back down at the computer screen as it ran through its final checks.
*****
"Negative nuke strike, Louisiana!" Colonel Hurst called out.
General Lowcraft stood up from his seat and stared at the master board and the two red lights. "Come on, Major Parker, come on," he whispered.
"One minute, thirty seconds until impact Tel Aviv," Hurst announced. "Five minutes, thirty seconds, impact Washington."
*****
The screen cleared and a prompt appeared in the upper left-hand corner. Parker's fingers flew as she reprogrammed.
*****
Thorpe felt the warm sand against his back. He could hear the sound of a helicopter coming closer. He looked at his watch.
Ten seconds to touch down Tel Aviv.
The computer announced.
Parker stopped typing. "That's it. I think." She bit her lip, then struck the enter key with a long forefinger.
*****
The Trident was over the suburbs of Tel Aviv when side thrusters kicked in, leveling the missile out, at three thousand feet of altitude. Afterburners kicked in and the missile headed back out toward the Mediterranean.
*****
"It's an abort! It's an abort!" The duty officer was jumping up and down.
There was pandemonium in the War Room, people slapping each other on the back.
"What's happening?" Hill was standing also now.
General Lowcraft pointed at the board. "Parker's aborted the missiles."
Hill was still dazed. "Where do the missiles go? Do they just crash down?"
"No. The abort on a missile in flight has its afterburners kick in and the missile turns and heads straight toward open water. That way we can recover it."
"You mean we're safe?" Hill asked. General Lowcraft's jaw was tight. "For now." He turned to the MP. "Get him out of here."
*****
Parker pushed her chair back from the console. Lifting her head she scanned the room, taking in the bodies, bullet holes, and wrecked equipment. She looked up at the gray-painted ceiling, imagining the tons of smashed concrete and earth.
Slowly she began twisting the big ring on her finger back and forth.
*****
Thorpe felt the pain from his broken leg throbbing. He could see the smoke from the explosion in the sky and the Blackhawk helicopter heading his way.
The Blackhawk settled down in the sand nearby and the first person off was Tommy, running toward his dad with open arms.
Epilogue
thorpe was lying in bed, his feet swathed in bandages, his leg in a cast. Chief Warrant Officer Maysun was next to the bed in his wheelchair, his own broken leg extended straight forward.
"Unbelievable," Maysun was saying. "They must have been packing a lot of JP-4 in that C-130. The largest piece the Coast Guard has picked up from the ocean floor so far was only about five feet long." Maysun shook his head. "All that money, too. Just gone. Poof. They've found some bills but most of it must have been shredded by the bomb."
"McKenzie could have cut the pod loose and saved himself," Thorpe said. "He was too greedy."
Maysun changed the subject. "Hey, you think we'll get Purple Hearts? I mean, we were—" He paused as Major Parker walked in, wearing her blue uniform.
Maysun turned for the door. "I think it’s time for—" He scratched his head. "Well, something."
Thorpe held up a hand. "Hey, Maysun. I am sorry about Kelly."
Maysun's playful look disappeared. "Yeah. I talked to General Lowcraft. He says no matter what, she gets the Purple Heart. Guess they'll pin it on her casket."
"She saved our lives, and by doing that she saved a lot of lives," Thorpe said.
"Yeah, I know that. Too bad she never got to know it. Later." He rolled out the door, nodding at Parker as he went.
Parker walked to the edge of the bed and looked down at Thorpe. He raised his arm and she took his hand and shook it.
"You look better."
"I feel better," Thorpe said.
"How long did it take for them to dig you out?" Thorpe asked.
"A day and a half," Parker said. "I'd have been here sooner but they kept me in Washington, testifying."
Thorpe nodded. "The shit's hit the fan."
"That's understating it." She sat down on a hard, wooden chair. "Kilten was right. If it hadn't been for McKenzie, maybe he could have made his point without anyone getting hurt. At the very least Kilten nailed Hill and his aide. They're going to jail for a very long time."
"I don't suppose anyone will ever know all that Kilten had planned now that he's dead," Thorpe said.
Parker nodded her head in agreement.
"What happened wasn't all bad," Thorpe said.
"No, it wasn't. It's changed a lot of things for me. The point is, from the way people are talking in Washington, it sounds like we're going to put the people back into the system. Thinking people. Feeling people. People who will be willing to take apart what Kilten spent decades putting together."
"People like you?" Thorpe asked.
"Like I am now," Parker corrected. "I'm staying. I can do more good from the inside."
But Thorpe was looking past her at the woman in the wheelchair and the child standing in his doorway.
"Dad!"
"Hey, Tommy!"
The young boy ran over and jumped up on the other side of the bed. Thorpe looked from the boy to the woman. "Hey, Lisa."
Major Parker looked from Thorpe to his wife and back. "I think you can do good somewhere else."
Thorpe nodded, his arm around Tommy and his focus still on his wife. "I think so, too."
THE END
Next book in the Black Ops Series
Omega Sanction
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Other Books
by Bob Mayer
"Heart-racing, non-stop action that is difficult to put down."-Mystery News on Bodyguard of Lies
"Thelma and Louise go clandestine."-Kirkus Reviews on Bodyguard of Lies
“ . . .delivers top-notch action and adventure, creating a full cast of lethal operatives armed with all the latest weaponry. Excellent writing and well-drawn, appealing characters help make this another taut, crackling read.” Publishers Weekly
“Fascinating, imaginative and nerve-wracking.” Kirkus Reviews
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THE GREEN BERET SERIES
“Mayer had me hooked from the very first page.” Stephen Coonts
“Exciting and authentic. Don’t miss this one!” W.E.B. Griffen
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“Mayer has stretched the limits of the military action novel. Synbat is also a gripping detective story and an intriguing science fiction thriller. Mayer brings an accurate and meticulous depiction of military to this book which greatly enhances its credibility.” Assembly
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“Will leave you spellbound. Mayer’s long suit is detail, giving the reader an in-depth view of the inner workings of the Green Machine.” Book News
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“Mayer keeps story and characters firmly under control. The venal motives of the scientists and military bureaucracy are tellingly contrasted with the idealism of the soldiers. A treat for military fiction readers.” Publishers Weekly
“Sinewy writing enhances this already potent action fix. An adrenaline cocktail from start to finish.” Kirkus Reviews
“Incredibly believable and absolutely riveting. Quite possibly the best book every written about the Green Berets. Bob Mayer tells Green Beret stories like Joseph Wambaugh tells cop stories!” Macon News-Record
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BRAND NEW FICTION COMING 7 MAY 2013
NEXT IN THE GREEN BERET SERIES
“A background in Special Forces gives Mayer credibility and understanding from ‘having been there and done that.’” Airpower Journal
COMING 7 MAY
THE BLACK OPS SERIES
“Sizzling, first rate war fiction.” Library Journal
“A military thriller in the tradition of John Grisham’s The Firm.” Publishers Weekly
“The Omega Missile comes screaming down on target. A great action read.” Stephen Coonts
“What a delicious adventure-thriller. Its clever, plausible plot gives birth to lots of action and suspense.” Kansas City Journal Inquirer
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“Exciting and authentic. Author Mayer, a Green Beret himself, gave me a vivid look at the world of the Army’s Special Forces as they battle America’s most deadly enemy. His portrayal of Green Beret operations and techniques takes you deep into the covert world of Special Operations as a you follow an A-Team into combat. Don’t miss this one.” W.E.B. Griffin
Praise for Atlantis by Bob Mayer:
“Spell-binding! Will keep you on the edge of your seat. Call it techno-thriller, call it science fiction, call it just terrific story-telling.” Terry Brooks, #1 NY Times Bestselling author of the Shannara series and Star Wars Phantom Menace
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PSYCHIC WARRIOR SERIES
“A pulsing technothriller. A nailbiter in the best tradition of adventure fiction.” Publishers Weekly.
AREA 51/NIGHTSTALKERS SERIES
Nightstalkers is a NEW series birthed from the 9 book Area 51 Series
CLICK HERE FOR THE ENTIRE 9 BOOK SERIES
About the Author
NY Times bestselling author Bob Mayer has had over 50 books published. He has sold over four million books, and is in demand as a team-building, life-changing, and leadership speaker and consultant for his Who Dares Wins: The Green Beret Way concept, which he translated into Write It Forward: a holistic program teaching writers how to be authors. He is also the Co-Creator of Who Dares Wins Publishing, which does both eBooks and Print On Demand, so he has experience in both traditional and non-traditional publishing.
His books have hit the NY Times, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and numerous other bestseller lists. His book The Jefferson Allegiance, was released independently and reached #2 overall in sales on Nook.
Bob Mayer grew up in the Bronx. After high school, he entered West Point where he learned about the history of our military and our country. During his four years at the Academy and later in the Infantry, Mayer questioned the idea of “mission over men.” When he volunteered and passed selection for the Special Forces as a Green Beret, he felt more at ease where the men were more important than the mission.
Mayer’s obsession with mythology and his vast knowledge of the military and Special Forces, mixed with his strong desire to learn from history, is the foundation for his science fiction series Atlantis, Area 51 and Psychic Warrior. Mayer is a master at blending elements of truth into all of his thrillers, leaving the reader questioning what is real and what isn’t.
He took this same passion and created thrillers based in fact and riddled with possibilities. His unique background in the Special Forces gives the reader a sense of authenticity and creates a reality that makes the reader wonder where fact ends and fiction begins.
In his historical fiction novels, Mayer blends actual events with fictional characters. He doesn’t change history, but instead changes how history came into being.
Mayer’s military background, coupled with his deep desire to understand the past and how it affects our future, gives his writing a rich flavor not to be missed.
Bob has presented for over a thousand organizations both in the United States and internationally, including keynote presentations, all day workshops, and multi-day seminars. He has taught organizations ranging from Maui Writers, to Whidbey Island Writers, to San Diego State University, to the University of Georgia, to the Romance Writers of America National Convention, to Boston SWAT, the CIA, Fortune-500, the Royal Danish Navy Frogman Corps, Microsoft, Rotary, IT Teams in Silicon Valley and many others. He has also served as a Visiting Writer for NILA MFA program in Creative Writing. He has done interviews for the Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Sports Illustrated, PBS, NPR, the Discovery Channel, the SyFy channel and local cable shows. For more information see www.bobmayer.org.