Dalton checked the small board on the SATCOM. It was functioning and he had a link back to Bright Gate. “How fast can you go?” he asked. That was something that had been left out of the briefing he had been given on the plane, the aircraft’s top speed simply listed as being something over Mach 5.
“Mach 7,” Orrick said proudly. “Over five thousand miles an hour.”
Dalton hoped that would be fast enough. He put the small headset on. “Dr. Hammond?”
“Here.”
“Do you have the link into the Russian secure military network?”
“Yes. The GRU just authorized it.”
“Lieutenant Jackson there?”
“Right here.”
“You got a cell phone number when we went to Moscow. For a Colonel Mishenka.”
“I have it,” Jackson said.
“Can you punch it up?”
“Wait,” she said.
There was a hiss of static, then Dalton heard a buzz. A voice answered in Russian.
“Do you speak English?” Dalton asked.
“Who is this?”
“Is this Colonel Mishenka?”
“You called me. You know who I am,” Mishenka said. “I want to know who you are. This is a classified Spetsnatz line.”
“My name is Sergeant Major Dalton, U.S. Army Special Forces.”
There was just the sound of the static for a few seconds.
“Very interesting,” Mishenka said. “People here are talking to the Americans. Most worried. Quite a bit of excitement. To what do I owe the honor of your call, Sergeant Major?”
“I believe we have a common problem,” Dalton said.
“We do?”
“Twenty nuclear warheads,” Dalton said succinctly. He saw Orrick’s head snap up across the small compartment.
“I’m not— ” Mishenka began, but Dalton cut him off.
“I don’t have time to argue or play games. I am heading toward Russia right now.”
“We do not need your help,” Mishenka said. “The situation is under control.”
“No, it isn’t. I also know about the phased-displacement generator. You don’t have a handle on either the bombs or the generator, do you?”
Dalton felt the plane seem to stutter, then he was slammed back in his seat once more.
“P-D-W-E,” Orrick mouthed the letters to Dalton with a thumbs-up.
Dalton nodded.
“Sergeant Major, you are speaking about things which— ”
“Don’t lie to me or waste my time,” Dalton snapped. “This is our problem. And it’s worse than you know.”
“The official word here is that we do not need your help,” Colonel Mishenka said. “This is an internal problem that will be dealt with using our own resources.”
“The phased-displacement generator makes it our problem,” Dalton said. “And if you are counting on SD8’s secret weapon to find the bombs or the generator, you are very badly mistaken.”
The tone of Mishenka’s voice changed. “Why?”
“Because someone in SD8 is helping the Mafia.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Because I was there when the bombs got stolen,” Dalton said. “My team was wiped out and I barely escaped.”
“How could you have been there? How do you know all this? We are getting very confused reports from those who have gone to the train site.”
“Listen closely,” Dalton said. He quickly told Mishenka about the Bright Gate program, witnessing the briefing inside KGB headquarters, and the battle at the train ambush. He ended with his belief that Chyort was a creation of SD8 and was helping the Mafia.
“Chyort,” Mishenka repeated the name. “I have heard of this creature. I thought it only a rumor, a myth.”
“Chyort is real,” Dalton said. “And you know what it is. I heard General Bolodenka authorize you to be briefed on Department Eight’s current operation. It has to be Chyort. And if it is on the other side, any action you take will be thwarted by it. Chyort just took out our Warfighter I satellite that was trying to track down the generator and the bombs.”
“How could this creature do that?”
“I don’t exactly know, but you should be getting a fax into the GRU war room any second now. It shows Chyort just before he destroyed Warfighter. He wanted us to know it was him.”
“Wait a second.”
Dalton impatiently listened to the hiss.
“Your fax arrived a few seconds ago. What is this thing?” Mishenka asked. “I have never seen anything like it.”
“A monster your people created and now it’s turned against you.”
“What is your plan?” Mishenka asked.
“Do you have communications with SD8?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We have to take out SD8; it is from that base that
Chyort is able to work. We have to destroy its ability to project onto the virtual plane.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“We must attack it at the source. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes.”
“Send me the coordinates. I’ll head straight there. Then call whoever you have there and get them to stop this thing.”
“I’m having the coordinates of the base sent to you. I will be heading that way myself shortly. I will try to make contact with Department Eight.”
The screen flashed with numbers. “Major Orrick!” Dalton called out.
“Yes.”
“Here’s our target area.” Dalton read off the numbers.
“I have partial system running,” Vasilev said.
“What does that mean?” Feteror growled.
“We can try a test run,” Vasilev said.
The phased-displacement generator gleamed inside of the hangar, reflecting the glow of the lights set up around it. Leksi had put all the helicopters under cover of the other old hangars. He’d deployed his men in an efficient perimeter, antiair and antitank missiles ringing the airfield. Feteror knew without the help of the Americans, the GRU would never find them in time.
He was also aware, though, that once he started drawing power from the lines, someone at the closest monitoring plant would notice. He was tired of having to worry about all these potential problems. He had spent years considering all the possibilities, and his plan would take care of that problem.
For a moment, he considered running the test against SD8. That would bring it to a conclusion. But his anger forestalled that. There were many who must pay first. He had been trained always to stick with the plan, and he would do so here.
“Load the generator,” Feteror ordered.
“We must wait until we hear from Oma,” Barsk protested.
“We must test the generator,” Feteror said. He smiled, noting that Leksi was moving behind the boy, weapon at the ready. As if that could achieve anything.
“I need to call Oma before you do anything,” Barsk said.
“Oma and I are partners.” Feteror resisted the urge to just take the man-child’s head off. He needed these people for a while longer. Instead, he pointed a long claw at the generator. “Do not worry. I plan to run the test in a manner designed to gain us some time. Your Oma would approve.”
“I must call Oma.” Barsk was sounding like an irritating tape, playing over and over.
“Call her then!” Feteror snapped. “In the meanwhile, load the first warhead in the generator. We do not have forever. If I know her well, and I believe I do, your Oma will want to know it works before committing to a course of action.”
Leksi looked to Barsk, who reluctantly nodded. Leksi snapped orders and his men uncrated one warhead.
“What do I have to do, old man?” Feteror leaned close to Vasilev.
“The computer will integrate the physical material inside the generator into the virtual plane. Your job will be to target it. The computer will then fire it across the folded space and into the real. The bomb will be on a timer which I will activate prior to its leaving the generator.”