“You can’t shoot down Jeff and Bree.”
The elevator finally arrived. Bastian entered; Mack followed. Both looked toward the ceiling, which in theory made it easier for the scanning devices to verify their identities. Still, the process took excruciatingly long.
“You have to let me do something,” said Mack as the elevator finally began moving upward.
“What exactly do you want to do?” said Bastian.
“Help plan the defense at least. Be in the ball game. Come on. Use me. I know more about fighting the Flighthawks than anyone.”
“I’m not in charge of the defenses,” said Bastian. “They’re already set.”
“You think I’m a traitor, don’t you?”
The elevator arrived at Sublevel One. Dog got out.
“Major?” asked Bastian.
“Put me in the game.”
“It’s too late, Mack,” said Bastian as the doors closed.
Pei, Brazil
8 March, 0540 local
POWDER COVERED LIU WHILE HE RAN UP TO THE EDGE of the hangar building. One or two Brazilians had retreated here, though most of the Brazilians had fallen back to the far end of the base, far away from Hawkmother and the dilapidated hangars. Three low-slung buildings were visible there, defended by at least two small armored cars and some machine guns. For the moment, they seemed to be saving their ammunition.
Which was fine with Powder. Give the Army something to do when they finally got around to showing up.
Liu reached the edge of the building, then gave Powder a hand signal to come forward. Powder humped the ten yards so fast he nearly lost his helmet.
“Two guys, that way,” said Liu.
“That it?”
“There was a light machine gun there, but Egg got him,” said Liu, referring to another member of the team, Freddy Reagan.
“You see Captain Freah?” Powder asked.
“No,” said Liu. “He hasn’t been on the circuit since the planes took off.”
“I heard him talking to Bison. They were setting up the Satcom.”
“Maybe he’s back by the C-17 wreckage, checking it out,” said Liu.
“Doesn’t look like they’re too organized,” said Powder.
“I hear something,” said Liu.
“Uh-oh—duck!” shouted Talcom as an armored car rolled around the corner of the hangar and began firing at them. The ENGESA EE-11 was a very simple, no-frills truck equipped with a very basic machine gun.
And an equally basic but tremendously destructive grenade launcher, which fired a charge point-blank at the two Whiplashers.
Fortunately, it sailed past them, exploding nearly a hundred yards away.
“Next one ain’t gonna miss,” said Powder, already running toward the truck. He pulled a phosphorus grenade from his belt as he ran, thumbing away the tape that safed the pin and fuse. He set the grenade, tossing it at the last possible second as he threw himself to the ground.
The grenade wasn’t powerful enough to penetrate the EE-11’s armor, but Powder merely wanted to blind the gunners with the flash while he and his teammate attacked from behind. The machine-gun fire ceased as soon as the grenade went off. Powder, head down, jumped back to his feet and raced around to the rear of the truck.
Liu stood there already, staking it out. One of the vehicle’s doors opened. Powder tensed, then realized that the hand that emerged held a white handkerchief.
“We ought to flatten the bastards,” he said to Liu over the corn unit.
“Just make sure they’re surrendering,” said a deep and commanding voice. He glanced back and saw that Captain Freah had joined them.
Aboard Galatica
8 March, 0545
MINERVA LASHED THE WOMAN PILOT’S HANDS BEHIND her with the string from her boot, wrapping the lace over Bree’s wrists and then around a bolt at the side. It might not hold for long if she strained against it, but the American’s struggles would at least warn her.
Where would they go? For now, they were running along the course Madrone had plotted. But that was suicide.
Mayo nodded nervously as she slipped into the seat beside him. He began reading off bearings and instrument numbers—a status report. Everything was in perfect order.
“Why ten thousand feet?” he asked abruptly.
“Not now, Lieutenant. Just hold the course.”
Mayo started to say something, but thought better of it. Minerva folded her arms, staring at the darkness before her.
Pei, Brazil
8 March, 0550
DANNY MADE SURE POWDER AND LIU HAD THE PRISONERS under control, then approached the hangar building cautiously. He flipped Annie’s CIV visor back into IR mode. There was one person in the hangar that he could see; he lay prone on the floor behind a desk or some boxes with a view of the doorway.
A flash-bang in his hand, Danny went to the entrance and crouched down. He couldn’t see the man now—the boxes were too thick. He reached up with his grenade hand and flicked the visor into enhanced starlight mode. The aiming triangle appeared; he lowered his aim toward the boxes, then stepped forward, slowly turning his attention around the hangar.
Empty.
Something moved behind him.
He threw himself down, then saw it was only Powder.
“Shit, sorry,” said his point man through the laser com.
“Down,” hissed Danny, pointing toward the boxes.
Powder nodded, then began working his way sideways to the left. Danny slid toward the opposite wall.
“Get away from the gun, motherfucker!” shouted Powder, who’d come up behind the Brazilian.
Danny rose slowly. The Brazilian didn’t move.
“He’s dead, Captain,” said Powder, moving in slowly.
“Hold on. Stop,” said Danny. He clicked the CIV visor control, examining the object in front of the dead Brazilian. It looked like the guts of a small rocket, or maybe a large artillery shell.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a bomb or something sitting in the middle of the floor. It’s got a timer. Go see if you can find some lights. No, wait a second.” Freah lowered himself to his knees. There was a radiation symbol on the interior of the metal casing, heading about a paragraph’s worth of closely printed letters. “You read Portuguese, Powder?”
“Negative, sir.”
“Go get Bison,” Danny said. “Tell him we have a bomb to disarm. Tell him it may be a tricky one, and to bring his full set.”
“Sniffer too?”
“Especially the sniffer. And Powder, get the Satcom. Go very fast.”
Dreamland
8 March, 0200 local (Brazil 0600)
MACK PACED OUTSIDE TM, TRYING TO CONTAIN HIS fury.
He knew exactly what Madrone would do, how he would fly. He’d get around the F-l5’s if they weren’t careful.
Hell, even if they were careful. Because they’d be too damn full of themselves.
Been there, done that himself.
To be put on ice. Bullshit. Bullshit!
He could have the MiG fueled on his own authority.
Not armed, though. That would take an order from Bastian. Technically. Odds were no one would question him if he said it was approved.
God, they couldn’t just leave him on the ground. At least let him talk to some of the pilots, give them advice. They friggin’ thought he was a traitor. Damn them all.
Pej, Brazil
8 March, 0613 local
“CAPTAIN, I’M ASSUMING THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT.”
“Annie, I need your help,” Danny said. The Army transports were just arriving outside, making it difficult to hear. “I’m looking at what I think is a nuclear warhead wired to a timer that’s supposed to go off in thirty-seven minutes.”