Losenko doubted the explosion was accidental. But who was responsible? The Chinese and their allies? The human collaborators? Skynet? The Resistance had too many enemies. For a second, he even wondered if maybe Ivanov had launched one of the Gorshkov’s cruise missiles at the summit.
Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself. Alexei is angry, not insane.
The library door banged open. Corporal Ortega— accompanied by two armed security guards—burst into the library.
“General Ashdown!” the pilot called out through the dusty haze. An M-16 was cradled in her arms. “Are you all right?”
Ashdown patted himself down.
“Looks like it,” he said brusquely. He squinted at Losenko, quickly ascertaining that the Russian was intact as well, before getting straight to business. “Sitrep... now!”;
“A bomb, sir!” Ortega reported breathlessly. “On the roof. It took out our primary communications and radar arrays.” Her agitated voice crept up an octave. “We’ve been sabotaged!”
“No shit,” Ashdown replied. “We’ve got a goddamn mole in our midst. Maybe more than one.”
Ortega beckoned from the doorway.
“We need to get you out of here, sir. The roof’s on fire. This whole building could go up.”
The pilot wasn’t exaggerating. Smoke began to seep into the library. Losenko heard flames crackling overhead. Weakened rafters creaked ominously. He tugged on his collar; the room was already feeling uncomfortably warm. A smoke alarm went off, hurting his ears. The high-pitched squeal made it seem like the center itself was screaming in pain.
“Understood.” Ashdown scooped up the nearest maps and reports and thrust them carelessly into a battered leather valise. He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting something important. “All right, let’s go.” He nodded toward the newly appointed Russian general. “Losenko, you’re with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Losenko was concerned about Utyosov and Sergeant Fokin, but now wasn’t the time to go searching for them. He would have to hope that his fellow Russians could look after themselves. On impulse, he snatched the red armband from where it had landed on the floor, and slipped it over his sleeve. “I’m ready.”
The guards, each toting an M-16, led the way as they rushed out of the burning building. Losenko reached for his own pistol, then remembered that he had surrendered it earlier. He scowled, unhappy to be without a weapon at such a moment. What if the saboteurs intended further mischief?
“General,” he reminded Ashdown, “I am unarmed.”
Ashdown instantly grasped his predicament.
“Corporal!” he barked at Ortega. “Give General Losenko your sidearm.”
“General?” Ortega did a double take, but handed over the weapon without hesitation. “Here you go, skipper.”
The Glock automatic pistol fit comfortably into Losenko’s grip. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
The party scurried off the front porch onto the boardwalk. The sun was sinking in the west, and twilight was creeping across the island. Losenko paused to look back at the research station. Bright orange flames ascended from the shingled roof. The satellite dishes and antennae were nothing but mangled metal, obscured by the smoke and flames. Alarmed delegates and their bodyguards ran from the building; Losenko searched for Utyosov and Fokin, but did not see them.
A fire crew hustled to put out the blaze. Ashdown looked like he was tempted to join them, but thought better of it.
“My sub, the Wilmington, is docked down at the bay,” he said. “We need to get it away from here. This island isn’t safe anymore.”
Losenko had thoroughly studied Santa Cruz on the way to the summit. As he recalled, the anchorage was about 2.5 kilometers away. The island’s only paved road connected the research center with the port of Puerto Ayora.
“I can drive you, sir,” Ortega volunteered. “My jeep is parked nearby.”
“You’ve got yourself a fare, Corporal.” He strode past her decisively, and motioned to the Russian. “Let’s get going.”
Before they could head for the parking lot, however, the base’s anti-aircraft units boomed into action. A pair of Avenger air defense systems, mounted atop a pair of modified Humvees, fired a round of Stinger missiles into the sky.
“Incoming!” came the shout, and a soldier pointed northwest into the setting sun. “We have company!”
A low hum, like a swarm of angry bees, came from above. Losenko looked up to see an unmanned aerial vehicle—less sophisticated than the Hunter-Killer prototype Ashdown had warned of before—soaring toward them at a high altitude. Missiles were mounted to the underside of its wings. It took Losenko only a moment to identify the aircraft as one of the U.S. military’s new radio-controlled drones. A Predator maybe, or a Reaper. Both, he knew, had been designed to target suspected terrorist bases.
“Crap!” Ashdown exclaimed. “That used to be one of ours!”
The UAV unleashed its lethal payload. A hellfire missile rocketed downward at the blazing research station, which possessed a fiery signature that made it almost impossible to miss. A thunderous explosion destroyed the structure in an instant. A tremendous blast of heat knocked Losenko to the ground. Flaming shrapnel whistled above him. He threw his hands over his head. Less than a meter away, Ashdown cried out in pain. Screams and curses came from closer to the blast.
The fire crew, Losenko realized.
He lifted his head and looked back at what had once been the Charles Darwin Research Station. The building had been razed to its foundation; nothing of the facility remained. Dead and injured soldiers littered the charred cactus garden and boardwalk. One of the Humvees had overturned, its gunner trapped beneath it. A guardsman was on fire. He threw himself onto the ground and rolled about, shrieking, while another soldier worked frantically to douse the flames.
Losenko prayed that Utyosov and Fokin had not lingered behind to wait for him. The remaining Avenger swiveled its turret, trying to catch the UAV in its sights. Another Stinger rocketed into the sky.
“Damnit!” Ashdown cursed, rising from the splintered ruins of the boardwalk. A flying shard of glass had carved a crescent-shaped gash near his left eye. Blood streamed down his face; another centimeter and he would have lost the eye itself. “First, they took out our radar. Then they caught us with our pants down. The goddamn machines knew just what they were doing!”
A Stinger finally nailed the UAV. The primitive Hunter-Killer exploded in the sky. Metal debris was scattered like hail across the island. Ragged cheers erupted from the soldiers who were still standing.
Ortega helped Losenko to his feet.
“This way, sir!” she called to Ashdown and his guards. “There could be more on the way!”
Losenko hated leaving the injured and the dying behind, but the pilot was right. Where there was one Predator, there could be another. With the station’s radar reduced to molten slag, they would have little warning of another sortie. He limped after the others, his eyes scanning the horizon for flying Hunter-Killers. Would his throbbing ears even hear them humming?
They made it to the parking lot, about fifty meters from the ruins of the science station. An eclectic assortment of vehicles, from pickup trucks to motorcycles, filled the lot. Ortega pointed toward an olive-colored Jeep at the far end of the pavement. She let out a sigh of relief.
“Almost there!”
Good, Losenko thought. He had twisted his leg when he fell. He looked forward to getting off his feet and back to sea where he belonged. Perhaps the Wilmington could arrange to rendevous with the Gorshkov far from these dangerous islands?