"Stand by," the weapons officer announced. "Clear the firing deck."
The report came back. "Firing deck clear."
The weapons officer turned to the captain. "All systems green. Ready to fire, sir."
"Fire," the captain ordered.
The weapons officer flipped up the cover on a switch and threw the lever underneath. On the forecastle, the cover blew open on the Tomahawk's silo and it leapt out. The missile dropped slightly, then the rocket kicked in even stronger and the telephone-pole-sized missile roared away to the southwest.
At Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri, a helicopter landed on the runway, two hundred feet from a waiting B-2 bomber. Armed guards jumped out of the chopper, weapons at the ready. Ordnance personnel from the airbase ran up and pulled a large plastic case out of the chopper.
One of the men helping carry the case to the bomber was new to both his job and the Air Force, having just graduated his basic training a few weeks previously. He glanced over the top of the metal casing at his partner. "Hey, what's the big deal with this? Why all the guards?"
The other airman nodded his head at the case. "See those symbols on the side?"
"Yeah."
"That means there's a 'special' in there."
"A special? What's that."
"A nuclear weapon, you dumb shit."
The navigator-bombardier from the B-2 was waiting underneath the plane. He supervised the uncrating of the bomb and the loading inside the bowels of the bomber. He then hooked up all the required attachments.
"What's the flight time from here to the target?" the pilot asked him.
"If we go straight shot, about twenty-five minutes," the nav-bomb said. "But we're to fly to a hold point and wait for further orders."
The pilot hit a switch that slowly closed the black doors. "Man, I hope this is an exercise."
Drake smiled at the computer screen. He tapped McKenzie and spoke quietly. "I have confirmation of the cruise missile firing."
"Do you have payload control?" McKenzie asked in the same low tone.
"It's on the frequency Kilten specified."
"Very good," McKenzie said. "Time to go pick up our package." He pointed at the laptop. "Let's unhook that, Mister Drake. I'll take care of the destruct hardware."
On the far right console a red light began blinking, unnoticed in the scurry of activity. On the screen that displayed the thermal imaging from the Omega Missile silo, two small, round warm dots were in the vicinity of the gate to the compound. These too went unnoticed.
Thorpe rolled on his back and aimed his pistol. He fired and the lock on the gate to the compound blew apart. Thorpe pushed the gates slightly apart and crawled in, Parker following.
Thorpe quickened his pace, expecting a Humvee to come tearing up at any moment. He reached the concrete lip of the silo. The massive concrete doors were open wide and scorched. Thorpe looked down. The silo was empty, the walls black and sooty.
Thorpe slid over the large concrete block that made up one half of the lid. There was a thin lip surrounding the circular opening, where the massive doors used to rest. Thorpe threw aside the thermal blanket and looked around. Both doors appeared threatening, balanced, as if they might fall and crush him any second.
Parker joined him. "We made it!"
Thorpe looked down at her. "And now?" The only way down was to jump from the concrete ledge, about twelve feet out and five feet down, to a metal ladder. If he missed, he'd fall eighty feet to the bottom of the silo.
"Where's the access panel to this crawlway?" Thorpe asked.
"At the bottom."
"Of course," Thorpe said drily. "You see any way down? Other than falling."
"The maintenance ladder?"
"That's what I was afraid of."
Thorpe let go of the edge and extended one hand. "Ladies first."
"Oh, thanks." Parker didn't say another word, but surprised Thorpe by suddenly jumping. Her hands slammed on the top rung, slipped past, caught the second rung, held for a second then slipped again. She desperately grabbed the third rung and held.
"I was just joking," Thorpe offered as Parker caught her breath, hooking her arms through the ladder.
"Ha, ha," Parker said. "Your turn." Parker climbed down a few more rungs.
Thorpe jumped and caught the top rung. Parker immediately began climbing down.
Eight miles away, six hundred feet in the air, a Cobra gunship banked hard. Below it, a civilian Bell Jet Ranger was flying toward Barksdale Air Force Base.
Newsfour was written on the side in large letters.
The Cobra pilot keyed his radio as he pulled up next to the civilian chopper. "Bell Jet Ranger, this is Cobra One. You are entering restricted airspace. You are to turn back immediately."
"This isn't restricted on any flight chart I've got," the civilian pilot replied.
"You have ten seconds to turn or you will be fired on."
Inside the chopper, the reporter in the right side spoke on the radio through his headset. "We know you people are up to something. You're evacuating everyone from this area. People saw the explosion. Has there been an accident with one of the nuclear weapons stored out here? We have the right—"
A string of tracers came out of the 7.62-mm minigun on the nose of the Cobra and flew across the front of the Bell Jet Ranger.
The Cobra pilot wasn't elegant, but he got his point across. "The next burst will be up your ass." The Cobra turned and was flying sideways, minigun pointed right at the cockpit of the other aircraft.
"They're serious," the news chopper pilot said. "I’m getting the hell out of here!" The Bell Jet Ranger banked hard and headed back the way it had come.
"Thorpe's got to be in on it," Hill insisted. "Why else would Kilten have put him there? He's in the right place at the right time."
Lowcraft had spent the last several minutes looking at Kilten's classified file, ignoring the arguing going on around him. He also had a copy of Parker's file. Finally he looked up. "Thorpe's another piece on the board," he said. "As is Parker."
"What?" Hill was puzzled.
"It's beginning to make sense now. Kilten's a chess master. This is the greatest game of his life and he's arranged the board. Thorpe is a piece. So is Parker. Both were handpicked." Lowcraft was nodding. "And I don't think Thorpe or Parker even know they're pieces. I don't believe either one is in on it, as you put it, but they are a part of it."
"Bullshit," Hill sputtered. "Thorpe and McKenzie were on that mission together. It can't just be coincidence that they're in the same place in Louisiana."
"I just told you," Lowcraft said, "that it's not coincidence. Thorpe is there on purpose; the question is, what is that purpose?" Lowcraft tapped the report. "Kilten is doing this for what he views as a good reason. McKenzie might have different goals, but it is very clear what Kilten's are. Somehow Thorpe fits into this. Kilten wanted Thorpe and his team close by when this went down. Hell, maybe Kilten wants to fail. He gets just as much publicity either way. Parker has a role to play also, I just don't know what it is yet."
Hill didn't have time for psychological delving. "Well, it really doesn't matter much either way at this point. Launch the aircraft."
Lowcraft looked up from the folders to Hill. "If Kilten loaded the board, he also picked the timing of this for a purpose."
"So?" Hill tapped his fingers impatiently on the desktop.
"That means you and I are pieces also," General Lowcraft said.
"Launch the aircraft, General."