The right eye stayed frustratingly out of Knight’s view, so he took a few more shots at the already damaged and closed-over left eye.
Then he heard a new kind of roar. This one was loud and higher pitched, more like a whine.
A mechanical whine.
When Knight looked to the hangar doors, he understood that he didn’t need to hit the creature’s right eye. King was back, and he was going to hit the eye-and everything else.
SEVENTY-ONE
Outside the Gleipnir Facility, Fenris Kystby, Norway
4 November, 0445 Hrs
The Crescent, Chess Team’s personal stealth, troop transport ship, looked like a giant croissant that had gone gray and black from mold. Radar-reflective material covered the ship from one tip of its half-moon shape across 80 feet of breadth to its other tip. The giant, flat plane could carry 25,000 pounds of load and travel at above Mach 2. Its newly designed VTOL engines could run in a silent stealth mode, which sounded like little more than a strong wind with an undercurrent of high-pitched metallic squeal. When the engines were running without the stealth technology, the massive engines roared like the sound of twelve 747 jumbo jets. It cost 500 million dollars, not counting the billions in research and development for the prototype.
Today, Jack Sigler, the man known as King, intended to crash it.
He was flying the huge plane alone. The pilots wanted to come with him on his suicide mission, but he hadn’t allowed it. He had been taking flying lessons, and had been at the helm of the Crescent in the air and on takeoff. He had yet to land the plane, but for today’s exercise, that wouldn’t matter.
Sitting on the co-pilot’s seat and strapped in with a seatbelt was the suitcase nuke King had lost in Manhattan. The goal was to get the bomb through a portal and close the portal before the timer detonated. If for some reason the portal couldn’t be closed-or the device didn’t make it into a portal, there was the remote control he held in his hand.
King looked at the device.
He pictured Sara. Her sarcastic smile. Her sharp eyes. He could hear her voice, whispering in his ear, but he didn’t like the words. Do it Jack, you have no choice.
I have a daughter, he thought. I can’t.
Fiona came into his thoughts like a specter, her voice, high and raspy, sounded like a breeze. It’s you or the world, daddy.
King knew the words were his own thoughts, imagining what he thought they might say, after weeping, shouting and threatening to kill him themselves. It had to be done. They would understand that.
The remote clattered to the floor where King threw it.
“Love you guys,” he whispered, then focused on aiming the world’s largest boomerang.
King had swept the sickle-shaped transport out over the Norwegian Sea, before bringing it back toward his target-the open hangar doors on the side of the lab. He could see how cleverly the facility had been built into the landscape, using the night vision features built into the cockpit of the vehicle. The doors were hidden from pretty much everything except a direct approach from the sea-and this far north along the Norwegian coast was well off the standard shipping lanes. The timing for this stunt would be crucial. He sped up on approach and then slowed just as he was reaching the open doors, carefully adjusting his aim.
He tightened the seatbelt strap crisscrossing over his chest and prayed the high tech crash gear did its job.
The plane slipped through the massive open hanger.
Then everything happened at once.
Fenrir turned to the hangar doors and saw the fast-approaching black plane. The monster opened its gaping mouth wide to howl.
King hit the gas.
The Crescent rammed into the creature’s open mouth, snapping off its mighty lower jaw and plowing into the beast’s flaccid-skinned chest. The thrust from the plane knocked the giant back as it flailed in pain. The Crescent ’s engines roared, pushing the giant back and together, they slipped through the portal.
King opened his eyes to a world of white.
He was still alive, but where? He reached out a hand and found the world around him was pliable, like a cushion…or an air bag. King was surrounded on all sides by nylon airbags designed to protect pilots from controlled crashes. While his crash wasn’t exactly controlled, he wasn’t moving at Mach 2, either.
King drew a pocket knife, flipped it open and stabbed at the airbags. One by one, the bags popped and deflated. King’s head spun as he fumbled with the seatbelt. His chest ached. Broken ribs, he thought. Could have been worse.
He looked at the seat next to him. The suitcase nuke was still in place, held tight by the belts.
Still might work.
King flinched when a pair of hands reached around him.
“Slow down, killer,” Rook said and quickly unbuckled his teammate.
“Rook, what are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you,” Rook said. “Playing the big hero so maybe I can get laid tonight.”
King laughed, but groaned as his chest filled with pain. “Seri-ously.”
“Seriously?” Rook said. “I lost a lot of men in Siberia. I ain’t losing you, too.”
King looked in Rook’s cool blue eyes and nodded. “Let’s go.”
Rook helped King through the back of the plane, which seemed to be largely in one piece. They stumbled when the Crescent shifted underfoot.
“FYI, that Fenrir bitch is beneath us.”
A shadow shifted at the back of the plane, where the loading ramp was bent open.
“Shit,” Rook said, then led King to a chair. “Stay,” he ordered like a dog trainer. He ran into the plane’s armory and returned a moment later carrying two chrome Desert Eagle magnum handguns. He kissed them one at a time. “I’ve missed you, girls.”
He handed one to King and walking as one with Rook helping to support King’s weight, they made for the back of the plane. The Magnums only held seven rounds each, but the. 50 caliber bullets would take a dire wolf’s head clean off. Just about any hit would be a kill shot. And Rook had four spare magazines in his pocket.
As they exited the plane, King raised his gun and fired. The bullet struck a waiting dire wolf’s shoulder removing the arm and dropping the beast. It wasn’t dead, but it would be soon.
They moved as one, leaving the plane, scrambling over Fenrir’s squishy body, which was slick with slime from its burst wombs. They ran, and fired, and scrambled and fired some more until their bullets ran out. Both reloaded fast, fired twice more each and then ducked into the brilliant portal, leaving the other world, which Rook had seen in shades of green and King in white, behind.
They emerged on the other side, but King didn’t feel safe.
The nuke he’d left behind would detonate in four minutes.
SEVENTY-TWO
Gleipnir Facility, Fenris Kystby, Norway
4 November, 0450 Hrs
Queen sighed with relief when Rook and King hobbled out of the portal. She was covered in cuts and scrapes, her ankle was twisted, maybe broken. Her hand was swollen like a red balloon, she was coated in dried dire wolf blood and secretions and she could only move by hopping on her unaffected foot, but she still laid down fire on the dire wolf army that turned toward Rook and King as they separated.
Beck had seen the situation and moved over to help support her and share the last of her ammunition-two normal-sized curved 32 round magazines. Together, they covered their teammates as the men scrambled toward them.
Bishop moved to the high ground of the metal stairs in the corner of the giant room and fired down on dire wolves. A pile of ten of the creatures lay dead below the landing where he stood; an effective barricade.