“No, I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’m staying with him.”
The Snow Maiden drew back her shoulders, and for a moment, Chopra thought she would shoot the poor boy.
“I told you to come with me.”
“No!”
She raised her pistol, thought it over, muttered something under her breath, then took off, running.
“Hussein, come here,” said Chopra.
The boy limped over and took Chopra’s hand. “I’m sorry for what I did.” His voice was muffled by his helmet, so Chopra had to prick up his ears.
“You’re hurt?”
“Only a bruise. She shot my armor.”
“Listen to me. I want to tell you about the dreams your father had for this country, for our country. We don’t have much time, and I want to share them with you.”
Hussein began to weep. “I should have listened to you.”
“It’s not too late.”
“She has all the gold. The oil.”
“But she hasn’t escaped yet. I know they’re coming for her. So it’s not too late.”
“Okay.”
Chopra took a deep breath that hurt. “Your father drove me out to the desert one afternoon. We walked one hour away from the car, and then he lifted his hands to the sky and said, ‘Manoj, when I close my eyes I don’t see the sand anymore. I see an empire.’”
TWENTY-FOUR
“Ghost Lead, this is Daugherty. I’ve taken my squad along the south side of the tower, moving toward the Silver one, but take a look at this…”
The image appeared in Brent’s HUD, and Daugherty zoomed in. Through the somewhat grainy green of night vision came a flash that lit up a group of combatants hunkered down near a small bridge facing one of the Almas Tower’s garages. The combatants, about ten or twelve, were dressed all in dark colors and wearing balaclavas. Daugherty panned to show that they were trading fire with one of the Russian BTR crews and two Spetsnaz troopers.
“Can’t ID them yet,” Daugherty continued, “but they’re laying down some nice fire on the Russians.”
“Haussler’s got somebody on his tail. His enemies are our friends,” said Brent.
“And that’s not all of them, sir. Two other squads just showed up. Got about thirty or forty of them now.”
“Do what you can to make contact. Let’s see who they are. Offer to hire them. You know the drill.”
“Roger that. Money talks, sir. Just be careful when you come around.”
“Brent, did you call for help?” asked Juma.
“No,” said Brent. “But they came anyway, come on.”
Lakota took point this time, leading them around the other side of the building. When they reached the corner, she checked the area, then gave the signal. They darted across the street, reached the next building, and traversed the shadows beside it, and then Brent leapfrogged past her to the next corner. From there he spied the Silver Tower.
“Ghost Lead, are you there, over?”
“Wait,” Brent called as a window opened in his HUD. “I’m here, buddy, what do you got?”
Schleck had tucked himself into a narrow maintenance hallway running adjacent to one of the vault tunnels.
“I’m hidden here,” he whispered into his microphone — even though they probably couldn’t hear him. “Voeckler’s right behind me.”
Forklifts weighed down heavily with gold bricks hummed on by, one after another. Brent counted four in all, and he couldn’t believe how many bricks they were hauling out of there. Just seeing gold piled up that way was surreal; the pallets might as well be props from a movie set.
“This is the third trip already,” said Schleck. “If you guys don’t get down here soon, they’ll get away with all of it. They’re making very good progress, up and down the elevator and back again.”
“I hear you, Schleck. Just sit tight, man. You’re doing a great job.”
“Sir, this is Remus,” called Voeckler. “Still no uplink with the satellite but I’ve just reestablished contact with the Florida.”
Another data window opened in Brent’s HUD. Commander Andreas stood on the submarine’s bridge, rubbing his chin in thought. “Captain Brent, are you there? I’m afraid I’ve only got audio contact on my end. Video is breaking up.”
“I’m here, sir, and sir? I could use a favor.”
“Better make it a quick one. We’re being called out of the strait.”
“All right, here’s what I have in mind…”
The Snow Maiden marched forward with Chen Yi to her right, another of his special forces sergeants to her left. They moved directly toward Haussler, who was approaching with a trio of his own troops, their weapons leveled on her.
“Stop right there,” she told him. “Take off your helmet.”
“Why, Viktoria, what is this? Don’t you trust me?”
She shook her head.
He grinned.
And Lucifer himself had taught Haussler how to smile.
As he removed his helmet, she did the same, and Chen Yi looked at her. The gas canisters that had been ignited by the Americans were still billowing, but they were at the far end of the tunnel. The air was still clean, but not for much longer.
She moved toward Haussler, reached him, grabbed him by the back of the head, and kissed him deeply while reaching around and grabbing his ass. She shoved her tongue down his throat, and the German responded in kind, groaning softly.
Then, as quickly, she ripped herself away. “You get the rest later. For now, you come with me in my trucks. I want all your men. There will be a ship waiting for us at Mina Jebel Ali, far south side of the port. Order your drivers to head back to the airport.” She checked her watch. “In about ten minutes a Chinese cargo plane will touch down. You have them drive right onto the plane. I’ll make sure it’s all arranged.”
Haussler chuckled under his breath. “Viktoria, it sounds like you have been planning this all along.”
“You always plan two escape routes,” she said with a smirk. “What I didn’t plan on was you.”
At that moment, she whirled, and knowing exactly where to aim, she put a bullet in Chen Yi’s neck and another in the sergeant’s. Both men dropped, gasping.
Haussler’s men confiscated their weapons.
She spun back to face the German. “Tell your men to kill the rest of them when they’re finished loading.”
“So you prove your loyalty.”
“And you prove yours. It’s me and you. No one else, okay?” She raised a brow.
He grabbed her once more and kissed her again, his breath quickening.
She pulled away. “Let’s go.”
Without warning the concrete floor began to rumble, and what sounded like a violent earthquake began to rip through the tunnel. A crack splintered up the wall ahead, growing into multiple veins and arteries, and then chunks of rock began falling away even as Haussler cried out to his men and all of them sprinted on wobbly legs.
A pair of thunderclaps struck, followed by another pair, and then she realized what was happening.
Brent, Lakota, Juma, and the Javelin guy, who had since abandoned his weapon, had reached the entrance to the Silver Tower’s parking garage — all of ten seconds before the first pair of Tomahawk missiles struck the Goldcrest tower, blasting off huge sections that came raining down in a horrific storm of glass, concrete, insulation, and support struts.
The men in the BTR below never saw it coming.
And as they vanished beneath the massive pile of debris, a second pair of Tomahawks struck the Lake Terrace Tower rising just north of the Almas. The missiles hammered into the skyscraper about two-thirds of the way up and exploded with such force that a portion of the remaining third simply fell away.