“First, how the hell could we have missed these attacks?” Matt asked. “I mean, something that takes down the Charlotte Coliseum and the Mall of America simultaneously with an Amtrak train.”
“Maybe it’s not so unbelievable today,” Peyton said. “It is signature al Qaeda.”
“Maybe, but this seems different. I’ve fought al Qaeda, and this is more sophisticated.”
“What are you saying?” Peyton asked.
“I think there’s a level of capability and organization here that we haven’t seen before. I think this is only the beginning.”
“And the second thing?” she asked.
“Bees.”
“Like the birds and the bees?”
“Well, birds too, but mostly bees,” Matt said. The airfield was in sight, about four miles down the long valley. He picked up Stephanie’s cell phone and dialed Meredith’s number. “Meredith, I need two things. First, what is Rampert’s ETA? Second, I need you to get me information on the leading mind on nanotechnology.”
“Rampert will be there in fifteen minutes. The nanotech thing might be a bit tougher. Why do you need that?”
“Just a hunch. Just get me his name and a phone number, ASAP, please.”
“Okay, hang on. Let me do a Google search for you.”
Matt cocked his head, holding the cell phone to his ear, and listened as he heard Meredith peck away at the computer keys. “Get ready to write this down,” he said.
Peyton searched in the truck’s dirty glove box for a pen, found one, and prepared to take a note.
However, Peyton’s eyes were fixed on the horizon. “That can’t be Rampert’s plane can it?” she asked.
Matt looked up and saw a small, white Sherpa on approach to the airfield. “That looks like the airplane Hellerman told me Ballantine flies.”
Meredith’s voice came back on the phone. “Okay, there are two names that keep popping up. One is Martin Fierman. He lives in Atlanta and teaches nanotechnology at Georgia Tech. Big physics background, and then he branched into computers and digits and so forth.” She gave him the number.
“And the next?” Matt asked.
“Well, this is different, but his name is Samuel Werthstein. He is described as a leading mind in biotech and nanotech, and has recently branched solely into nanotechnology with an emphasis on using digits to replicate insect behavior.”
“Bingo,” Matt said.
“Bingo, what?” Meredith asked.
“That’s who I’m looking for. Where is he?”
“Well, the Internet has got him listed as being an adjunct at the University of Vermont.”
“This starts making more sense by the minute,” Matt said, eyeing the Sherpa. They were less than a mile from the runway.
Meredith gave him the phone number, which Matt repeated to Peyton, who dutifully scribbled it down. “He also has an extensive background in entomology — you know, the study of insects.”
“Okay, gotta run, here, but one last question,” Matt said, negotiating the parking lot and hearing the distinct pop-pop of small arms fire. “Is there a picture of him on any of those Web sites?” Then he motioned to Peyton to reload the shotgun. She needed no instruction as she opened the box of shells and clicked them one at a time into the receiver.
“Of course, I’m looking at one right now. Looks like a typical absent-minded professor, like Albert Einstein.”
“Matt, we’re taking fire!” Peyton shouted.
He shut the cell off and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, pulling hard on the steering wheel to drive toward a small building that would provide cover.
Machine-gun fire chewed the right front fender of the truck as Peyton dove into Matt’s lap, avoiding a spray of bullets that shattered the windows on the passenger side. Without losing control, Matt veered left off the side of the road and into the ditch running alongside.
Matt dove from the truck, pulling Peyton through the driver’s-side door, which afforded them the most protection.
“How the hell do these guys know where we are all the time?” Peyton shouted.
They scrambled into a small culvert that gave them cover from the bullets zipping past them like angry hornets. They were safe, for now, but it was a precarious position. All someone needed to do was get onto the second floor of the hangar, and their location would be exposed.
“Bees, that’s how,” Matt said.
A burst of machine-gun fire spit dirt into their faces.
“We can’t stay here for long,” he said, pushing Peyton into the dirt. “They know we’re here, and it’s only a matter of time before they maneuver on us.”
They moved farther down the ditch and hunkered down against the fire aimed at them from over one hundred yards away. The shotgun was completely useless.
More bullets gnawed at the top of the road that separated them from the flight-line warehouse.
“Bees? What the hell are you talking about?” Peyton asked.
The cell phone rang. It was Meredith.
“Matt, Rampert’s five minutes out with an MC-130. He says it’s a small airfield and wants you to mark it for him.”
“We’re in a firefight here, Meredith,” Matt said. “That airplane needs to land quickly and be careful. Tell Rampert there are about five tangos shooting at us from the west side of the large runway hangar. He’ll need to get a team into the hangar right away. If he has any kind of escort, they can provide some covering fire.”
“No escort right now. Every fighter plane flying right now is protecting critical targets around the country.”
The cynic in him registered immediately that he was not considered a critical target. He smiled and said, “Just give him the intel. He’ll know what to do. Ballantine’s airplane might be in there, too.” He hung up.
They continued to take fire, though it was not well aimed.
He rolled over in the dirt and looked at Peyton lying next to him. She was dirty and tired, but he noticed her steely resolve, which had been consistent throughout their ordeal for the last twenty-four hours. She looked at him.
“What?” Peyton asked.
“You seeing anyone?”
“Come again?” she said, looking up into the top of the mound as dirt spilled onto her face from a burst of machine-gun fire.
Matt shrugged and looked away. As always, when under pressure, he saw no point in fretting over that which he could do nothing about until an opportunity presented itself. They were pinned down and surely the bad guys would run out of ammunition, get bored and give up, or advance upon them. Matt was betting on the third option. Until that time, unsure why, he found himself uncharacteristically attracted to this enigma playing army with him.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“I figured we’d start slowly, you know. Maybe dinner and a movie—”
“I’m talking about—”
A loud explosion interrupted Peyton’s protest.
Matt looked at her and said, “Okay, that’s the diversion. I figure there are three men providing cover fire for one or two others maneuvering on our position. This shotgun is totally useless until someone gets within fifty yards of me. The warehouse is about three times that. I have four shells in this weapon. I’ll use one or two on the attacker or attackers that try to root us out of this hole. That will leave two or three for the enemy in the building. If Rampert gets here, fine. If not… well, then, we have to think of something else.”
“Ever consider the possibility that there might be more than a few of these crazies out there?” Peyton asked.
“This is suppressive fire intended to keep our heads down so we don’t see them moving on our position here. As soon as you hear a large volume of fire, it will mean that the team has reached their assault position and is about to move the final distance across the open ground. Probably from the left, over there near the woods. When you hear the fire from the building stop, that’s when you know they are within fifty yards, because they won’t risk shooting their own guys.” Matt pointed at the north side of the ditch, where he and Peyton could see the tips of a wooded area just above the top lip of their protective ground.