“We can get enough overpressure to make a door,” Boxers said, finishing the thought for him.
“Bingo.”
Jonathan turned to the Mishins. “Nicholas, you and Josef go into the hallway.” Next, Jonathan started stripping his kit of GPCs and handing them to Boxers. “Yelena!”
“Yes!”
“Take your family to a cell at the end of the hall, at least three doors down, and go inside and close the door. We’re going to set off explosives, so don’t peek out until you hear the boom.”
When she didn’t respond, he turned to see a reunion in action, the three of them in an embrace.
“Now, Yelena.”
“Which way?”
“You tell me.”
An indecisive pause. “I’ll move east,” she said.
“Fine,” Jonathan replied. “Get there quickly, and don’t come out until I say.”
Len recognized the outlines of the boy and his father as they exited the cell, but the greeting they received in the hallway startled him. This was not the body language of a hostage meeting his rescuer. There was genuine affection. Could it possibly be that—
Hearing her speak removed all doubt. That was Anna Darmond, the former Yelena Poltanov. Good Lord in Heaven, could revenge be any sweeter?
He raised his rifle to his shoulder and slipped his finger into the trigger guard. He could take them all with one long burst. He could shred them just as certainly as they had shredded is brave soldiers.
And they were walking directly toward him. His finger tightened.
Between the PETN in the det cord and Jonathan’s six GPCs, he figured they had eight or nine pounds of explosives to work with. Absent the luxury of the time necessary to form it all into its optimal shape, Boxers molded the C4 into an eight-inch-long white brick and gave it to Jonathan to hold. Then he unspooled the det cord and folded the tube of explosive back and forth against itself, the way you would fold an extension cord for storage. That bundle was maybe fifteen inches long and six inches thick when he was done. With his left hand, he pressed the finished bundle into the angle where the outside wall met the western cell wall, while with his right, he picked up the brick of C4 and then molded it to hold the det cord in place.
Their plan was simple and inelegant. The C4 had a detonation velocity of 26,400 feet per second, the det cord 27,000 feet per second. In the first few milliseconds after detonation, the charge would direct a peak pressure wave of well over one hundred thousand pounds per square inch through the stone, shattering it. At the same instant, the explosion would overpressure the interior of the cell, with the result — they hoped — of collapsing the exterior wall and part of the roof it supported.
Boxers fished two OFF detonators out of his ruck — old-fashioned fuse — and pressed the first one into the end of the det cord, and the second one into the body of the C4. “Keep your fingers crossed.”
Fact was, this was their only shot. If it didn’t work, they wouldn’t have direct access to the outside, and they’d have used up all of their resources except firearms. If the hole in the roof didn’t happen, they had a long and bloody firefight ahead of them.
Boxers drew his Randall knife from its scabbard. “You figure thirty seconds?”
“Perfect,” Jonathan said.
Boxers cut away half the length of the fuse, then fished a lighter from his trouser pocket. “Ready?”
Jonathan keyed the mike for the troop net. “Striker, Scorpion. I think you want to put some distance between us. We’re about to make another mess.”
“Roger that. I’ll be waiting for the fireworks.”
Jonathan nodded to Boxers. “Ready,” he said.
Nicholas followed his mother’s shadow through the darkness as she led the way down the corridor, keeping their hands on the left-hand wall as a point of reference. Josef clung tightly to his father’s shirt, his feet shuffling in short quick steps to keep up.
They were to enter the third cell. As his hand passed along the door to the second cell, he wondered how they could be sure that the doors were even unlocked. This was a prison, after all. Yet it was unoccupied. He supposed they’d just have to take their chances. It wasn’t as if there were a lot of alternatives.
“Howya doing, Joey?” he whispered.
“What’s that horrible smell?” the boy asked. “Smells like somebody took a shit in here.”
That was exactly what it smelled like, but with the addition of burned hair. It was nauseating. Terrifying.
“We’re here,” Yelena said, and as she pushed open the door, he was grateful to see the wash of some light, even if it clearly came from the fires that raged out there in the night. She led the way, and Nicholas ushered Josef in next.
As Nicholas stepped across the threshold, something hit him hard from behind, and a hot pain engulfed him like a searing girdle, an agonizing jolt that exploded back to front. It buckled his knees and as he sank to the wooden floor, he more felt than saw a man step past him, deeper into the cell.
A rifle dangled from the man’s shoulder, and a knife blade gleamed from his fist. As Nicholas clutched at the agony in his back, he felt the wetness of his own blood, and he knew that he’d been stabbed.
The man went right for Josef, grabbing him from behind and hoisting him with an arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulder and throat.
Yelena whirled with her gun up and ready to shoot, but it was too late. He’d lifted Joey high enough that in the limited light, there was no way to shoot the man without shooting the boy.
“Put the rifle down, Yelena,” the man said. He brandished his knife blade and pressed it against Joey’s throat.
Yelena’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped open. “Alexei,” she said.
“It’s been a very long time. The gun, Yelena. Put it down. I won’t hesitate to kill him. You know that.”
Nicholas tried to find his feet to rush this man, but every move was excruciating, each flex of a muscle another jolt of searing pain.
“Please don’t do this,” she said.
“You should not have come,” Alexei said.
“You took my children.”
“And that one,” Alexei said, tossing his head toward Nicholas. “He looks so like his father.” He pressed the knife point deeper into the soft flesh under Joey’s chin.
“Ow!” Joey cried. “Ow, please.”
“Your choice, Yelena. Do you really want a little boy to die for you?”
Yelena lifted the sling from around her shoulder and lowered her rifle to the ground.
“Why?” she said as she stood. “Why my family?”
“Because it was easy,” Alexei said. “Their father still loves them so.”
“Their father is dead,” Yelena said, but through his pain, Nicholas detected something wrong in her tone.
“We both know that that’s not true, don’t we, Yelena?”
“I’ve done what you asked,” Yelena said. “Let Josef go.”
“How many others are there?” Alexei asked. “How many Secret Service or soldiers?”
“Ten,” she said, but again, her eyes betrayed the lie.
Alexei squeezed Josef tighter. “How about you tell me, Josef Nikolayevich? How many attackers are here?”
With his feet dangling just off the floor, Josef had to hang onto Alexei’s forearms with both hands to keep from strangling. Tears streaked his face in the yellow light of the fires.
“Must I cut your throat?” Alexei asked softly.
“Ten.” His voice squeaked.
Alexei gave a dramatic sigh. “It’s such a shame—”
Josef shrieked, “Scorpion! Help!”