“Can’t do it, sir,” Starkovich replied. “There’s too much depending on my unit.”
Morris picked up two important details from the man’s response. First, his comportment suggested he was military-trained and therefore a professional. And second, judging from the strain in the man’s voice, he could tell the shooter had been hit. I’ve got the advantage.
“Whatever your mission, it’s over,” Morris said. “You’ve been hit; I can hear it in your voice. I’ve been tracking you guys since the Quantum job. You’re done…give it up.”
“Sorry, sir, I’ve got to take this all the way. It’s just you against two of us and I’ve got the high ground.”
“That may be, but reinforcements are on the way,” Morris lied, buying time. “You can’t win.”
“We’ll see about that, sir.”
Damnit! Where’s the other guy?
SIXTY-SEVEN
Fort Knox Depository
Everything was in place: Terry Ventura completed the overhead electrical connection and the antigravity machine was ready to power up; Mills had the computers running and the microwave dish was extended and focused on the closest perimeter guard tower; the initiation sequence was the last step to complete. On Kilmer’s order, Mills began turning the large orange dial and the nuclear core started spinning inside the generator housing. Jarrod Conrad had only to enable the flow of gravitrons with his laptop equations. History was about to be made.
“Righto, yer on, Professor,” Kilmer said, roughly grabbing Jarrod’s arm and forcefully dragging him toward the control console. “No bullshit! Ya squib out, and yer rellies are dead.”
“I know, Chief,” Jarrod scoffed, unable to simply acquiesce to Kilmer’s insufferable bullying. “I promised to cooperate…that’s my intention.”
Then Jarrod raised his eyebrows, looking excited. “Actually, I’m just as interested as anyone to see if the antigravity generator you boys fashioned will handle the load. As I’ve said, there’s no empirical evidence to support how the machine will respond. We could be signing a death warrant for everyone within fifty miles of this base.”
“Whatever, wisearse…git yer bum to work,” Kilmer said, figuring this was Conrad’s last-ditch effort to drag his feet. He grabbed Conrad by the collar, speaking loudly over the din of the machine. “Just like we planned-first, blast the fencin’ to cripple the guard towers. Then clock the buildin’. Give it all she’s got…flatten everythin’. When ya spot the dumper, clear a path to the vault. If the bludger won’t open, keep blastin’ ’til she does. Git me, Professor?”
“Perfectly. Now leave me be…” Jarrod replied, brushing back Kilmer’s grip and stepping onto the ladder. You bet your ass we’re clear. Wait ’til he gets a load of what’s coming…
Jarrod arrived at the console and waited for Mills to vacate the seat. As he did so, Rafie Nuzam whispered something in his ear. It sounded like: “Do as you’re told…don’t worry…help is on the way.”
Jarrod paused, looking quizzical, unsure if he’d heard right. This man had never once shown any reticence to carrying out Kilmer’s demands. How was it that he would now be offering encouragement? Jarrod figured he must surely have mistaken his comment. But as he opened his mouth to question what the man said, Rafie placed a surreptitious finger to his lips, warning against further discussion.
“Do your job now, Professor. Don’t hold anything back,” Rafie said loudly with an indiscernible wink.
Jarrod was more confused than ever. He could have sworn the man said ‘help is on the way’… but he’s still encouraging me to do all I can with the machine?
Jarrod sat behind the console and began surveying the multiple dials and technical information spewing from the computer’s sequencing mechanism. The focal array and actuating arm on the dish were pointed squarely at the closest guard tower. With a few minor calculations he was about to send a stream of gravitrons and tons of gravitational force down upon the men in this tower. The lives of Sela and Ryan’s family were at stake-he had only one choice. God help me. I’ll make Kilmer pay for this.
Mills had linked the laptop containing the proprietary equations into the main computer. Conrad began tuning the orange and green dials, adjusting the spin and the electrical throughput to the nuclear core. When he did so, the core cycles began spinning faster and the same audible low-pitched hum indicated gravitrons were beginning to flow. He turned the main dial incrementally, increasing the intensity while at the same time keeping a steady eye on the central monitor. This showed that the beam of gravitrons was focused squarely at the guard tower.
Suddenly, a flurry of activity erupted from the towers-sparks flew, lasers randomly cut across the landscape, and staccato machinegun fire spit lead in random directions. The vaunted Fort Knox surveillance system was under attack. The depository was brilliantly illuminated with millions of lumens of bright light, hidden sensors programmatically scanning for the source of the breach.
As previously planned, when the first guard tower had been decimated, Jarrod now expanded the aperture of the device so the wave of positive gravitrons would pressurize the entire front of the complex. A few mathematical adjustments later and Jarrod turned up the intensity to three-quarter throttle, the beam refocusing, resulting in an even bigger response.
The outcome was staggering: Dozens of hidden landmines and gun emplacements were activated by the increased gravitational pressure. The landmines exploded in a magnificent shower of energy. The area around the depository was still lit, and shrieking high-decibel sirens pierced the night air. There was no doubt the depository was under heavy attack.
“Stark, mobilize…I repeat, mobilize…” Kilmer said, giving the command for the transport team to advance. “The op’s goin’ down now…confirm.”
There was a long, unexpected pause. It was uncharacteristic of Starkovich not to immediately confirm the message. “Stark, confirm, goddamnit…mobilize yer arse now!”
“No joy…I repeat, no joy. I’m pinned down, Boss,” came Stark’s unwelcome response.
Kilmer felt like he’d been hit by a sledgehammer. He couldn’t believe his ears. No joy was their code for being under heavy fire, trapped, or unable to respond as planned. His forces were cut off; the mission was blown. More troubling was the deadly realization that even with an immediate evacuation, there was no way to outrun a heavily armed assault in the Peterbilt. They were sitting ducks. Fuckin’ Holloway. We’re dead.
Ryan Marshall was speeding toward the Fort Knox security gate in sheer panic. He feared he was too late-the invasion had already begun. The sky ahead was ablaze with showers of multicolored explosions reminiscent of an Independence Day fireworks display.
He bolted out of the vehicle, rushing to the guardhouse, giving every appearance of a man who had lost his mind.
A startled MP stepped from the guardhouse and held Ryan at gunpoint. The guards couldn’t fathom yet another demand for entry so close on the heels of the past two incidents; the top-secret delivery and then the DOD agents were clearly enough excitement for one night. They were in no mood for Ryan’s reckless frontal assault, irrespective of whatever role he might have in the exercise.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” the MP ordered, having drawn his weapon to assess this latest threat.
“Listen to me!” Ryan screamed. “The base is under attack! The men you just let through have a machine to steal the gold,” he ranted. “This isn’t a joke…you’ve got to believe me. There’s no time…come with me, please…see for yourself, ” he pleaded.
The MP didn’t budge or hesitate. He kept his weapon aimed steadily at Ryan’s chest. “It’s a training exercise, sir. We know all about it. A major brought the load through. General Hershey authorized the whole thing. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but you won’t get past this gate,” he announced, looking like he had every intention of stopping Ryan regardless of the amount of force necessary.