“Can’t … breathe … ,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Top reached up to grab the steering wheel and pulled his weight away from her. He heard her gasp in a lungful of air.
“Better,” she said, but her voice was weak.
“I’m going to climb out. Got to see what’s what. I’ll be back for you.”
“I … I’m good,” she said without conviction.
Top reached up with his other hand, taking the knobbed wheel in both fists, then set his teeth and pulled. It was like doing a chin-up through a junk-cluttered manhole, and the strain on his muscles was incredible. Particularly on his left side, which had only recently healed from injuries from a mission down in the Bahamas back in August. As he pulled himself up he could feel the burn along the newly healed ribs and barely knit muscle in his shoulder. Top set his teeth against the pain and hauled.
“Top!”
He looked up as a big shadow moved above him, blocking out the sky. Bunny’s face was streaked with dust and lines of blood, but his eyes were clear. He reached a hand down and knotted his fist in the front of Top’s combat vest, then with a grunt like an angry bear reared back and hauled Top out of the Humvee as easily as Top might pull out a child. The huge muscles in the big young man’s arms swelled like ripe melons as Bunny … pulled. Top caught the edge of the frame and hoisted himself onto the side of the vehicle.
“You may be ugly, Farmboy, but right now I could kiss you.”
“Buy me dinner and a movie first, old man.” He wiped sweat from his eyes. Top’s trembling fingers fumbled for his sidearm, but Bunny said, “We’re not under fire, Top. No hostiles. No nothing.”
“Got to get DeeDee out.”
Bunny bowed down and thrust his head and shoulders into the Humvee. “Hey … DeeDee … how we doing down there?”
“Just fine. I’m down here doing my fucking nails.”
Bunny snorted and took the hands that she reached up to him and pulled her out. She and Top hopped down onto the ground, dazed and unsteady.
“Report,” gasped Top.
Bunny crouched atop the Humvee. “We’re not under fire. This isn’t an active attack. Khalid’s winded. I landed on top of him. Smith’s good.” His blue eyes were hard as diamonds. “Top, Ricky and Snake were inside when it blew.”
Top closed his eyes.
Ricky Gomez had been with Echo for three months, the longest active service besides Bunny. He’d proven himself in half a dozen tough assignments. But … Snake. God. This was only Snake’s third day on the job. His first field op.
He was only inside because he lost a coin toss.
“Is Smith on-point?”
“Yeah,” said Bunny. “His weapon was damaged in the blast, but I gave him mine and he’s watching our asses. Sat phone’s toast, but we have team radio. Smith’s on channel two.”
Top spit blood out of his mouth and tapped his commlink to the channel. “Rock to Chatterbox, come in.”
“Go for Chatterbox,” said Smith quietly. The link was bad, full of static.
“What’ve you got?”
“Zero movement, zero hostiles.”
“ETA on fire and rescue.”
There was a pause. “From where?”
“From the main damn building,” Top snapped, but then he caught Bunny’s eye. The big man shook his head, then nodded past the end of the overturned Humvee. Top staggered away from the vehicle and looked past it. The Locust hangar had been at the edge of the complex, the outermost of eleven buildings. Most of the buildings were empty as the base dwindled toward complete decommission, but there was a security shack, crews quarters, and the aeronautics lab. Four active buildings and seventy staff.
Or … there should have been.
Now all there was, as far as the eye could see, was burning rubble and towers of smoke that rose to the sky like the pillars of hell.
Area 51 had been wiped off the face of the earth.
Part Two
Driving Force
How can any act done under compulsion have any moral element in it, seeing that what is moral is the free act of an intelligent being?
—AUBERON HERBERT
Chapter Twenty
Barrier Headquarters
Agincourt Road, London
December 18, 8:41 A.M. GMT
Mr. Church’s phone rang. He looked at the screen display and saw that it was his aide. Sergeant Dietrich knew that he was in a meeting with Barrier and the Home Secretary and would never interrupt unless it was an emergency.
Church excused himself and stepped into the hall as he thumbed on the phone.
“Boss,” Dietrich said in a fierce whisper, “Lucky Team and Echo Team have been hit.” He quickly told Church about Area 51.
“God Almighty,” whispered Church. “Is there anything to indicate that this is a Seven Kings event?”
“Not so far, but we don’t have investigators on the scene yet. I called the Casino. They’re pretty rattled, but they’ve scrambled some choppers.”
“Notify all stations to go to Level One Crisis Alert.”
“You want me to come get you?”
“Yes, but then we have to pick up Captain Ledger. The situation in Scotland looks like it’s going south on us.”
“Christ. What the hell’s happening, Boss? Three Level Ones in twenty-four hours?”
“The Seven Kings are making their move.”
“But what move?”
Church didn’t answer. Instead he gave Dietrich a string of orders and then hung up.
Church stood in the empty hallway for two minutes as he worked it out in his head. Then he made several calls. The first was to the President of the United States. The second was to Aunt Sallie at the Hangar to apprise her of the situation.
Then he dialed the number for Hugo Vox.
“Deacon?” said Vox. “You get a break on the London thing?”
“We have a new situation, Hugo,” Church said, and quickly outlined the problem.
“Ah … Christ! Is this more of the Seven Kings bullshit?”
“Too soon to tell, but it seems likely.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Has your think tank come up with anything?”
“Nothing useful, but they’re hard at it. Bug’s been feeding us intel, but no one’s come up with a good reason why that hospital should have been targeted.”
“I was hoping for more by now, Hugo.”
“I can go beat them with chains, Deke … but it won’t make them think any faster. We need more data. Can I tell them about Area 51?”
“Yes, but if you do then the team has to be sequestered for the duration of the crisis. That could be hours, days, or weeks.”
“They’re not going to like that.”
“Imagine how much I care.”
Vox snorted. “Okay. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Church said. “Is Circe still at T-Town?”
“No, the good Dr. O’Tree is in London. I’ve had her working on security for that silly boat ride thing for the last couple of months. Goddamn waste of resources.”
“You disapprove of the Sea of Hope?”
“Of its intent? No, of course not, but they’ve asked for so damn much security that every agency is coming up short and my own crew is spread pretty thin. Bad damn timing for all this other shit to hit the fan.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“And with the Hospital attack, the Brits are not only not thinking of canceling it; they’ve asked for more security. Shit, Deke, the Chinese army couldn’t penetrate that thing. And it’s only rock and roll.”
“It’s an opportunist’s dream hit. It’s the Prince of England and a lot of other celebrities.”