Lowcraft turned to Hill, who promptly picked up the red phone to get ahold of the president. While the national security adviser was doing that, Lowcraft began issuing orders to evacuate those towns and to contact the mayor of New Orleans.
An army officer near the front of the room stood up. "Sir, what about the Special Forces team? They're ready to jump!"
"They already knew there would be a nuclear weapon inbound," Lowcraft said. "They have to try."
"Order in the Stealth and B-2," Hill suddenly said, hanging up the phone.
"What for?" Lowcraft demanded.
"Just in case," Hill said. "This launch could be an attempt by Kilten to stop us from attacking. We need to keep control."
"Control?" Lowcraft snorted.
"You said this ICBM would take thirty minutes to go up and then come down and impact?" Hill asked. When he received an affirmative nod, he continued. "And our aircraft can attack in twenty minutes from where they are now, correct? Then we gain ten minutes. In that ten minutes there is the possibility that Kilten might launch another missile. I would also think that Kilten and his people will be trying to escape the area in that ten minutes since the money pod will be in that area around that time. We can catch them with our nuke."
General Lowcraft wasn't pleased with that reasoning, but Hill spoke for the president. He gave the order for the Stealth fighter and the B-2 bomber to release from their holding position and head toward the Omega Missile LCC.
"This is nuts," the navigator-bombardier of the B-2 muttered as he received the order to assume a bombing path toward Louisiana. He glanced across at the pilot. "You have any clue what the hell is going on?"
"Same as you do," the pilot said as he turned the bomber out of the racetrack they had been in and followed the Stealth fighter to the south. "We're to take out a hardened position at our target coordinates."
"But what position? Who's there?"
"I don't have any idea," the pilot said.
"We're going to nuke Louisiana?" the nav-bomb still couldn't believe what was happening.
"It's a test. They'll stop us before we drop," the pilot said confidently.
"And if they don't?"
"Then we drop," the pilot said succinctly, "and God alone can help us then."
Inside the cargo bay of the C-130, the loud sound of the engines and the air swirling in the open ramp made normal speech impossible. The crew chief leaned close to Dublowski and pointed at the front of the plane, then at his headset. He took it off and handed it to the team sergeant. Dublowski put it on over his FM plug.
"What's up?" Dublowski said.
The pilot's voice sounded in his ears. "This is Colonel Harrows. We've received word that there's been an ICBM firing from one of the silos around our target. The missile is targeted for the LCC."
"How much time until detonation?"
"Twenty-eight minutes."
"Anything on the B-2 or the Stealth?"
"Negative."
"All right," Dublowski said.
He took off the headset and handed it back to the crew chief. He then spoke to his team on the internal FM net. "There's another nuke inbound at the target area, but if we take the LCC we ought to be able to stop that."
The crew chief held up one finger.
"One minute out," Dublowski said.
Every man got up and disconnected from the console, hooking into their personal oxygen. They all moved toward the ramp, following Dublowski. The light turned green. Dublowski threw himself out into the air, and the entire team followed.
Dublowski assumed the freefall position, back arched, limbs akimbo. He stabilized, then pulled his ripcord. The square chute deployed above him.
"Give me a count," Dublowski said into his mike.
All the men checked in. Dublowski looked at the navigation board strapped to the top of his reserve. "Follow me on a heading of one-four-zero degrees."
The team was staggered above Dublowski. As he turned, they followed in sequence until the team was heading for the Omega Missile LCC.
The lead Zodiac was planed out, cruising at forty knots down the Anaconda. The second, empty one bounced behind it, half the time airborne. McKenzie had Tommy tied to the rope that ran along the top of the pontoon.
"My dad will get you," Tommy said.
"I don't think so," McKenzie replied. He looked at the boy. "You should be thankful. I'm saving your life. This whole area is going to be destroyed by a nuclear bomb in a little while."
"My dad will stop it. That's his job and he's the best at his job."
McKenzie's eyes dropped momentarily from the young boy's, then he turned to the rear of the boat.
"Faster!" As he turned, his pistol caught on the tarp next to him, revealing a green cylinder with helium stenciled on the side. Tommy noticed that and the thick coil of nylon rope that lay underneath the cylinder. McKenzie quickly pulled the tarp back in place, after making sure that neither Drake nor Johnson had noticed. He failed to detect that Tommy had seen what was hidden.
Thorpe and Parker had finally reached the panel leading into the LCC. Thorpe carefully pushed on it and the metal plate moved.
"Where's the control for the guns on the surface?" he asked.
"It's a gray panel on the right-side wall as you go in," Parker said. "About fifteen feet in and four feet off the ground."
"Will we have a clear shot at it?"
"I'm not sure," Parker said. "I doubt it."
"Then we'll have to make one when we go in. You ready?" Thorpe asked.
"Ready," Parker replied, pistol in hand.
Thorpe kicked the panel out and rolled into the control center, firing. He put two rounds into the first man he saw, dropping him. The remaining Canadians reacted with a blast of automatic firepower that pinned Thorpe and Parker behind a metal cabinet. They didn't have a clear shot.
Dublowski could see the surface entrance to the Omega Missile LCC below him. He could also see the two Humvees parked with machine guns manned. He rapidly began giving orders and the staggered formation broke apart as parachutists headed for their targets.
Below them, the Canadian paratroopers scanned the surrounding woods, oblivious to the death winging down from above.
The Tomahawk cruise missile reached the east branch of the Anaconda River and turned left, heading downstream, less than twenty feet above the surface of the water.
Thorpe was returning fire by sticking the muzzle of his MP-5 over the top of the metal cabinet and blindly pulling the trigger. He had no idea where his bullets were going, but he wanted to keep the Canadians occupied.
"Where's the control?" he yelled.
Parker pointed with the muzzle of her gun. "Over there, behind that console. What's the plan now?" she asked.
"We keep them pinned down until my guys get down here."
"Keep them pinned down?" Parker repeated.
Thorpe fired an entire magazine on automatic, then quickly changed magazines. "Yeah, then we take out the panel."
Dublowski landed on the front hood of a Humvee, firing the last ten feet he descended, his rounds smashing into the machine gunner in the turret. He shifted aim and shot the man who was seated in the driver's seat right through the windshield as his feet touched the hood.
One of the other men on Dublowski's team did the same at the other Humvee. In the space of two seconds, the entire security force on the surface was dead. The rest of the SO/NEST team landed, their chutes cut loose and floating free in the wind as the men sprinted into the compound.
One of them spun, weapon at the ready as a man came out of the tree line. "Hold your fire!" Sergeant Everson yelled.