Connolly led them out of the tunnel, both he and Samuel running, the grenade behind them having just exploded.
It was a stupid, rash decision on Connolly’s part, but so what? He knew he was only human, was as fallible as anybody else, and he was pissed. Everything—his entire empire—had crumbled away in the matter of only hours. And it was all because of that son of a bitch Bartkowski.
Connolly wasn’t surprised to see the two men dead outside the mine entrance, but he was surprised to see Leonard Smith’s Crown Vic. He wondered briefly what had become of his uncle. Then he shook it off. On a sinking ship, it was every man for himself.
They headed for the helicopter.
“Where’s the pilot?” Connolly asked.
Samuel hesitated. “You said you wanted as many men as possible searching the desert.”
Connolly gritted his teeth but said nothing, keeping his focus on the approaching chopper.
Samuel asked, “Should we contact the rest of the men?”
Connolly didn’t even pause to consider the question. “No, keep them out there. The more scattered they are, the more of a headache it will be for the police.”
Samuel said nothing to this, but Connolly could tell the man didn’t approve.
Connolly stopped and grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt. “Do you have a problem?”
Samuel stared right back at him, his face impassive. “No.”
“No what?”
“No, sir.”
Connolly didn’t move for several seconds, his gaze heavy on Samuel’s, until the man blinked and looked away. Good. Dominance was established once again. As it should be.
He let go of Samuel’s shirt and continued on toward the helicopter.
Samuel stood still for a moment, then hurried to keep pace beside him. “There’s a good chance they won’t find out about you right away. We should be able to leave the country before that happens.”
They stepped through the shadows of the helicopter’s frozen rotor blades.
Connolly nodded as he opened the door. “We’ll make the call once we’re in the air. But I want to make one stop before we leave the country completely.”
Connolly stepped up into the helicopter, slammed the door shut. Samuel hustled to the other side. Connolly already had his earphones on, was checking the gauges, flipping switches. The engine kicked on and the rotor blades began to make their rotation, slow at first but picking up speed.
Connolly pointed at the phone in Samuel’s hand. “Type in the number.”
Samuel didn’t need to be told what number that was. There was only one number that Connolly could possibly mean under the circumstances. The C-4 throughout the mine was already primed and ready to go. Had been since the lab was first established five years ago. Only one number would detonate it, a number only Connolly and Samuel knew.
Samuel dialed the number.
As soon as the rotors were going fast enough, Connolly pulled back on the stick. The helicopter began to rise into the air. They crested the bowl and then kept going higher. Connolly wanted to make sure they were far enough away from the blast zone. He also wanted to get a good view of the explosion. Not that they would see much in the dark, but the fact Barkowski was inside made it a nice consolation.
Samuel had inputted the number and was now waiting for the order to press SEND.
“Do it,” Connolly said.
Samuel pressed his thumb to the green button. For a moment nothing happened, and then the side of the bowl began to shake and ripple and fall in on itself. Pieces of rubble exploded out of the mine entrance and rained down on the parked vehicles. A cloud of dirt and dust rose up into the air.
Connolly waited for another moment—memorizing the destruction, savoring it—before adjusting the stick and pointing them west.