By the time Grant found the central air shaft, sweat covered his face. He shone his light up the crawlspace and spotted the air duct he would have to use to carry on toward the nuclear armory. Grant crawled out, swung his legs over, and jammed them against either side of the shaft. He pulled the rest of his body out and put his right hand on the metal wall. He slowly climbed the shaft, using his hands to stop him from falling and his feet to move upward. After what seemed like forever, the next air duct came into sight. Grant twisted around inside the air shaft and thrust his arms into the duct before crawling his way inside.
The sound of gunfire from below echoed throughout the narrow passageways. Grant wanted to turn back and help the missile technicians but forced himself to keep moving. Inch by inch, he moved down toward the armory.
Kosloff ducked down behind his computer console as bullets tore through their flimsy barricade. Two men lay on the floor already, blood trickling out from underneath them, pooling on the tiles.
“Return fire!” yelled Kosloff.
Those who had weapons opened up. The sound of bullets hitting the lockers and filing cabinets in front of the door reminded Kosloff of hail on a tin roof. He looked up at his computer screen. The first warhead had arrived and was being fitted onto its missile. As soon as the saboteurs inputted the coordinates for Moscow, he would override them and try to close down the launchers’ computer system.
The deafening roar of automatic weapons died down. Kosloff looked around the room. Another man lay still while two more had wounds to their upper bodies. With more than half his people dead or injured, he knew they didn’t have much time left. He quickly typed in a command to disable the computers of all the launchers and prayed that it would be enough.
“Sir, I think I hear voices,” reported one of the technicians.
“Where?” asked Kosloff.
The sergeant pointed to a wall that separated the control room from an adjoining office.
“What are they saying?”
Before the sergeant could respond, an ear-splitting blast tore through the room as the wall blew apart. Fragments of metal and wood flew through the air, shredding two more hapless technicians. A split second later, beasts with submachine guns ran through the smoke, firing at anything that moved. People died where they stood.
Kosloff opened his eyes and saw he was looking up at the roof. He tried to get up, but he had no feeling in his legs. A bald man appeared above him. In his hand was a pistol.
“Nice try, Lieutenant,” said the man. “But your attempts to stop us have failed.”
“Screw you, you bloody traitor,” replied Kosloff defiantly.
The bald man looked over at Kosloff’s computer and smiled. “I see you’ve tried to override our missiles’ systems. Too bad for you that this is a simple fix.”
Kosloff struggled to rise.
“Fetch me a computer technician!” bellowed the man.
Kosloff’s vision narrowed. He had seconds before he blacked out. With his last breath, he uttered, “You’ll roast in the pits of hell for what you have done today.”
“Maybe,” said Taras, firing a bullet between the young officer’s eyes, killing him.
Taras looked around the room. All the dead, except for a woman, were in uniform. Nazarov had warned him to be on the lookout for an American agent. Taras stormed out of the room and into the hallway. He ignored the pile of dead and severely wounded hybrid soldiers at his feet. If there was an agent on the loose, where would he go?
“Crap,” muttered Taras. He turned on his heel and sprinted for the stairs. He had to get to the nuclear armory before anything else went wrong.
Grant looked through the vent at a darkened room. He switched on his light and shone it through the grate. There were three men slumped over in their chairs, each one with a bullet hole in the back of his head. He’d found the duty center. Grant placed a hand on the vent grate and pushed. The grate popped out and fell to the floor, making a racket. Grant cringed and reached for his pistol. When no one barged into the room firing, Grant crawled out of the vent, legs first. In the dark, his feet touched a desk. He hopped lightly down onto the floor and paused for another moment, waiting. He turned his light back on and took a quick look around. Grant spotted a phone and picked it up. No dial tone. Not a surprise. He checked another. It was the same. The phone lines were disabled.
“Sorry, but I need these more than you do,” muttered Grant he helped himself to the dead man’s full pistol magazine.
He edged his way to the door and listened. Grant could hear three different voices. He thought he heard a slight English inflection to some of the words. It had to be Hayes. Grant waited until the conversation died down before cracking the door open so he could see what was going on. His spirits rose when he spotted Hayes standing off to one side while a man wearing a Major’s rank spoke with some soldiers. He watched as the men walked down the corridor, pushing a trolley with a nuclear warhead on it. Grant heard the men haul the heavy load into an elevator.
Grant threw open the door and stepped into the hallway. He strode quickly toward Hayes and the major.
Hayes’ jaw dropped at the sight of his friend.
Voices grew loud from behind.
Grant spun around. Two hybrid soldiers had stepped out of the elevator. He never hesitated, firing off four shots into the beasts’ chests. The creatures tumbled to the floor. Grant turned to face the major. The man’s face was as white as a ghost.
“Is he armed?” Grant asked Hayes, pointing his pistol at the other man.
“No,” he replied.
“Who is he, and how many bombs have they taken to the launchers?”
“The man’s name is Volkov, and he’s a traitor,” explained Hayes. “He has the access codes for the vault in his right breast pocket. As for the bombs, they’ve taken three already. They’ll be back in a couple of minutes for the last bomb.”
“Well, we can’t let them have it. How do I lock the door to the armory?”
Hayes pointed at a red button on the panel.
“Is it airtight in there?”
Hayes shook his head. “I doubt it. There are air vents on the roof.”
“Sorry, Professor, but you’re going to have to hide in there until the shooting stops.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ll never make the climb to safety, and this place is crawling with soldiers. Hurry up, get inside, and I’ll lock the door behind you.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now move your arse.”
Hayes stepped into the vault. “What about Volkov?”
Grant shot the major, point-blank. “Traitors get what they deserve.” With that, he grabbed the vault codes from Volkov’s pocket and tossed them at Hayes. Grant stood and pushed the red button, sealing the armory. He regretted leaving Hayes in the vault, but it was the safest place for him to be right now.
A shot rang out.
Grant felt a sharp, burning sensation on his left ear. He turned and saw a bald man running at him with a pistol aimed in his direction. Grant dove for the duty center’s open door, firing off a couple quick shots. He landed on the floor and slid inside. He slammed the door shut with his left foot and jumped to his feet. Grant grabbed hold of a desk and rammed it against the door before running for the open air duct. He jumped up onto the table, squirmed his way into the duct, and crawled back to the air shaft.
“Come back, you bastard!” hollered Taras, slamming his foot against the locked door. He glanced down and saw a trail of blood. Taras grinned. He’d hit the agent. His blood boiling, Taras aimed his pistol at the door lock and emptied his magazine. With a guttural cry on his lips, Taras threw his shoulder against the door, knocking it ajar.
Three hybrid soldiers saw what he was doing and ran to help. In seconds, the table was shoved aside. Taras ran into the room, hoping to see a mortally wounded man. Instead, all he found were three dead technicians.
“Look,” said one of the beasts, pointing up at the air duct, missing its cover.
Taras ripped the submachine gun from the hybrid’s hands and emptied it into the metal duct, blasting holes in it like Swiss cheese. “Go from room to room on this floor, and shoot the air duct until you run of bullets or kill the man hiding up there,” ordered Taras.
The beasts nodded and ran off.
Taras tossed his weapon to the floor and lashed out with his foot, sending a garbage can flying against the wall. Without the codes, they would never get their hands on the last warhead. He walked out of the room with the unenviable task of telling Nazarov that he now only had three of the four bombs he needed.
Grant heard the bullets tearing through the thin metal duct behind him and struggled to pick up his pace. He crawled as fast as he could. Just up ahead was the central air shaft. He yanked himself out of the narrow tunnel just as bullets tore through the spot his body had been only a second ago. He jammed his feet on either side of the shaft and looked up. In the distance was a dim light. Grant took a moment to catch his breath before placing his hands on the cool metal and beginning to climb. He prayed he had the strength to make it to the top of the shaft before the hybrids found him and ate him alive.