33
Pistol in hand, Judd wipes sweat from his face and sprints towards Atlantis, which now piggybacks the Galaxy.
A man runs at him, gun raised. Judd turns, fires, hits him in the chest. To the left another man raises a rifle. Judd pivots, fires, drops him to the desert.
Judd wipes sweat from his face. A Hummer is parked beneath one of the Galaxy’s engines. He sprints to it, leaps onto its hood, then its roof, jumps, grabs hold of the engine cowling and swings himself into the turbine’s gaping maw. He scales the cowling then drags himself onto the wing.
Atlantis is right in front of him. He wipes sweat from his forehead and sprints along the Galaxy’s wing towards it.
Bright flashes light up the night. A man fires at him from the ground. Judd swivels, fires, hits him in the gut, then runs on, leaps, grabs the trailing edge of the shuttle’s wing, heaves himself onto it. He finds his feet, sprints towards the hatch.
It’s open. Judd reaches the front of the wing, leaps, grabs the edge of the hatch, scrambles inside.
Tango in Berlin towers over him, aims his pistol. Judd’s too fast. He fires and the bullet slams into the German’s forehead. Judd wipes sweat from his face, scales the ladder to the flight deck.
Rhonda.
She’s strapped to her chair. She sees him, elated. ‘I knew you’d come for me.’
He rips her free but there’s still sweat on his face. He wipes at it. Then again. And again…
Judd wakes with a start, pulls his face from the sand. Ants. Big ones. On his face. In his mouth. They bite! Sting! He claws them from his skin, spits them out, shakes his head to remove the little bastards.
He clears his eyes, looks at his PloProf, takes a moment to focus on the watch. Christ. He’s been out for over two hours. His head pounds with a dull ache. He ignores it, finds the telescope, puts it to his eye. The first sunlight peeks over the horizon and casts a golden hue across Atlantis and the Galaxy, makes the giant vehicles seem small and inconsequential against the expansive landscape.
The tents are down and a tanker truck is parked near the Galaxy’s undercarriage, filling it up. It’s about to leave.
Judd glances at his PloProf. Where are the marines? He thought they wouldn’t make it in time and it looks like he was right. He reaches for the sat phone. It’s half-buried in the sand nearby. He dusts it off, works the keypad. The screen illuminates. A blinking LOW BAT warning greets him. One quarter of a bar of power remains. He dials. Waits.
Thompkins’ voicemail asks him to kindly leave a message. Judd hangs up. Who else can he call? Who will know when the cavalry will arrive?
He dials.
A BlackBerry rattles on the small bedside table. A hand reaches through a tangle of sheets, taps the table in search of the smartphone, finds the source of annoyance. A thumb presses a button on the handset, pulls it towards the sheets. ‘Severson.’
‘It’s Judd. Do you know when they’ll be here?’
Severson sits up in the narrow bed, bleary-eyed. ‘When who’ll be where?’
‘The military or the marines or whoever they’re sending. Do you know, or can you find out when they’ll be here? ‘Cause they’re about to leave.’
Severson rubs at his eyes. ‘Get where? Who’s leaving? I don’t understand —’
‘Here. Where Atlantis is. In Central Australia.’
‘Central Australia? What? No. Atlantis is in North Africa.’
34
The Article rips across the dark-blue empyrean. Thompkins glances at the instrument panel, focuses on the mach meter. 6.5. A touch under 8000 kilometres an hour, or 7300 feet per second. They’re making good time, will be over Australia in minutes. All temperatures are nominal, fuel consumption is good — great, even. The Article flies smoother and more efficiently the faster it goes. Thompkins laments that the air force never unlocked the jet’s full potential while it was in service.
He’s procrastinating, knows he must get on and do what needs to be done. He takes a breath, leans forward, flicks a switch, taps a five-number sequence into a worn keypad, hits another switch and waits. It won’t take long.
Thompkins had dreaded this moment from the start. He’d tossed up whether to tell Mahoney his plans, bring him into the fold. He was so torn he even considered asking the Frenchman’s advice, then immediately rejected the idea. It would appear amateur and weak, and Thompkins didn’t believe Henri would appreciate either of those qualities in a business partner. So he said nothing to Mahoney. He just didn’t know which way his RSO would go because he’d neglected their friendship for so long.
Mahoney’s voice buzzes in Thompkins’ helmet, his breathing laboured: ‘Horshack, I’m — I seem — I’m having problems. My oxygen — isn’t — it’s not —’
Thompkins closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look back into the separate, sealed compartment where the RSO sits, where he has just turned off the life-support system.
Mahoney gulps air, his breath short, his voice afraid: ‘ — I can’t — can you — help — me with — this — I —’
Thompkins does nothing, just squeezes his eyes shut, tries to block out the sound of his oldest friend’s voice: ‘ — I — need — air —’
Mahoney falls silent and it’s over, just like that. Instantly Thompkins knows the twenty million dollars he’s being paid will never make up for this moment.
He takes a deep breath, the irony of it not lost on him, and tells himself to focus on the job ahead. He still has work to do.
35
‘What?’ Judd yanks the satellite phone from his ear and stares at it for a moment, as if that will somehow help him comprehend what he just heard. ‘No. It’s in Central Australia. The Northern Territory. It’s sitting on the back of a Galaxy that’s being fueled as we speak.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m staring at it! Why would you think it’s in North Africa?’
‘That was the intel. Came in a couple of hours ago. It’s in Tunisia. Two marine units are on their way there.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I’m in the Pacific on the USS George H. W. Bush with another unit. Only reason we’re not going is Tunisia’s too far away.’
‘I don’t understand this.’
‘Who did you tell?’
‘Thompkins. Two hours ago. He told me the cavalry was on the way.’
‘Well, they are, just not to you.’
‘You need to fix this. Now. Tell everyone. Atlantis is in the Australian Northern Territory. It’s on a runway midway between — have you got a pen?’
‘Um. No.’
‘Find one.’
Judd waits. He looks at the phone’s screen. LOW BATT blinks back at him. One eighth of a bar of power left. ‘Hurry up, I got a low battery.’
‘I’m looking.’
Judd hears clunking and shuffling.
‘Is Rhonda okay?’
‘Yes — I don’t know. Yet. Found a pen?’
‘Not yet. It’s a big ship, you’d think there’d be one somewhere —’
‘Just remember it.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Don’t try, do! It’s in the desert, midway between Lake Mackay and Nyirripi in the Northern Territory. A bit closer to Lake Mackay.’
‘Lake Mackay. Nyirripi. Right.’
‘Tell everyone. They have attack helicopters. I don’t know how many. They’re leaving soon. Once they’re in the air I don’t know where they’re going. I need people here now.’