“Time has run out, tovarischniys,” Khalimov said on his secure FM transceiver. “When it gets up, it will be after us, and it is virtually unstoppable. Anyone who is not on his way to point Alpha will be on his own.” He climbed inside the Humvee and screamed at the driver, “Pashlee! Move out!”
“Are you all right, sir?” Doug Moore in CID Two radioed. He had run over to where Jason was just now pulling himself out from the the building debris.
“Yes…maybe,” Jason Richter in CID One replied. “I’ve got a warning tone somewhere—probably that access panel again, damaged in the blasts behind me. My grenade launcher is damaged too. You got that Humvee in front of you?”
“I’ve got him, sir.” His electronic crosshairs were locked on the retreating Humvee in front of the Kingman Building.
“Nail him, Sergeant,” Jason Richter responded.
“Roger,” Moore radioed, and rapid-fired two forty-millimeter grenades from his backpack grenade launcher. The M430 high-explosive dual-purpose grenades shot one per second from the cannon and hit the Humvee dead-on, disintegrating the right front tire and somersaulting the vehicle over completely before it came to rest on its left side.
Khalimov opened the smoldering right rear passenger side door, and he and one surviving crewman scrambled out. Stunned and shaken, Khalimov and the other terrorist slumped to the ground beside the overturned Humvee. Khalimov coughed thick, acidic smoke out of his lungs. His face felt as if it was burned, and every joint in both legs ached. He looked up and saw the first robot standing beside the second one, just now crawling out from under the bricks and steel of the collapsed facade.
Those things were unstoppable, Khalimov thought. There was only one way to stop them…andhehaditrightinhishand.He had no choice, he thought as he pulled the remote detonator from his pocket, pressed and held the button, then ran as fast as he could down Market Street toward the Embarcadero. His joints and muscles ached, his vision was blurred, but he clutched that detonator with all his willpower, praying that the colonel’s range estimate was correct. All he knew was he had to get the hell away from there, before…
Doug Moore helped Jason climb the rest of the way out of the rubble. “Thanks, Doug,” Jason said. He disconnected the damaged grenade launcher backpack and let it drop to the pavement.
Jason had opened a small window in the front of the CID unit at the top of the robot’s “chest,” covered in bulletproof glass, and Doug could see Jason’s face behind the glass, partially obscured by the oxygen mask–like breathing apparatus they both wore. “Can you breathe okay in there, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Jason replied. “Looks like my electronic visor failed, and I’m still getting a warning about the hydraulic power pack losing pressure, but I’m still operational. I’m going after these guys on foot…”
“I’ll go, sir,” Moore said. “You’re damaged…”
“These guys on foot won’t be much of a threat to me,” Jason said. “I need you to search around and find any other terrorists in the streets, and then disarm as many of these booby traps as you can locate. Have all TALON units stay in position in case the terrorists try to make a break for it. We need to get the first responders organized so we don’t have any terrorists try to slip in and out if they’re still in disguise.”
“I’ll get on it, sir,” Doug said.
Jason ran down Drumm Street to Market, and then down Market toward the Embarcadero, just three blocks away. The CID system was still working, although his limb movements were starting to get a little spasmodic. Terrified civilians ran out of his way, although a few excited bystanders pointed down toward the waterfront. Jason kept going.
Khalimov and one of the terrorist soldiers were helping each other escape the carnage behind them. They had just crossed the wide boulevard at the Embarcadero when they heard two helicopters flying overhead. “Right on time,” Khalimov said. One helicopter touched down between Pier One and the Ferry Building, while the other hovered nearby. Both helicopters had twenty-millimeter machine guns mounted on the skids, ready to engage any police or military responders. Khalimov headed toward the helicopter on the ground. He didn’t know how far he was from the warhead test kit, but he doubted if it wasn’t anywhere near two kilometers—he would have to get on the helicopter and fly directly east to be as safe as…
…and at that moment he saw the second helicopter gunship wheel in his direction, bearing down on a target behind him. “Don’t look, just run!” Khalimov shouted, just as the helicopter’s machine guns opened fire. The shells felt as if they were whizzing directly over their heads, which made them run even faster.
Jason dodged right and the first fusillade of bullets missed him, but the damaged microhydraulic actuators in the CID system couldn’t keep up with his demand for even faster lateral movements and momentarily failed. At the same instant the helicopter pilot wheeled left, and Jason was sprayed by machine gun bullets. More warning tones blared. He sprawled on the pavement, unable to move—his legs felt as if they were locked in place.
He hurriedly commanded the CID system to shut down and then restart the microhydraulic system, hoping that resetting the system would remove whatever gremlins were running around in there. The helicopter gunship pirouetted in mid-air, lining up again to strafe the CID unit again. The composite armor was holding, but he didn’t know how many more strafing runs he could survive before the “magic bullet” would find a chink in his armor.
Back near the Kingman Building, Doug Moore in CID Two heard the gunfire just a few blocks away and started moving in that direction. “Major, are you okay?” he radioed.
“My hydraulic system is resetting,” Jason replied. “Head over to the Embarcadero on the double. Khalimov and the other terrorists are getting away by helicopter!”
Moore started running in that direction—but as he passed in front of the Kingman Building, Lieutenant Jake Maxwell, the TALON platoon leader, waved him down. They went inside the demolished front lobby of the building. “We checked out the vehicles that crashed inside here, Sergeant,” Maxwell said. “The one on the right is filled with high explosives, over a thousand kilos of some really nasty shit. We’ve disarmed the detonators, so I think we’re okay. But check this one out.” Maxwell carefully opened the back cargo doors, exposing a steel box…they found a large cylindrical device inside, with the test kit attached. A steady green light on the control panel read Power, and another steady red light read Armed; a blinking green light was labeled Active and a blinking red light read Fire.
“Is that what I think it is?” Moore asked.
“I think so,” Maxwell said. “Any idea how to deactivate this damned thing?”
“No clue, sir,” Doug admitted. “But I suggest you notify the police and evacuate this area as fast as you can.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll radio for help,” Doug said. “If someone can talk me through disarming it, I will. Get going, sir.”
“I’ll stay,” he said. He ordered his men out to clear the entire Financial District of anyone who still might be in the area.
Moore put in a call to Ariadna to contact someone in the military who could help identify and disarm the device, then turned to Maxwell. “You’d better leave, sir. I’ll handle this.”
“As you were, Sergeant—I’m staying,” Maxwell said. “I think my fingers can maneuver around on this thing better than yours anyway.”
The big robot looked at him and nodded. “Thank you, sir,” Moore said.
“Just don’t forget to pick me up when you run the hell away from here, Sergeant,” Maxwell reminded him.