Vasilev ignored him. Feteror stepped forward.
The professor looked up. “We can fire the third now.”
Jackson felt the liquid pouring into her lungs, but her focus was elsewhere. She had Sybyl access everything in the database on Russian nuclear weapons. She contacted Hammond through the computer.
“Anything from Sergeant Major Dalton?”
“He is on the ground. They are assaulting SD8’s base, Chyort’s home.”
“Any other nuclear explosions?”
“Not yet.”
“How long can you keep the bomb from coming through completely?”
“I estimate 8.4 minutes.”
“Come on, Dr. Hammond!” Jackson yelled. “Get me over there!”
Dalton fired on full automatic, right into the open end of a machine-gun bunker, his bullets smashing into the weapon. He rolled twice to his right, pausing at the edge of the path blasted by the line charge.
He was less than twenty feet from the psychic wall. He could not only see it shimmering now, but he could feel something. A thrumming on the edge of his consciousness. A feeling that made him want to turn and get away as fast as possible.
He looked over his shoulder. Over three quarters of the Spetsnatz were dead, but the survivors were still moving forward, wiping out the last of the automatic weapons.
Colonel Mishenka ran forward and threw himself into the dirt next to Dalton. He peered ahead at the wall, then glanced at Dalton.
A Spetsnatz soldier ran past them.
Mishenka yelled for him to stop, but too late as the man hit the psychic wall. His body spasmed, arms flying back. They could hear his spine snapping in a row of sharp cracks.
The man tumbled to the ground, his head canted at an unnatural angle, blood flowing from every visible orifice.
General Rurik pounded his fist in frustration against the console. “What is going on?”
“I cannot access the surface,” the technician said.
Rurik looked up at the red flashing light. He had missed the last contact with Moscow because Feteror was still out.
He had violated procedure for the first time in his career. He had no clue what was going on. But they knew something was happening above them. The dull sound of explosions echoed through the stone walls.
Someone was attacking them. But who?
There was only one answer— it had to be Feteror and help he had recruited. No one else would dare go up against the psychic wall. No one else could be this far into Russia and assaulting this most secret of bases.
“Captain,” Rurik said, turning to the chief of security. “Have your men ready to stop an assault.”
“But, sir— ” The man hesitated, then continued. “They cannot get in.”
“Oh, they will get in. Feteror is helping them! Now move!”
“The generator is in phase,” Vasilev announced. “The program is working slowly, but it is working.”
“Fire this one,” Feteror ordered, “and load the next one.”
Leksi stepped forward. “You are doing as Oma ordered now!”
Feteror looked at the huge naval commando. He smiled, revealing his rows of sharp teeth. Without a word he sliced forward with his right claw.
Leksi surprised him with his speed. The commando rolled forward, pulling up his submachine gun as he did.
Feteror jumped through the virtual plane to right behind Leksi, even as the man pulled the trigger. Feteror swung down with both hands. Leksi again surprised him by bringing back the submachine gun and blocking the right claw, but the left ripped into Leksi’s back.
Feteror relished the familiar sound of tearing flesh. He lifted Leksi as the commando tried to bend the gun back, to fire at his attacker. Feteror solved that problem by slicing off Leksi’s right arm.
He tossed the dying commando against the wall and stood over him. “I will destroy Oma’s targets but I do not need you to tell me to do it.”
“The bomb is in phase,” Vasilev reported.
Feteror turned to the cowering mercenaries. “Load the next bomb as soon as the generator is clear.”
He jumped into the virtual plane and connected with the bomb. He directed it west toward America.
“Time for your plan to get through the wall, if you have one,” Dalton said.
Mishenka spit and rubbed a hand covered in blood across his face. “I have one. You need a short?” He tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got one right here.”
Dalton wasn’t sure he had heard right.
Mishenka stood and walked toward the shimmer that indicated the boundary of the psychic wall. “I suggest you stay close to me,” he called over his shoulder.
“I can’t let you do that,” Dalton said.
Mishenka was standing right in front of the wall. Dalton came up next to him. He could feel the pain now, the fear, pulsing through his brain.
Mishenka laughed. He ripped open a packet on his combat vest and pulled out a small red pill. He held it up to Dalton. “My antiradiation pill. Perhaps it works, eh?”
Dalton knew the Russians issued the red pill as a placebo and that anyone with the slightest common sense knew that.
Mishenka tossed it away. “I am a dead man anyway. Let my death be worth something.” He looked at Dalton. “Are you ready?”
Dalton met the other man’s eyes. “I’m ready.”
Mishenka pulled his belt off and handed one end to Dalton. “I go, you follow.”
Dalton found he could not speak, so he simply nodded.
“Now!” Mishenka yelled.
He stepped forward into the wall, pulling on the belt. Dalton was pulled through behind him.
The Russian jerked straight up, his mouth open, a cry issuing forth that chilled Dalton’s heart.
Dalton hit the wall. He staggered, feeling a spike of pain rip into the base of his skull. His skin crackled, felt as if it were on fire. He kept moving his legs, going forward. He fell onto the ground, the pain receding.
Dalton rolled and looked back. There was a glow around Mishenka’s head. The Russian was looking straight at him. The mouth twisted from the open scream into a fleeting semblance of a smile, then a river of blood spilled over the lips and Mishenka fell to the ground dead.
Dalton looked down at his hand. He was still holding the belt. The other end was in the Russian’s dead hand. Dalton let go of the belt and stood. He headed toward the base.
Feteror’s head snapped to the left. He was halfway toward Washington, but something halted him at the jump point.
He opened to the flow of data from Zivon. Someone was through the psychic wall!
Feteror jumped for home, the bomb going with him.
Chapter Thirty
Lieutenant Jackson floated next to the bomb. It was the inverse of what she had witnessed from the floor of the experimental chamber. Here, on the virtual plane, a small square disappeared every few seconds. There was less than a third of the bomb remaining in the virtual plane.
“Dr. Hammond?”
“Yes?”
“I need the specifications for this type of nuclear weapon.”
“I have specs for our version of it.”
“Stay with me.”
“I will.”
Jackson let go of her avatar and became pure psyche. She flowed into the bomb.
Dalton threw the backpack Mishenka had given him to the ground in front of the large steel door that blocked his way into the underground complex. He pulled out the long black tube. He worked fast, his watch telling him that less than four minutes were left.