“Torpedoes away!” the weapons officer announced. “Hatches ready to open on Tomahawks when we surface.”
Four MK-48 torpedoes shot out of the tubes and headed… two each… for the foo fighters.
“Bogies bearing in on us,” the sonarman warned. “Torpedoes running true on bogies.”
“Get us to the surface, helm. Weapons, launch as soon as we are up.”
“The shield is down!” Lieutenant Granger’s voice cut across the hubbub of tracking the Tomahawk inside the operations center of the Anzio.
“It’s back up,” he yelled almost immediately.
“What’s going on?” Captain Breuber demanded.
“AWACS has multiple missiles in the air!” one of the radar operators called out.
“From where?” Captain Breuber spun around.
“From Easter Island,” the man replied.
“I thought AWACS blocked the radar.” Breuber looked at Granger.
“They’ve got the frequency it transmits blocked,” Granger said.
“Well, it’s not working.” Breuber leaned over the radar operator. “What are the missiles targeted on?”
“One each on the F-14s on CAP and one for the Tomahawk. A harpoon heading for the Springfield’s location.”
“Get the Tomcats out of there!” Breuber ordered.
“A Phoenix can’t take down a Tomahawk,” Granger said, his voice full of forced confidence. “It’s too fast.”
Breuber was watching the radar. All four F-14s were heading back toward the carrier with afterburners on.
“They’re out of range of the Phoenix,” the radarman announced.
Breuber didn’t move. The four dots representing his aircraft were still being tracked by four dots representing the Phoenixes. The screen showed the Tomahawk was closing on the island, another dot closing on it.
One of the pursuing dots caught a Tomcat. Both blipped out of existence. “Evasive maneuvers!” Breuber yelled into the mike to the pilots of the three remaining craft.
“It’s on me!” a pilot yelled.
Another pair blipped out.
“Eject!” Breuber ordered. Both remaining pairs disappeared.
“Did they get out?” he demanded of the radar operator.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I thought they were out of range.”
“They were, sir.”
“They were of a normal Phoenix.” Breuber was still watching the screen. The Tomahawk was less than forty kilometers from Easter Island. He wasn’t surprised to see the remaining Phoenix close on the cruise missile.
“That’s impossible,” Granger whispered.
The nuclear-tipped Tomahawk was less than twenty kilometers from the shield when the Phoenix overtook it. Both dots disappeared.
“That’s impossible,” Granger repeated.
Captain Breuber rubbed his forehead. “That thing took our weapons and made them better.” He picked up an intercom to the bridge. “I want another hundred kilometers between us and this island. Now! Rank speed! Get ahold of Springfield!”
“We’ve got hits on both bogies!” the weapons officer yelled.
“Target’s destroyed?” Captain Forster demanded.
The sonarman immediately doused the momentary euphoria. “Negative. Both targets are holding, though, not closing.”
“What the hell?” Forster muttered, trying to make sense of the foo fighters’ tactics.
“We’ve got incoming from above!” the sonarman suddenly screamed. “Harpoon, impact in five seconds.”
Every head in the control room looked up, as if they could see the missile coming down toward them. Shoulders tensed as each man waited for the explosion of the warhead, to be followed by the implosion as water rushed in and killed them.
A thud reverberated throughout the ship as the missile struck the top of the submarine’s deck. But there was no explosion. Forster felt blood in his mouth from where he had bit his tongue at the sound. “A dud?”
Relief flooded across the crew’s faces.
A Klaxon sounded, returning the looks of anxiety.
“Status?” Forster spun about to his executive officer.
“Breach in the hull, sir.” The XO was looking at his status boards, his forehead furrowed. “I don’t get it. We’re not taking on any water, but something’s coming through the hull.”
Forster checked the screen himself. The alarm was coming from the hull just above the room in front of the combat center. He strode forward, slipping through the hatch. The men working there were all looking up, but nothing was happening… at first.
Forster’s eyes widened as the metal itself seemed to shimmer, changing from gray to black.
“We have no contact with Springfield, sir!” Captain Breuber turned in his command chair. “Status?”
“She’s heading for the shield. We’ve lost her.”
Duncan stood perfectly still, her mind trying to accept that what she was seeing in front of her was the object of legend. The Ark rested on a waist-high black platform. It was about three feet high and wide, and a little over four feet long. It was gold-plated, and the two long poles that were used to carry it were poking out on either end through the rings on the bottom of the Ark.
The most intriguing aspect were the two “cherubim” on the lid. They were shaped exactly like miniature versions of the head of the Black Sphinx, with ruby-red eyes, and as soon as she had entered the veil, both had slowly turned and fixed their inhuman gaze on her. Red light had flashed out from both heads, run over her garments and crown, and then stopped. But the heads were still focused on her presence.
Duncan felt the same menace from the two sphinx heads as from the ones on top of the poles. She forced herself forward, taking very careful steps until she was at the Ark itself. The two sphinx heads now faced each over the lid.
The stubby snouts of the reentry vehicles for thirty-one cobalt nuclear warheads pointed down toward Earth.
Lexina had listened to her cell phone ring over and over again. She had confirmation from Elek that he had the key. She knew what had happened at Easter Island to the American fleet and that the war was alive once more. She also had a very good idea of what the next escalation of the war was going to consist of. And America was currently more of a threat than an asset.
It was a simple, dispassionate decision, similar to many her predecessors had made.
The phone rang once more, and she stared at it, not answering.
“They’re going to nuke the States anyway, aren’t they?” Captain Billam asked as Turcotte turned off the SATPhone.
“Not if I can help it,” Turcotte said. He pulled a black box out of his shirt pocket and flipped open the cover. “Let’s get their attention.” There were a series of buttons on it, and he pushed the first one.
Elek spun about in his seat as a high-pitched shriek came out of the black coffin. He stopped the dragon, leaving it in a hover, and went back to the black tube. He swung open the lid, and the irritating noise stopped. The black case holding the key lay at the foot of the coffin.
At the head of the coffin was a shiny metal cylinder about three feet long by two in diameter. Turcotte’s voice startled Elek, coming out of a small speaker taped to the hood of the coffin.
“You’re looking at a twenty-kiloton-yield nuclear weapon. I don’t know what that machine you’re in is made of, but I know it’s enough to take out the key and you. Now that I know you’re listening, I suggest you tell Lexina to answer her phone.”