“But this will kill people unless they’re shielded,” Woods argued. “And you want it broadcast from all four satellites at once through CS-MILSTAR. I thought we were going to localize the transmission.”
Boreas considered the man in front of him. The members of the HAARP team had been recruited with suitcases full of cash. Some of them thought they were working for the CIA, others had different ideas, but none knew the truth. The objective of the project was clearly a weapon, but like most people who worked on such projects, they had not really considered the ultimate aim of such a weapon.
“The broadcast will indeed go worldwide,” Boreas said.
“But this frequency.” Woods shook his head. “I can’t-”
He paused, looking down on the small hole in his chest, just to the left of his sternum.
A small puff of smoke was wafting out of the silencer of the.22 High Standard pistol in Boreas’s hand.
“You-” Woods fell forward and hit the floor with a solid thump.
Two jets were headed toward Colorado Springs, one flying west from Andrews Air Force Base, the other northwest from the Caribbean.
On board each, a woman plotted how she would get access to a code locked in the most secure place in the country. One had an Aura transmitter with her, the other a copy of The Art of War.
Eagle Six, the only name by which he was known to the NASA people, watched the crew walk toward the gantry, waving at the TV cameras. Even though shuttle launches were pretty much routine, there was always media on hand. After all, they might get lucky and have another Challenger. Eagle Six’s predecessor had been on that flight and his name withheld from the public in the ensuing inquiry into the disaster.
This was his eighth shuttle launch and he knew the math. No system was foolproof and there were so many subsystems in the shuttle that failure was bound to occur again. He could also get run over by a bus when crossing the street, and that didn’t pay as well as this gig. Each flight he took earned him half a million dollars, and he figured this one to be his last. He could retire and easily live off the interest, plus he would be taken care of by the Priory.
The crew came on board, pointedly ignoring him. He was used to it. They thought he was a spook, from the CIA or the military, and had been briefed to only interact with him on mission requirements.
He checked the readout on one of the monitors. Two hours to shuttle launch and all systems were go.
From the virtual plane, Dalton was able to safely detect the island’s defenses. The guards all about, the hidden snipers, the mines along the shore, all were essentially worthless against a Psychic Warrior. He, Jackson, and Barnes bypassed these defenses and jumped to a spot directly above the large house that dominated the eastern slope of the volcano.
Valika was walking through the operations center, making sure nothing was left that they needed, when the hair on the back of her neck tingled. She paused, looking about for the cause of her alarm. She could almost hear a voice in her head whispering Danger. She drew her pistol and keyed the transmit button on the radio clipped to her belt.
“Anyone see anything?”
The reports from the various guard posts came back negative, but that didn’t make her feel any better. She went to her small room and unlatched one of the suitcases she’d bought from Kraskov. Clipping a half dozen of the “beer cans” to her belt, she began searching the villa.
Dalton found Cesar in the atrium seated at a table near the pool.
“I’ve got him,” he informed Jackson and Barnes through Sybyl. “Any sign of Souris?”
“Negative,” Jackson replied.
“I’m in some sort of control center,” Barnes reported, “but no sign of her.”
“Home in on my position,” Dalton ordered.
In a second both were next to him on the virtual plane, hovering over the atrium, looking down on the man who had killed their comrades.
“Cover me on the real plane,” Dalton ordered. He shifted, passing the thin line that separated the real from the virtual, taking form on the other side of the table from the cartel leader.
Cesar was startled but quickly regained his composure as Dalton began to appear. Dalton continued to take shape until he approximated his normal appearance.
“Who are you?” Cesar demanded.
Dalton could see Jackson and Barnes appear, one on either flank, their right arms ending in firing tubes. Cesar noted them too and for the first time seemed concerned.
“Who are you?” he repeated.
“Why did you destroy Bright Gate?” Dalton asked, using Cesar’s own voice.
“What?”
Dalton shifted form once more, this time taking Cesar’s appearance.
“Who the hell are you?” Cesar shoved his chair back. “What are you doing?”
“Stay seated,” Dalton said. “Why did you destroy Bright Gate?”
“I didn’t,” Cesar said. “The place was booby-trapped.”
That made sense to Dalton as he remembered Hammond relaying that Kirtley had warned her he had a contingency plan in case he was killed. It didn’t matter-Cesar’s attack had initiated that event.
“Do you know who you work for?” Dalton asked.
“I work for me.”
Dalton shook his head. “You’re being manipulated.” He sat down across from Cesar, a mirror image. “Where is Professor Souris?”
“Company,” Barnes yelled.
A woman entered the courtyard, pistol at the ready. She took in Barnes and Jackson, their right arms ending in tubes, then blinked at the two Cesars seated at the table.
“Valika!” Cesar cried with Dalton barely a second behind, saying the same thing.
“Kill him,” Dalton pointed across the table.
“No!” Cesar cried out. He jabbed his finger back at Dalton. “Shoot him. He’s one of those things.”
The pistol in Valika’s hand shifted back and forth between the two of them. Barnes and Jackson were still, waiting to see how Dalton was going to play this out.
A pair of guards burst through a doorway and began firing at Jackson, who jumped, re-formed, and fired, hitting one of them. Barnes took out the other one. Valika took advantage of the distraction to grab one of the “beer cans” off her belt and pull the pin. She tossed it right at the table. Dalton saw it land and was surprised that she would risk killing her own boss.
Then it exploded.
“I’ve got major power disruption!” Hammond yelled as the screen that showed the status of the three Psychic Warriors went crazy and then blacked out. Her fingers slammed into keys as she tried to regain contact. “I’ve lost them.”
The effect on the real plane was negligible. A simple pop, no larger than that of a firecracker. On the virtual plane it was another story.
The electromagnetic burst hit Dalton ’s avatar like a searing hot wind, blowing away the form in bits and chunks of energy. He felt no pain, just shock, his psyche blown back with the avatar.
Then there was only grayness, no form, no substance. He reached for the connection with Sybyl, but there was nothing.
22
The three main engines on the shuttle ignited, spewing flame, drawing their fuel from the external tank. Inside, Eagle Six experienced the familiar feeling as the entire craft shook with restrained power, the entire system still bolted to the launch platform by eight hold-down bolts at the bottom of the two solid rocket boosters. The roar increased as the SRBs ignited. A split second later small explosives cut the bolts and the shuttle began lifting off the launch platform.
Eagle Six was slammed back in his couch as the shuttle accelerated. Sixty seconds after liftoff the pressure reached its maximum, then began to recede. One hundred and twenty seconds into the flight, the two SRBs had used all their fuel and detached, falling back toward the ocean for recovery.