"Just do what I tell you." He was now grasping a Walther 9mm with what appeared to be boundless self-assurance."You're the boss." Bates nodded, settling into the cockpit. He suddenly realized that something not on the schedule was about to go down. All along he'd had a feeling Peretz was up to something. Now it was more than a feeling.With a tremble of apprehension he hit the ignition button, then started spooling up the power on the main rotor. Everything seemed to be working normally, just as it should. This old crate, he figured, had a lot of hours on the engines, but there was nothing to suggest any kind of problem.Coming toward them now, across the tarmac, was the famous German terrorist, Wolf Helling. Bates glanced through the windscreen and looked him over, thinking he looked annoyed. He had the hard face and eyes of a killer, the kind of face you could only earn the hard way.Suddenly the whole scenario clicked into place. This Israeli character was about to try and pull a fast one on everybody. He had set the vehicle to launch and now he was getting out. But what about the German? Was he in on the scam?Probably not, from the disgruntled look he had. Besides, this guy Peretz was the quintessential loner. He had his marbles and the hell with everybody else."What's the problem?" Helling asked as he stepped lightly up the metal steps of the Sikorsky. "Is something—?"He never had a chance to finish the sentence, as a dull thunk punctuated the placement of a 9mm round directly between his eyes. The half-bald leader of Germany's notorious Revolutionare Zellen pitched into the chopper, dead before he reached the floor pallet."Fucking Nazi," Peretz said to no one in particular. "I've been waiting a long time." Then he stepped over the body and headed for the cockpit. "Okay, it's about to be post time, baby.""You're going to bug out, aren't you?" Bates had turned around and was staring at him. "You son of a bitch, you've got VX-1 set to launch and now you're leaving while the leaving's good.""It's not going to be that simple," he responded calmly. "But we are about to make an unscheduled departure. You will be flying.""And get shot down?" Bates said, rising and walking back from the cockpit. "Come on, this place has got to be surrounded." He had hoped, now feared, it was so. Surely the word on these terrorists was all over the world by now. "You have got to be kidding. No way am I taking this bird up. You're on your own, pal. I refuse.""That would be a serious mistake, health-wise." Peretz smiled back. "Because if you give me the slightest hint of trouble, you're going to enjoy the same fate as this Nazi klutz, starting with your kneecaps. I would advise you to be cooperative." He smiled again."Do what you want," Bates said, not quite feeling his own bravado. "But you'll be flying it yourself.""Don't press me, asshole," Peretz said. "Besides, there's anuclear weapon in that crate there." He pointed. "Nobody's going to lay a finger on us."7:22a.m."Do you know how to handle this?" Vance handed Cally the MP5 he was carrying. He had brought it up the hill to try to take out Ramirez, but after the fiasco with the flash grenades, he hadn't fired a shot."I've got a pretty good idea," she replied, some of the old pique coming back. "Somebody'd better use it. Besides, it doesn't exactly require postgraduate research.""Sometimes it takes some thought to keep from getting killed." He sighed, then proceeded to show her how the safety worked. "Okay, what I need is for you to give me some cover when I make the move. Call it our last-ditch effort.""What are you going to do?""What else? It's time I had a talk with Ramirez. If you can't lick them, join them.""You're kidding." She laid down the automatic and glared. "You're going to just give up?""No, I'm going to offer him a deal. Maybe it'll work, and maybe not. But I don't know what else to do."She stared at him incredulously. "What kind of deal?""I don't know yet. I'm making this up as I go along. But maybe if I can get in close to him, I can try to slow him down." What would happen, he was wondering, if Ramirez saw him again? Just shoot him on sight? It was possible, but then again maybe not. It was worth a try. "But you've got to help. Create a diversion that'll give me an opening.""All right, then." She shrugged. "Just tell me what you want me to do."Now he was fiddling with his Walther, checking how many rounds were left in the clip. There were two. He cocked it, then slipped it into the back of his belt, pulling down the shirt over it."See that window there?" He was pointing toward the glassed-in viewing station of Launch Control that overlooked the pad and the vehicles. "I want to get him there, where you can see us both. Then when I give a signal, a thumbs-up, I want you to open fire.""On you both?" She looked incredulous."How about trying very hard not to hit either one of us. Just start firing and distract them. Then I'll try to take care of Ramirez. Somehow.""You know, I don't know why you're doing this, but it seems awfully dangerous.""Maybe I'm trying to make amends for being such a screw-up." He was half serious."That's very noble, but frankly I think we'd better wait for your friends from ARM." She picked up the automatic and examined it again, then looked him over. 'To be brutally honest, they've got a slightly better track record.""Good point. Except now they've got a casualty to worry about, and we're running out of time. So this has to be solo." He kissed her, this time on the lips. "Wish me luck.""You're really going to do it, aren't you?""I'm going to try." He finished tucking in his shirt."You're crazy. You won't listen to anybody.""Sometimes that's a help." He kissed her again, more lightly than he wanted to. Was she still mad? It was hard to tell, but she was definitely distant. "Okay, get ready. And for God's sake, don't hit me. Fire wide.""Wide?" She grinned."Extremely wide."7:24a.m.“Thought you might be getting lonesome." Vance had walked into Launch Control, directly through the entrance next to where the fallen gantry had been. Ramirez had met him, with his Beretta 9mm trained on him from the instant he came in the doorway."Always the joker, Mr. Vance." Ramirez did not appear to think he was very humorous. "I see you're roaming around again, like a cat.""Nine lives, remember.""Yes, I should have put an end to them earlier." He gestured Vance forward with the automatic. They now were in Launch Control, the wide windows looking out over the vehicles. "But then I wanted you to myself.""Here I am." He felt a chill. Was Ramirez just going to shoot him before he had a chance to do anything?The terrorist, however, seemed to have other things on his mind. "You know, you've been missing out on a lot of the fun. There was something of a ruckus in Command just now. As it happens, it was on that TV there." He pointed to a monitor, its screen now filled with snow. "A decidedly second-rate entertainment, but I watched awhile anyway.""Sounds exciting. Want to tell me what happened?""The broadcast encountered technical difficulties before the end. For all I know, the show may still be going on. But perhaps I should break some news to you. That assault force, whoever they were, merely saved me the trouble of tidying up myself.""You were planning just to murder all your helpers anyway, right?" He settled into a sculptured chair next to a console, as casually as he could manage. "Neatness. Guess I should have thought of that.""You should have thought of a lot of things, Mr. Vance.""And how about you? Did the ransom money come through? I assume this operation had a price tag attached."He laughed. "Of course the money came through. All eight hundred million. What do you take me for?""Respectable chunk of change. So why in hell are you going to still launch an A-bomb?" Even Vance was impressed by his perfidy. "That's not very sporting.""I'm not a sporting person."“That's hardly a news flash." He felt his outrage spilling over. "Mind telling me the target?""Not at all. I'm going to incinerate the U.S. air and naval base at Souda Bay. The Americans don't care anything about civilians, as they have shown any number of times, but they are very attached to their Sixth Fleet.""Jesus, you're totally mad." It was worse than he had imagined. "You're going to kill hundreds, thousands. How in hell can you do that?""Easily. As a matter of fact, it's as good as done. In a few minutes." He checked his watch, then glanced up and examined Vance a moment. "It looks like Jean-Paul did a fairly good job. I should have told him to just finish it.""He got close enough, believe me.""Looking at you, I'd have to agree." He smiled, eyes behind his gray shades. "All right, Mr. Vance, I assume you came back in here for a reason. What is it?""The truth is, I'm dropping by to see if we couldn't talk over a deal.""I don't really think so.""You may be able to set off a bomb, but the way things stand, no way are you going to get out of here in one piece." He was trying out the speech he had been rehearsing. "In case you didn't realize it, the U.S. Navy has the airspace around the island totally closed down. The skies over the eastern Med are currently an F-14 parking lot. But if you'll put a stop to all this insanity, release the hostages, then—""Don't try to bluff me, Mr. Vance." He gestured him forward. "Come, take a look at my collateral."He led the way across to a second row of workstations, these on the side and closer to the window. "When I leave, which is imminent, I will have company. A certain professor. I think you've met him."And sure enough, there in the comer sat Isaac Mannheim, looking as though the world had already ended. The old man appeared to be in a dark space of his very own, his face pitifully sunk in his hands."It can't be stopped," he was mumbling, almost incoherently. "Damn them. There should be a special rung in hell for them.""Don't worry," Vance assured him. "There is." He turned back to Ramirez. "It isn't going to work. The U.S. is not going to be bluffed."He hoped it was true. Somehow, though, he didn't feel all that confident. Ramirez was smart, very smart, and the U.S. had a history of screwing these things up. Just outside the window VX-1 awaited, primed and about to lift off. Unlike the space shuttle, it had no clouds of white condensate spewing out; instead, it stood serene and austere, its payload prepared to wreak havoc on thousands of unsuspecting U.S. citizens. The loss of life would be staggering."He got Johan to call off the assault," Mannheim continued, interrupting his thoughts. "It was because of me. He wanted to save me. He did, but he only made things worse. He should have just let them kill me and have done with it."Vance examined him and stifled a sigh. Now he had Mannheim to worry about. He didn't want Cally to start shooting up the place with him in the room, so he couldn't go to the window and signal her the way he had planned. What to do?"Look," he said finally, turning to Ramirez, "if you need insurance, why not just take me and let Mannheim go? You and I have some unfinished business. He's not part of it.""He will go, all right. With me on the helicopter. You, on the other hand, are . . ." Ramirez glanced out the wide window and fell silent as he studied the Sikorsky. The main rotor was starting to power up, and something about that seemed not to sit well with him. Suddenly he seemed galvanized. He glanced at his watch, then checked the safety on his Beretta.Vance watched this, wondering what to do. Was this the golden moment to try and take him? There were only the Pakis outside to worry about. . . .But Ramirez was already moving, grabbing Mannheim by the arm. Abruptly he stopped, turned, and took aim at Vance, somewhere precisely between his eyes.Vance blanched. Jesus! Go for the Walther and get it over with.But before he could move, Ramirez laughed and slipped the hand holding the Beretta into his pocket, then gave a nod of his head, beckoning. "Mr. Vance, I think I would like to have you join us after all. You're right. We still have a few matters to settle." He stepped aside and motioned. "But the time has come to bid farewell to Andikythera."Ramirez was still dragging Mannheim along as they passed through Launch, pausing only to nod lightly toward the two Pakistanis, who immediately snapped to attention and followed. Amidst all the excitement of the pending launch, nobody seemed to notice. They passed through the outer door and onto the tarmac as an ensemble, Ramirez holding Mannheim by the arm and guiding him.7:31a.m.Bill Bates looked through the Sikorsky's wide windscreen and saw them coming. The time had arrived, he realized immediately, to make a move. Now or never. The Israeli's attempt to pull out early had just been cut off at the pass, so why not see what would happen if the scenario got shut down entirely?He reduced the power, listening to the engines wind down, and rose."Guess my part of this is over," he announced. "You've got a go system, so have a nice day. I'll be seeing you around."Peretz’ eyes momentarily flashed confusion, but he was wily enough to recover immediately."Your help has been much appreciated," he smiled quickly. "Thank you for checking everything out."Should I tip off Number One, Bates asked himself. No, that flicker is nobody's fool; he's already way ahead of this little twerp. And the second he sets foot in here and sees that dead German hood, there's going to be a lot of heavy-duty explaining to do.Now Peretz was moving jauntily down the Sikorsky's folding steps, carrying his Walther with an air that proclaimed nothing amiss.Time to get out of here, Bates told himself. There's going to be hell to pay.He rose and headed down the stairs after Peretz as rapidly as he could. "Mike, where've you been?" He waved at Vance. "We can't go on meeting like this. What do you say we just pack it all in and go sailing?""Fine with me," Vance yelled back. "No time like the present.”At that moment, a shot rang out from somewhere in the direction of the fallen gantry, whereupon Peretz whirled, leveled his Walther into the mist, and got off a burst on full auto. Emptying the clip.The scene froze, like a tableau. Vance's first thought was that Peretz had overreacted. Nervous. And probably with good reason. But at least Cally was trying to do her share. The problem was, the quarters were too close.The two Pakistanis were still standing on the tarmac, not quite understanding what was happening, but Ramirez sized up the situation in an instant. He shoved Mannheim up the steps ahead of him, ducked into the protection of the Sikorsky's open door, and then turned back. Peretz was slower, caught standing on the foggy tarmac next to the bottom step. When he realized his Walther's clip was empty, he fished another out of his pocket and quickly began trying to insert it."That won't be necessary, Dr. Peretz." Ramirez's voice was like steel. "Let me take care of it." Whereupon he leveled his Beretta 9mm and shot a startled Abdoullah squarely between the eyes. Before Shujat realized it, he shot him, too, point blank in the left temple."What in hell are you doing?" Peretz yelled, watching them fall. He was still trying to shove a new clip into his automatic, but now he was losing his touch and it jammed. "That's not how we—""I suppose you thought me some kind of fool," Ramirez replied, shifting his aim. "It's time I laid that fond illusion of yours to rest once and for all.""I don't appreciate your tone of voice." Peretz was still struggling frantically with his Walther."And I don't appreciate you trying to make off with this helicopter. We have just lost a crucial element of our relationship, the element of trust.""I never knew our 'relationship' had all that much trust in it." Peretz looked up defiantly. "We had a business arrangement. I've kept up my end to the letter."Vance watched the exchange with mixed emotions. Herealized that Peretz, being no idiot, knew the situation had just gone critical. He had begun stalling for time. It wasn't going to work.But after Ramirez finishes with this computer clown, he told himself, Bill and I are next. And with that thought, he reached around under his shirt and circled his fingers around the Walther.He had been right."It's over, you little son of a bitch." Ramirez fired point blank into Peretz’ chest. The Israeli jerked backward, stumbled, and crashed, slamming his head against the hard asphalt. He didn't move.Uh-oh, Vance thought. Now it's our turn.He was standing next to Bates, while around them were three bodies of terrorists. Ramirez, however, was safely inside the open doorway, out of range for Cally.Does she realize what's about to happen?She must have, because just as Ramirez leveled his black Beretta to finish off what he had started, there was another burst of fire from the direction of the gantry. It was the diversion Vance needed. He dove for the tarmac, rolled, and extracted the Walther he had shoved into his belt.Come on, baby, keep giving me cover."Mike," Bates yelled, seeing the pistol as he, too, dove for the tarmac, "shoot the bastard. Now."Vance aimed for the doorway, but it was already closing, the steps coming up. Sabri Ramirez was not a man to engage in gunplay for the fun of it. He was about to be gone. A second later the main rotor, which had been idling, immediately began to whine into acceleration."We blew it," Bates boomed, his voice now almost drowned by the huge GE turboshafts."The Hyena," Vance muttered, pulling himself up off the asphalt. "Headed back to his lair. And there's not a damned thing anybody can do about it.""Not with Isaac on board," Bates concurred. "Sorry I yelled. You really didn't have a chance." He was shielding himself from the downdraft as he tried to stand up. "The fucker is getting away without a scratch. Looks like he pulled it off.""Right," Vance said, watching the giant Sikorsky begin to lift. "But maybe there's one thing left we can do. How about trying to remove that bomb"—he pointed up at VX-1—"before that thing goes up?""What in hell are you talking about?" Bates turned to squint at the silver spire. 'There's no way.""Well, I don't know, what about using the Agusta? It's probably still flyable." He had turned back to watch the Sikorsky bank into the thinning fog. Ramirez was just barely visible through the windscreen, smiling as he disappeared into the mist."There's no time. Peretz told me that VX-1 is set to lift off at seven forty-eight. The bastard had it timed exactly." Bates glanced at his watch. 'That's just a few minutes.""No balls," Vance snorted. "Bill, for godsake, let's give it a shot. Maybe we can at least disable it, turn it into a dud."Bates was still dubious as he gazed upward. "Buddy, I don't want to be hovering over that thing when the Cyclops kicks in. Do you realize—""Come on, where's your backbone." He waved to Cally, who was now coming around the corner of the gantry. 'Thanks for not shooting me.""When I saw Ramirez start killing everybody, I assumed you two were next. It was then or never." She looked exhausted."You assumed right. We were on the hit list. Thanks." He kissed her on the forehead, where her hair was still plastered. "Now will you help me talk some sense into this guy? I say we could at least try to mess up the bomb before the Cyclops launches it. They've got it programmed for Souda Bay.""You're kidding." Bates was transfixed."That's what he claimed. Come on, let's . . . hang on a second." He turned and trotted over to the doorway of Launch, where he seized a coil of electrical wire. "This may come in handy." Coming back, he punched Bates' arm. "Let's give it a try. No guts, no glory.""Souda Bay. Christ!" Bates glanced again at his watch. "Mike, we've got less than nine minutes."7:38a.m."I copy," Nichols said into his mike. "When did the chopper lift off?""The AWACS picked it up at . . . just after 0730 hours," came the voice from the Kennedy. It was General Max Austin. "The bastards are bugging out.""So what do we do now? Try and intercept them?""We're taking care of that from here. Fixed-wing. First, though, we've got to figure out if there really are hostages aboard, like they claim. But don't worry about it. There's nowhere they can hide. Your mission is still the same. Secure the facility. There could still be some of them left, so just interdict anything that tries to egress.""That's a confirm. If it moves, it fucking dies."Chapter Nineteen7:42a.m.Dawn had arrived, though the mantle of light fog was still adding a hazy texture to the air. The sun-up had a freshness that reminded Vance of the previous morning, the first glimmerings of daybreak. Now, though, visibility was hampered by the residual moisture in the air, just enough to give the world a pristine sheen. What would the morning look like, Vance wondered, if a nuclear device exploded at Souda Bay on nearby Crete? It was a possibility difficult to imagine, but the results were not.Bates began spooling up the power, and slowly the blue-and-white striped Agusta Mark II started lifting off the pad. Fortunately it had been prepped the previous day and was ready to fly."This is going to be dicey, Mike," Bates yelled back from the cockpit, his voice just audible above the roar of the engines. "I don't know how exactly you expect to manage this.""I don't know either," Vance yelled in reply. “Try and see if you can hover just above the payload bay. Very gently."Cally was helping him circle the insulated wire about his waist, then his crotch, making a kind of seat. Finally he handed her the free end and shouted, "Here, can you secure this around something?""Around what?" she yelled back."Anything that looks sturdy. And then hang onto it.""Ever done this before?" She had found a steel stmt by the door. "I haven't.""Are you kidding! That makes us equally experienced.""Well, remember one thing—the downdraft from the main rotor is going to buffet you like crazy. Be prepared.""Right." He was already trying mental games to avoid vertigo. The closest thing he could think of was looking out the windows of a tall building, and even that scared him. He liked working close to the ground. Very close.As Bates guided the Agusta quickly down toward the launch pad and the vehicles, visibility was no more than a quarter of a mile. And since he had not bothered switching on the radar, he was totally unaware of the two Apache AH-64s now approaching from the south at 180 mph. It was a mistake.7:44a.m."Sir, we've just picked up some new action on the island," Manny Jackson, in the first Apache, said into his radio. He could scarcely wait to get in and take down the island. These camel-jockey terrorists needed to be taught a lesson once and for all. He had lost a cousin, nineteen years old, in the Beirut bombing, and this was the closest he was ever going to get to a payback. "Guess there were more of the bastards. Ten to one they're taking up another chopper.""No way are we going to allow that to happen," Nichols declared. He was in the lead Huey, two kilometers back. "The first batch may have got away, but not these. From now on, nobody down there moves a hair. We're about to teach them a thing or two about air supremacy.""They don't seem to be going anywhere. Just moving down the island. What do you think it means?" He was wondering what a lot of it meant. Why was Souda Bay being evacuated? They weren't calling it that, but an evacuation was exactly what was under way. A big hurry-up to get the fleet into blue water, all nonessentials ordered to take a day off with pay, a sudden token of "thanks" from Uncle Sammy for jobs well done. Bullshit. . . ."Probably picking up hostages," came back Nichols's voice. "Who the hell knows? But our mission is to make sure they don't leave the ground.""You've got it, sir." He reached down to the weapons station and flipped the red switch that armed the Hughes 30mm chain gun. Its twelve hundred rounds, he figured, should be enough to handle the problem.7:46a.m."What in blazes is he doing?" Pierre Armont wondered aloud. He was standing with Beginald Hall at the southern entrance of the SatCom living quarters, the Bates Motel, gazing out over the launch pad and trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Five minutes earlier they had watched in dismay as the Sikorsky lifted off. Now this."Looks to be some damn-fool trapeze stunt," Reggie Hall muttered, shaking his head. "He's going to get himself killed. What in bloody hell?"He caught his breath as he watched Vance begin rappelling down some kind of thin line dangling out the open door of the chopper, spiraling from the downdraft of the main rotor. It was something of a circus aerial act—definitely not recommended for civilians. He clearly didn't have the slightest idea how to use his arms to stabilize the spin. A rank amateur. . . .What was that sound? His senses quickened and he turned to squint at the southern horizon. Through the light fog he could hear the faint beginnings of a dull, familiar roar, and he realized immediately it was choppers coming in. He quickly pulled out his Tasco binoculars and studied the morning sky—two helos, both looking like ungainly spiders. Yes, they had to be Apaches. What else.Great, he thought, once more the U.S. has got its timing dead on. The first time they showed up and managed to keep us from getting Ramirez, and this time they decide to drop in just after his Sikorsky took off, probably taking him and the last of his goons out, undoubtedly with a few hostages for good measure. From all appearances, he had gotten away. Again. It was sickening.Now the gunships were dropping altitude and moving in, boldly, with the authority their firepower commanded. He wondered if the teams on board might actually be unaware that Ramirez had escaped."We ought to go out and signal them in," Armont said. "Let them know how useless—"Warning flares erupted from the Hughes 30mm in the nose of the first Apache, missing the Agusta by no more than fifty meters."Christ! They don't know who the friendlies are." He immediately canceled his impromptu plan to head out and wave. The U.S. Army was in no mood to dialogue."Do they think Mike's a terrorist?" Reggie asked, incredulous. But even as he said it, he realized that must be exactly what they thought. They were going to try to force down the Agusta. Or shoot it down."Reggie, draw their fire!" Armont yelled. Almost by instinct, he raised his Steyr-Mannlicher assault rifle and opened up on the lead helicopter, going for the well-protected GE turboshaft on the left. "Don't try to kill anybody, for godsake. Just distract them."'This is insane," declared Willem Voorst, who had come out to see what all the excitement was about. "What are you doing? I don't want to go to war with the United States of America."Then he noticed the blue-and-white Agusta hovering over VX-1, Vance dangling, and put it all together. Without a further word he aimed his MP5 and got off a burst, watching as it glinted harmlessly off the second Apache's left wing.Miraculously it worked. The Army's favorite helicopterswere huge, with a main rotor almost fifty feet in diameter, but they could turn on a dime and these did. They came about and opened fire with their chain guns on the cinderblock portico where Armont and Hall and Voorst were ensconced.The 30mm rounds tore around them, sending chunks of concrete flying, but the structure was temporarily solid enough to provide protection. Armont ducked out and got off another burst, keeping on the heat, then back in again.Now the Agusta was hovering just above the nose of the VX-1 vehicle, and Vance had disappeared on the other side. What, Armont wondered again, could he possibly be doing with the vehicle . . . ? Then the answer hit him, as transparent as day.Merde!He's going to try and retrieve the bomb.Good Christ, he thought, the man has gone mad. He may know how to trace hot money halfway around the globe, but he doesn't know zip about a nuclear device. He'll probably set the thing off by accident and blow the entire island to—A spray of cannon fire kicked up a line of asphalt next to where he was standing, and he retreated for cover deeper behind the cinderblock portico. They're not going to fool around long with that chain gun, he told himself. We're going to be looking at rockets soon, and then it's game up."We've done what we can for Michael," he yelled, getting off one last burst. "We've got to get back inside before they get tired of playing around and just fry this place.""I hear you," Willem Voorst agreed, already headed deeper inside. "Mike's on his own."7:47 a.m.Vance had never been more scared in his life. This made a day at a stormy helm seem like a Sunday stroll. The down-draft was spinning him violently now, a lesson that rappelling was not for the faint of heart. Then he remembered some basic physics and held out his arms, helplessly flapping like a wounded bird. But it was enough, as his spin immediately slowed.He was dizzy now, but when he came around, he got an overview of the launch facility, and the glimpse made him realize that something had gone terribly wrong. What were those? Two Apache helicopters were hovering and they were firing on . . . on the Bates Motel. Just beyond the fallen gantry.Why! Ramirez and all his goons were gone or dead.Bill Bates, who also had seen it all, had a better understanding of what was under way. It was a massive failure of communications. Thinking as quickly as he could, he started negotiating the Agusta around, situating VX-1 between him and the Apaches. The fucking Delta Force had come in like gangbusters and was shooting at the wrong target. There was no time to try to raise them on the radio, and besides, he only had two hands.Down below, Vance slammed against the hard metal of the nose, and then rotated, one-handed, to try to take measure of what to do next. It wasn't going to be easy, that much was sure. The payload bay was sealed with a Teflon ring, which was itself secured with a series of streamlined clamps that were bolted from inside, designed for automated control. But . . . there also was lettering next to a thumb-operated hatch that reademergency release.He flipped it open and, bracing himself against the side of the silver cone to try to overcome the destabilizing down- draft, looked in. A red button, held down for safety by another thumb latch, stared back.What the heck, he thought, you've got nothing to lose. He flipped the thumb safety, and then—bracing himself to try to slow his erratic spin—slammed a heel into the button. Nothing happened for a second, but then the Teflon clamps on the cargo bay began to click open one by one.Up above him, Cally was yelling something, but he couldn't make out her voice above the roar of the engines. Anyway, whatever it was, it would have to wait. There was only one thing left to do, and he had to press on. The clamps were now released, but the cargo bay was still closed. . . .At that moment, he began experiencing yet another failure of nerve. There could only be a minute left, two at most, and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do next.Then he noticed the heavy release levers, positioned beneath the Teflon clamps and circling the three sides of the streamlined door. Once more bracing himself against the slippery side of the nose, he began clicking them open, starting on the left and working his way around.Time is surely running out, he told himself. This could end up being the stupidest stunt ever attempted. The roar of the Agusta above was so deafening he could barely think. He felt all of his forty-nine years, a weight crushing down on him with the finality of eternity. . . .Then the last clamp snapped free, and he watched as the door opened by itself, slowly swinging upward. It was heavy, shaped like the pressure door on an airplane fuselage, and designed to withstand the frictional heat of space flight. But the spring mountings on the recessed hinges were intended to open and close automatically.And there sat a metallic sphere outfitted with a jumble of connectors and switches. So that's what a bomb looks like, he marveled. It was somehow nothing like he had imagined, if he had had time to imagine.Now Bates had lowered the helo just enough to allow him to slide inside and take the weight off the line. Finally he could breathe, but again the matter of passing seconds had all his attention. If the vehicle really was going up at 7:48, then there probably was less than a minute left now to get the device unhooked and out.He looked it over, puzzling, and decided on one giant gamble, one all-or-nothing turn of the wheel. It was a terrifying feeling.Quickly he untied the wire from around his waist, and began looping it around the metal sphere: once, twice, three times. There was no time, and no way, to disconnect the telemetry, so the device would simply have to be ripped out. One thing was sure: if it blew, he would never be the wiser.When he had the wire secure, or as secure as he could make it, he looked out the door and gave Cally a thumbs-up sign, hoping she would understand. She did. She turned and yelled something to Bates, and a moment later the Agusta began to power out as the pitch of the blades slowly changed. The line grew taut, then strained against the sides of the bomb, tightening his knots.Will the wire hold? he wondered, and does this little toy helo have enough lift to yank this thing out of here? It's like pulling a giant tooth.Then there was a ripping sound as the connectors attached to the sphere began tearing loose. So far so good, he thought. At least the telemetry is now history. If the vehicle goes up now, it'll be orbiting a dud. Mission partly accomplished.Then the bomb pulled away from its last moorings and slammed against the side of the door, leaving him pinned against the frame, unable to breathe. But he instinctively grabbed the line and wrapped his legs around the sphere, just as it rotated and broke free. As it bumped against the doorframe of the payload bay, he barely missed hitting the closing door, but he ducked and swung free, into the open air, riding the device as though it were a giant wrecking ball.7:48a.m."Those bastards firing on us have gone inside," Philip Sexton yelled. "Let them wait. Let's stop the damned chopper from egressing." He was pointing through the windscreen of the Apache. "Orders are to keep everybody on the ground."Manny Jackson hit the pedals. Nothing to it. There, almost in his sights, was the striped Agusta chopper, with a terrorist hanging beneath it. Probably fell out. He was hanging on to something, though what it was you really couldn't tell through the thin mist.It didn't matter. The guy was open and in the clear. This was the beginning of what was going to be a marvelous operation, taking these bastards down. With a feeling of immense satisfaction, he reached for the weapons station.And then his world went blue.7:49a.m.Cally stared out the open door of the Agusta and felt her heart skip a beat. A beam of energy, so strong it ionized the air and turned it deep mauve, seemed to be engulfing Michael. Staring down, she was almost blinded by its intensity. He was there, she was sure, but where she could not tell.Then it shut off for a second, and she realized it had been directed toward the base of VX-1. Next came an enormous clap of thunder as the splintered air collapsed on itself, sending out shock waves. Just like lightning, she thought. The Cyclops is sending energy as though it were lightning. . . .Then the blue flashed again, and this time it began microsecond pulses, like a massive strobe light. All the action was now highlighted in jerky snippets of vision, as unreal as a disco dance floor. The air around the beam was being turned to plasma, ionized pure atoms . . . but the next burst of energy came from the propulsion unit of VX-1, which slowly began discharging a concentrated plume out of its nozzles, a primal green instead of the usual reds and oranges of a conventional rocket.The Cyclops had just gone critical, right on the money, ionizing the dry-ice propellant in VX-1. Would the impulse be enough to lift it off? she wondered. Was Isaac's grand scheme going to work? Years had been spent planning for this moment. She felt her heart stop as she waited for the answer, totally forgetting the man who was dangling just below the chopper, bathed in the hard, pulsing strobes.7:50a.m.As Manny Jackson grappled for the collective, blinded by the intense monochromatic light engulfing him, a clap of thunder sounded about his ears, deafening him to the roar of the Apache's turboshafts.What in hell! Had one of the nuclear devices been detonated? No, his instincts lectured, he was still alive. If it had been a nuke, he would be atoms by now, sprayed into space. This had to be something else.Now his vision was returning, the blue receding into quick flashes, and the chopper seemed to be stabilizing. Maybe, he thought, I'm not going to be permanently blind. But I've got to get this bird on the ground. We'll just have to take our chances. Then the realization of what had happened finally sank in. The damned Cyclops laser had switched on. They had arrived too late. . . .He was thrown against the windscreen as the Apache slammed into the asphalt and collapsed the starboard leg of the retractable gear."Jesus!" He turned back to the cabin, forehead bleeding, and yelled, "Everybody okay?"The assault team was still strapped in, and nobody seemed the worse for the bumpy landing. The Apache was a tough bird, hero of tank battles in Iraq."No problem," came back a chorus of yells. They were already unfastening their straps and readying their weapons."All right," he bellowed, killing the power. "Everybody out. Let's take cover and kick ass."7:50a.m.Vance heard the thunder and felt the shock wave almost simultaneously. He gripped the wire, trying to hold on, and felt it cut deep into his palms. The pain seemed to work in opposition to the numbing effects of the shock wave that had buffeted him, assaulting his eardrums and his consciousness. For a moment he forgot where he was, shut out all thought, and just hung onto the wire with his last remaining energy.In the Agusta up above, Bates was struggling with the controls, trying to keep stabilized as the pressure pulse from the Cyclops swept down the island. The dangling bomb, and Vance, were serving as a counterweight, holding the small commercial helo aright. It was all that kept it from flipping as the sudden turbulence assaulted the main rotor.The energy that filled the air now had yet another release.As his eardrums recovered, Vance heard a new roar, deeper and throatier than the sound of the Agusta, welling up around him. Down below, wave after wave of pressure pulses were drumming the air, and he watched spellbound as VX-1 shuddered, then began to inch upward into the morning sky. It was a gorgeous sight, the lift-off of the world's first laser-driven space vehicle.Was Cally watching this moment of triumph? he wondered. She should be ecstatic, even in spite of all the rest.But would the vehicle make it to orbit? he suddenly asked himself. With the payload gone, wouldn't the weight parameters be all out of whack. But then maybe it didn't matter. The mere fact that it was going up should be enough to cover Bates’ contractual obligations with his investors.That was down the road. He was so mesmerized by the sight of the lift-off that he had totally forgotten he was wrapped around a nuke, hanging on for all he had as the asphalt loomed fifty feet below, like Slim Pickens riding the bomb down in that famous closing scene from Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove.Then the pain in his hands refocused his attention. The bomb down below, he figured, was now permanently inoperable. But Ramirez still had Mannheim as a hostage, and he had made good his escape. Which meant he was still in the terrorists' catbird seat. Using innocents for a shield rather than slugging it out fair and square.As the Cyclops continued to pulse, and VX-1 edged upward into the morning mist, Bates steered the Agusta toward the old landing pad where it had originally been parked. In moments he had eased down the bomb, just as though settling in a crate of eggs, no more than twenty feet from where they had taken off five minutes earlier. It was a marvel of professionalism.As the weapon bumped onto the asphalt, Vance had a sudden thought. The damned thing was useless now, and harmless. But what about the other one, the one Ramirez had taken with him in the Sikorsky?"Michael, are you all right?" Cally had leapt from the open door of the Agusta, looking as disoriented as he had ever seen her. "You were only a few feet away when the Cyclops turned on. For a minute there, I couldn't even see you. What was it like?""Try the end of the world. Like a thousand bolts of lightning, all aimed at one place.""A perfect description." She smiled and reached to help him stand up. "I'd never realized there'd be a thunderclap when it switched on at full power. God, what a sight." She was beaming at the thought, exhilarated that all SatCom's work had been vindicated."You know," he said, "speaking of the end of the world, we came pretty close. I hate to think what would happen if a bomb actually went off on Crete.""I've got a sinking feeling the end of the road wasn't going to be Crete at all," Bates declared, stepping down from the Agusta. "I've been thinking. Something that little Israeli prick let drop as we were coming out to start up the Sikorsky finally sank in. He was rambling on about retargeting the vehicle. You know, I think it was going to come back here. He had the trajectory set to begin and end right here on Andikythera. After he bugged out, of course."
"Just do what I tell you." He was now grasping a Walther 9mm with what appeared to be boundless self-assurance.
"You're the boss." Bates nodded, settling into the cockpit. He suddenly realized that something not on the schedule was about to go down. All along he'd had a feeling Peretz was up to something. Now it was more than a feeling.
With a tremble of apprehension he hit the ignition button, then started spooling up the power on the main rotor. Everything seemed to be working normally, just as it should. This old crate, he figured, had a lot of hours on the engines, but there was nothing to suggest any kind of problem.
Coming toward them now, across the tarmac, was the famous German terrorist, Wolf Helling. Bates glanced through the windscreen and looked him over, thinking he looked annoyed. He had the hard face and eyes of a killer, the kind of face you could only earn the hard way.
Suddenly the whole scenario clicked into place. This Israeli character was about to try and pull a fast one on everybody. He had set the vehicle to launch and now he was getting out. But what about the German? Was he in on the scam?
Probably not, from the disgruntled look he had. Besides, this guy Peretz was the quintessential loner. He had his marbles and the hell with everybody else.
"What's the problem?" Helling asked as he stepped lightly up the metal steps of the Sikorsky. "Is something—?"
He never had a chance to finish the sentence, as a dull thunk punctuated the placement of a 9mm round directly between his eyes. The half-bald leader of Germany's notorious Revolutionare Zellen pitched into the chopper, dead before he reached the floor pallet.
"Fucking Nazi," Peretz said to no one in particular. "I've been waiting a long time." Then he stepped over the body and headed for the cockpit. "Okay, it's about to be post time, baby."
"You're going to bug out, aren't you?" Bates had turned around and was staring at him. "You son of a bitch, you've got VX-1 set to launch and now you're leaving while the leaving's good."
"It's not going to be that simple," he responded calmly. "But we are about to make an unscheduled departure. You will be flying."
"And get shot down?" Bates said, rising and walking back from the cockpit. "Come on, this place has got to be surrounded." He had hoped, now feared, it was so. Surely the word on these terrorists was all over the world by now. "You have got to be kidding. No way am I taking this bird up. You're on your own, pal. I refuse."
"That would be a serious mistake, health-wise." Peretz smiled back. "Because if you give me the slightest hint of trouble, you're going to enjoy the same fate as this Nazi klutz, starting with your kneecaps. I would advise you to be cooperative." He smiled again.
"Do what you want," Bates said, not quite feeling his own bravado. "But you'll be flying it yourself."
"Don't press me, asshole," Peretz said. "Besides, there's a
nuclear weapon in that crate there." He pointed. "Nobody's going to lay a finger on us."
7:22a.m.
"Do you know how to handle this?" Vance handed Cally the MP5 he was carrying. He had brought it up the hill to try to take out Ramirez, but after the fiasco with the flash grenades, he hadn't fired a shot.
"I've got a pretty good idea," she replied, some of the old pique coming back. "Somebody'd better use it. Besides, it doesn't exactly require postgraduate research."
"Sometimes it takes some thought to keep from getting killed." He sighed, then proceeded to show her how the safety worked. "Okay, what I need is for you to give me some cover when I make the move. Call it our last-ditch effort."
"What are you going to do?"
"What else? It's time I had a talk with Ramirez. If you can't lick them, join them."
"You're kidding." She laid down the automatic and glared. "You're going to just give up?"
"No, I'm going to offer him a deal. Maybe it'll work, and maybe not. But I don't know what else to do."
She stared at him incredulously. "What kind of deal?"
"I don't know yet. I'm making this up as I go along. But maybe if I can get in close to him, I can try to slow him down." What would happen, he was wondering, if Ramirez saw him again? Just shoot him on sight? It was possible, but then again maybe not. It was worth a try. "But you've got to help. Create a diversion that'll give me an opening."
"All right, then." She shrugged. "Just tell me what you want me to do."
Now he was fiddling with his Walther, checking how many rounds were left in the clip. There were two. He cocked it, then slipped it into the back of his belt, pulling down the shirt over it.
"See that window there?" He was pointing toward the glassed-in viewing station of Launch Control that overlooked the pad and the vehicles. "I want to get him there, where you can see us both. Then when I give a signal, a thumbs-up, I want you to open fire."
"On you both?" She looked incredulous.
"How about trying very hard not to hit either one of us. Just start firing and distract them. Then I'll try to take care of Ramirez. Somehow."
"You know, I don't know why you're doing this, but it seems awfully dangerous."
"Maybe I'm trying to make amends for being such a screw-up." He was half serious.
"That's very noble, but frankly I think we'd better wait for your friends from ARM." She picked up the automatic and examined it again, then looked him over. 'To be brutally honest, they've got a slightly better track record."
"Good point. Except now they've got a casualty to worry about, and we're running out of time. So this has to be solo." He kissed her, this time on the lips. "Wish me luck."
"You're really going to do it, aren't you?"
"I'm going to try." He finished tucking in his shirt.
"You're crazy. You won't listen to anybody."
"Sometimes that's a help." He kissed her again, more lightly than he wanted to. Was she still mad? It was hard to tell, but she was definitely distant. "Okay, get ready. And for God's sake, don't hit me. Fire wide."
"Wide?" She grinned.
"Extremely wide."
7:24a.m.
“Thought you might be getting lonesome." Vance had walked into Launch Control, directly through the entrance next to where the fallen gantry had been. Ramirez had met him, with his Beretta 9mm trained on him from the instant he came in the doorway.
"Always the joker, Mr. Vance." Ramirez did not appear to think he was very humorous. "I see you're roaming around again, like a cat."
"Nine lives, remember."
"Yes, I should have put an end to them earlier." He gestured Vance forward with the automatic. They now were in Launch Control, the wide windows looking out over the vehicles. "But then I wanted you to myself."
"Here I am." He felt a chill. Was Ramirez just going to shoot him before he had a chance to do anything?
The terrorist, however, seemed to have other things on his mind. "You know, you've been missing out on a lot of the fun. There was something of a ruckus in Command just now. As it happens, it was on that TV there." He pointed to a monitor, its screen now filled with snow. "A decidedly second-rate entertainment, but I watched awhile anyway."
"Sounds exciting. Want to tell me what happened?"
"The broadcast encountered technical difficulties before the end. For all I know, the show may still be going on. But perhaps I should break some news to you. That assault force, whoever they were, merely saved me the trouble of tidying up myself."
"You were planning just to murder all your helpers anyway, right?" He settled into a sculptured chair next to a console, as casually as he could manage. "Neatness. Guess I should have thought of that."
"You should have thought of a lot of things, Mr. Vance."
"And how about you? Did the ransom money come through? I assume this operation had a price tag attached."
He laughed. "Of course the money came through. All eight hundred million. What do you take me for?"
"Respectable chunk of change. So why in hell are you going to still launch an A-bomb?" Even Vance was impressed by his perfidy. "That's not very sporting."
"I'm not a sporting person."
“That's hardly a news flash." He felt his outrage spilling over. "Mind telling me the target?"
"Not at all. I'm going to incinerate the U.S. air and naval base at Souda Bay. The Americans don't care anything about civilians, as they have shown any number of times, but they are very attached to their Sixth Fleet."
"Jesus, you're totally mad." It was worse than he had imagined. "You're going to kill hundreds, thousands. How in hell can you do that?"
"Easily. As a matter of fact, it's as good as done. In a few minutes." He checked his watch, then glanced up and examined Vance a moment. "It looks like Jean-Paul did a fairly good job. I should have told him to just finish it."
"He got close enough, believe me."
"Looking at you, I'd have to agree." He smiled, eyes behind his gray shades. "All right, Mr. Vance, I assume you came back in here for a reason. What is it?"
"The truth is, I'm dropping by to see if we couldn't talk over a deal."
"I don't really think so."
"You may be able to set off a bomb, but the way things stand, no way are you going to get out of here in one piece." He was trying out the speech he had been rehearsing. "In case you didn't realize it, the U.S. Navy has the airspace around the island totally closed down. The skies over the eastern Med are currently an F-14 parking lot. But if you'll put a stop to all this insanity, release the hostages, then—"
"Don't try to bluff me, Mr. Vance." He gestured him forward. "Come, take a look at my collateral."
He led the way across to a second row of workstations, these on the side and closer to the window. "When I leave, which is imminent, I will have company. A certain professor. I think you've met him."
And sure enough, there in the comer sat Isaac Mannheim, looking as though the world had already ended. The old man appeared to be in a dark space of his very own, his face pitifully sunk in his hands.
"It can't be stopped," he was mumbling, almost incoherently. "Damn them. There should be a special rung in hell for them."
"Don't worry," Vance assured him. "There is." He turned back to Ramirez. "It isn't going to work. The U.S. is not going to be bluffed."
He hoped it was true. Somehow, though, he didn't feel all that confident. Ramirez was smart, very smart, and the U.S. had a history of screwing these things up. Just outside the window VX-1 awaited, primed and about to lift off. Unlike the space shuttle, it had no clouds of white condensate spewing out; instead, it stood serene and austere, its payload prepared to wreak havoc on thousands of unsuspecting U.S. citizens. The loss of life would be staggering.
"He got Johan to call off the assault," Mannheim continued, interrupting his thoughts. "It was because of me. He wanted to save me. He did, but he only made things worse. He should have just let them kill me and have done with it."
Vance examined him and stifled a sigh. Now he had Mannheim to worry about. He didn't want Cally to start shooting up the place with him in the room, so he couldn't go to the window and signal her the way he had planned. What to do?
"Look," he said finally, turning to Ramirez, "if you need insurance, why not just take me and let Mannheim go? You and I have some unfinished business. He's not part of it."
"He will go, all right. With me on the helicopter. You, on the other hand, are . . ." Ramirez glanced out the wide window and fell silent as he studied the Sikorsky. The main rotor was starting to power up, and something about that seemed not to sit well with him. Suddenly he seemed galvanized. He glanced at his watch, then checked the safety on his Beretta.
Vance watched this, wondering what to do. Was this the golden moment to try and take him? There were only the Pakis outside to worry about. . . .
But Ramirez was already moving, grabbing Mannheim by the arm. Abruptly he stopped, turned, and took aim at Vance, somewhere precisely between his eyes.
Vance blanched. Jesus! Go for the Walther and get it over with.
But before he could move, Ramirez laughed and slipped the hand holding the Beretta into his pocket, then gave a nod of his head, beckoning. "Mr. Vance, I think I would like to have you join us after all. You're right. We still have a few matters to settle." He stepped aside and motioned. "But the time has come to bid farewell to Andikythera."
Ramirez was still dragging Mannheim along as they passed through Launch, pausing only to nod lightly toward the two Pakistanis, who immediately snapped to attention and followed. Amidst all the excitement of the pending launch, nobody seemed to notice. They passed through the outer door and onto the tarmac as an ensemble, Ramirez holding Mannheim by the arm and guiding him.
7:31a.m.
Bill Bates looked through the Sikorsky's wide windscreen and saw them coming. The time had arrived, he realized immediately, to make a move. Now or never. The Israeli's attempt to pull out early had just been cut off at the pass, so why not see what would happen if the scenario got shut down entirely?
He reduced the power, listening to the engines wind down, and rose.
"Guess my part of this is over," he announced. "You've got a go system, so have a nice day. I'll be seeing you around."
Peretz’ eyes momentarily flashed confusion, but he was wily enough to recover immediately.
"Your help has been much appreciated," he smiled quickly. "Thank you for checking everything out."
Should I tip off Number One, Bates asked himself. No, that flicker is nobody's fool; he's already way ahead of this little twerp. And the second he sets foot in here and sees that dead German hood, there's going to be a lot of heavy-duty explaining to do.
Now Peretz was moving jauntily down the Sikorsky's folding steps, carrying his Walther with an air that proclaimed nothing amiss.
Time to get out of here, Bates told himself. There's going to be hell to pay.
He rose and headed down the stairs after Peretz as rapidly as he could. "Mike, where've you been?" He waved at Vance. "We can't go on meeting like this. What do you say we just pack it all in and go sailing?"
"Fine with me," Vance yelled back. "No time like the present.”
At that moment, a shot rang out from somewhere in the direction of the fallen gantry, whereupon Peretz whirled, leveled his Walther into the mist, and got off a burst on full auto. Emptying the clip.
The scene froze, like a tableau. Vance's first thought was that Peretz had overreacted. Nervous. And probably with good reason. But at least Cally was trying to do her share. The problem was, the quarters were too close.
The two Pakistanis were still standing on the tarmac, not quite understanding what was happening, but Ramirez sized up the situation in an instant. He shoved Mannheim up the steps ahead of him, ducked into the protection of the Sikorsky's open door, and then turned back. Peretz was slower, caught standing on the foggy tarmac next to the bottom step. When he realized his Walther's clip was empty, he fished another out of his pocket and quickly began trying to insert it.
"That won't be necessary, Dr. Peretz." Ramirez's voice was like steel. "Let me take care of it." Whereupon he leveled his Beretta 9mm and shot a startled Abdoullah squarely between the eyes. Before Shujat realized it, he shot him, too, point blank in the left temple.
"What in hell are you doing?" Peretz yelled, watching them fall. He was still trying to shove a new clip into his automatic, but now he was losing his touch and it jammed. "That's not how we—"
"I suppose you thought me some kind of fool," Ramirez replied, shifting his aim. "It's time I laid that fond illusion of yours to rest once and for all."
"I don't appreciate your tone of voice." Peretz was still struggling frantically with his Walther.
"And I don't appreciate you trying to make off with this helicopter. We have just lost a crucial element of our relationship, the element of trust."
"I never knew our 'relationship' had all that much trust in it." Peretz looked up defiantly. "We had a business arrangement. I've kept up my end to the letter."
Vance watched the exchange with mixed emotions. He
realized that Peretz, being no idiot, knew the situation had just gone critical. He had begun stalling for time. It wasn't going to work.
But after Ramirez finishes with this computer clown, he told himself, Bill and I are next. And with that thought, he reached around under his shirt and circled his fingers around the Walther.
He had been right.
"It's over, you little son of a bitch." Ramirez fired point blank into Peretz’ chest. The Israeli jerked backward, stumbled, and crashed, slamming his head against the hard asphalt. He didn't move.
Uh-oh, Vance thought. Now it's our turn.
He was standing next to Bates, while around them were three bodies of terrorists. Ramirez, however, was safely inside the open doorway, out of range for Cally.
Does she realize what's about to happen?
She must have, because just as Ramirez leveled his black Beretta to finish off what he had started, there was another burst of fire from the direction of the gantry. It was the diversion Vance needed. He dove for the tarmac, rolled, and extracted the Walther he had shoved into his belt.
Come on, baby, keep giving me cover.
"Mike," Bates yelled, seeing the pistol as he, too, dove for the tarmac, "shoot the bastard. Now."
Vance aimed for the doorway, but it was already closing, the steps coming up. Sabri Ramirez was not a man to engage in gunplay for the fun of it. He was about to be gone. A second later the main rotor, which had been idling, immediately began to whine into acceleration.
"We blew it," Bates boomed, his voice now almost drowned by the huge GE turboshafts.
"The Hyena," Vance muttered, pulling himself up off the asphalt. "Headed back to his lair. And there's not a damned thing anybody can do about it."
"Not with Isaac on board," Bates concurred. "Sorry I yelled. You really didn't have a chance." He was shielding himself from the downdraft as he tried to stand up. "The fucker is getting away without a scratch. Looks like he pulled it off."
"Right," Vance said, watching the giant Sikorsky begin to lift. "But maybe there's one thing left we can do. How about trying to remove that bomb"—he pointed up at VX-1—"before that thing goes up?"
"What in hell are you talking about?" Bates turned to squint at the silver spire. 'There's no way."
"Well, I don't know, what about using the Agusta? It's probably still flyable." He had turned back to watch the Sikorsky bank into the thinning fog. Ramirez was just barely visible through the windscreen, smiling as he disappeared into the mist.
"There's no time. Peretz told me that VX-1 is set to lift off at seven forty-eight. The bastard had it timed exactly." Bates glanced at his watch. 'That's just a few minutes."
"No balls," Vance snorted. "Bill, for godsake, let's give it a shot. Maybe we can at least disable it, turn it into a dud."
Bates was still dubious as he gazed upward. "Buddy, I don't want to be hovering over that thing when the Cyclops kicks in. Do you realize—"
"Come on, where's your backbone." He waved to Cally, who was now coming around the corner of the gantry. 'Thanks for not shooting me."
"When I saw Ramirez start killing everybody, I assumed you two were next. It was then or never." She looked exhausted.
"You assumed right. We were on the hit list. Thanks." He kissed her on the forehead, where her hair was still plastered. "Now will you help me talk some sense into this guy? I say we could at least try to mess up the bomb before the Cyclops launches it. They've got it programmed for Souda Bay."
"You're kidding." Bates was transfixed.
"That's what he claimed. Come on, let's . . . hang on a second." He turned and trotted over to the doorway of Launch, where he seized a coil of electrical wire. "This may come in handy." Coming back, he punched Bates' arm. "Let's give it a try. No guts, no glory."
"Souda Bay. Christ!" Bates glanced again at his watch. "Mike, we've got less than nine minutes."
7:38a.m.
"I copy," Nichols said into his mike. "When did the chopper lift off?"
"The AWACS picked it up at . . . just after 0730 hours," came the voice from the Kennedy. It was General Max Austin. "The bastards are bugging out."
"So what do we do now? Try and intercept them?"
"We're taking care of that from here. Fixed-wing. First, though, we've got to figure out if there really are hostages aboard, like they claim. But don't worry about it. There's nowhere they can hide. Your mission is still the same. Secure the facility. There could still be some of them left, so just interdict anything that tries to egress."
"That's a confirm. If it moves, it fucking dies."
7:42a.m.
Dawn had arrived, though the mantle of light fog was still adding a hazy texture to the air. The sun-up had a freshness that reminded Vance of the previous morning, the first glimmerings of daybreak. Now, though, visibility was hampered by the residual moisture in the air, just enough to give the world a pristine sheen. What would the morning look like, Vance wondered, if a nuclear device exploded at Souda Bay on nearby Crete? It was a possibility difficult to imagine, but the results were not.
Bates began spooling up the power, and slowly the blue-and-white striped Agusta Mark II started lifting off the pad. Fortunately it had been prepped the previous day and was ready to fly.
"This is going to be dicey, Mike," Bates yelled back from the cockpit, his voice just audible above the roar of the engines. "I don't know how exactly you expect to manage this."
"I don't know either," Vance yelled in reply. “Try and see if you can hover just above the payload bay. Very gently."
Cally was helping him circle the insulated wire about his waist, then his crotch, making a kind of seat. Finally he handed her the free end and shouted, "Here, can you secure this around something?"
"Around what?" she yelled back.
"Anything that looks sturdy. And then hang onto it."
"Ever done this before?" She had found a steel stmt by the door. "I haven't."
"Are you kidding! That makes us equally experienced."
"Well, remember one thing—the downdraft from the main rotor is going to buffet you like crazy. Be prepared."
"Right." He was already trying mental games to avoid vertigo. The closest thing he could think of was looking out the windows of a tall building, and even that scared him. He liked working close to the ground. Very close.
As Bates guided the Agusta quickly down toward the launch pad and the vehicles, visibility was no more than a quarter of a mile. And since he had not bothered switching on the radar, he was totally unaware of the two Apache AH-64s now approaching from the south at 180 mph. It was a mistake.
7:44a.m.
"Sir, we've just picked up some new action on the island," Manny Jackson, in the first Apache, said into his radio. He could scarcely wait to get in and take down the island. These camel-jockey terrorists needed to be taught a lesson once and for all. He had lost a cousin, nineteen years old, in the Beirut bombing, and this was the closest he was ever going to get to a payback. "Guess there were more of the bastards. Ten to one they're taking up another chopper."
"No way are we going to allow that to happen," Nichols declared. He was in the lead Huey, two kilometers back. "The first batch may have got away, but not these. From now on, nobody down there moves a hair. We're about to teach them a thing or two about air supremacy."
"They don't seem to be going anywhere. Just moving down the island. What do you think it means?" He was wondering what a lot of it meant. Why was Souda Bay being evacuated? They weren't calling it that, but an evacuation was exactly what was under way. A big hurry-up to get the fleet into blue water, all nonessentials ordered to take a day off with pay, a sudden token of "thanks" from Uncle Sammy for jobs well done. Bullshit. . . .
"Probably picking up hostages," came back Nichols's voice. "Who the hell knows? But our mission is to make sure they don't leave the ground."
"You've got it, sir." He reached down to the weapons station and flipped the red switch that armed the Hughes 30mm chain gun. Its twelve hundred rounds, he figured, should be enough to handle the problem.
7:46a.m.
"What in blazes is he doing?" Pierre Armont wondered aloud. He was standing with Beginald Hall at the southern entrance of the SatCom living quarters, the Bates Motel, gazing out over the launch pad and trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Five minutes earlier they had watched in dismay as the Sikorsky lifted off. Now this.
"Looks to be some damn-fool trapeze stunt," Reggie Hall muttered, shaking his head. "He's going to get himself killed. What in bloody hell?"
He caught his breath as he watched Vance begin rappelling down some kind of thin line dangling out the open door of the chopper, spiraling from the downdraft of the main rotor. It was something of a circus aerial act—definitely not recommended for civilians. He clearly didn't have the slightest idea how to use his arms to stabilize the spin. A rank amateur. . . .
What was that sound? His senses quickened and he turned to squint at the southern horizon. Through the light fog he could hear the faint beginnings of a dull, familiar roar, and he realized immediately it was choppers coming in. He quickly pulled out his Tasco binoculars and studied the morning sky—two helos, both looking like ungainly spiders. Yes, they had to be Apaches. What else.
Great, he thought, once more the U.S. has got its timing dead on. The first time they showed up and managed to keep us from getting Ramirez, and this time they decide to drop in just after his Sikorsky took off, probably taking him and the last of his goons out, undoubtedly with a few hostages for good measure. From all appearances, he had gotten away. Again. It was sickening.
Now the gunships were dropping altitude and moving in, boldly, with the authority their firepower commanded. He wondered if the teams on board might actually be unaware that Ramirez had escaped.
"We ought to go out and signal them in," Armont said. "Let them know how useless—"
Warning flares erupted from the Hughes 30mm in the nose of the first Apache, missing the Agusta by no more than fifty meters.
"Christ! They don't know who the friendlies are." He immediately canceled his impromptu plan to head out and wave. The U.S. Army was in no mood to dialogue.
"Do they think Mike's a terrorist?" Reggie asked, incredulous. But even as he said it, he realized that must be exactly what they thought. They were going to try to force down the Agusta. Or shoot it down.
"Reggie, draw their fire!" Armont yelled. Almost by instinct, he raised his Steyr-Mannlicher assault rifle and opened up on the lead helicopter, going for the well-protected GE turboshaft on the left. "Don't try to kill anybody, for godsake. Just distract them."
'This is insane," declared Willem Voorst, who had come out to see what all the excitement was about. "What are you doing? I don't want to go to war with the United States of America."
Then he noticed the blue-and-white Agusta hovering over VX-1, Vance dangling, and put it all together. Without a further word he aimed his MP5 and got off a burst, watching as it glinted harmlessly off the second Apache's left wing.
Miraculously it worked. The Army's favorite helicopters
were huge, with a main rotor almost fifty feet in diameter, but they could turn on a dime and these did. They came about and opened fire with their chain guns on the cinderblock portico where Armont and Hall and Voorst were ensconced.
The 30mm rounds tore around them, sending chunks of concrete flying, but the structure was temporarily solid enough to provide protection. Armont ducked out and got off another burst, keeping on the heat, then back in again.
Now the Agusta was hovering just above the nose of the VX-1 vehicle, and Vance had disappeared on the other side. What, Armont wondered again, could he possibly be doing with the vehicle . . . ? Then the answer hit him, as transparent as day.
Merde!He's going to try and retrieve the bomb.
Good Christ, he thought, the man has gone mad. He may know how to trace hot money halfway around the globe, but he doesn't know zip about a nuclear device. He'll probably set the thing off by accident and blow the entire island to—
A spray of cannon fire kicked up a line of asphalt next to where he was standing, and he retreated for cover deeper behind the cinderblock portico. They're not going to fool around long with that chain gun, he told himself. We're going to be looking at rockets soon, and then it's game up.
"We've done what we can for Michael," he yelled, getting off one last burst. "We've got to get back inside before they get tired of playing around and just fry this place."
"I hear you," Willem Voorst agreed, already headed deeper inside. "Mike's on his own."
7:47 a.m.
Vance had never been more scared in his life. This made a day at a stormy helm seem like a Sunday stroll. The down-draft was spinning him violently now, a lesson that rappelling was not for the faint of heart. Then he remembered some basic physics and held out his arms, helplessly flapping like a wounded bird. But it was enough, as his spin immediately slowed.
He was dizzy now, but when he came around, he got an overview of the launch facility, and the glimpse made him realize that something had gone terribly wrong. What were those? Two Apache helicopters were hovering and they were firing on . . . on the Bates Motel. Just beyond the fallen gantry.
Why! Ramirez and all his goons were gone or dead.
Bill Bates, who also had seen it all, had a better understanding of what was under way. It was a massive failure of communications. Thinking as quickly as he could, he started negotiating the Agusta around, situating VX-1 between him and the Apaches. The fucking Delta Force had come in like gangbusters and was shooting at the wrong target. There was no time to try to raise them on the radio, and besides, he only had two hands.
Down below, Vance slammed against the hard metal of the nose, and then rotated, one-handed, to try to take measure of what to do next. It wasn't going to be easy, that much was sure. The payload bay was sealed with a Teflon ring, which was itself secured with a series of streamlined clamps that were bolted from inside, designed for automated control. But . . . there also was lettering next to a thumb-operated hatch that reademergency release.
He flipped it open and, bracing himself against the side of the silver cone to try to overcome the destabilizing down- draft, looked in. A red button, held down for safety by another thumb latch, stared back.
What the heck, he thought, you've got nothing to lose. He flipped the thumb safety, and then—bracing himself to try to slow his erratic spin—slammed a heel into the button. Nothing happened for a second, but then the Teflon clamps on the cargo bay began to click open one by one.
Up above him, Cally was yelling something, but he couldn't make out her voice above the roar of the engines. Anyway, whatever it was, it would have to wait. There was only one thing left to do, and he had to press on. The clamps were now released, but the cargo bay was still closed. . . .
At that moment, he began experiencing yet another failure of nerve. There could only be a minute left, two at most, and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do next.
Then he noticed the heavy release levers, positioned beneath the Teflon clamps and circling the three sides of the streamlined door. Once more bracing himself against the slippery side of the nose, he began clicking them open, starting on the left and working his way around.
Time is surely running out, he told himself. This could end up being the stupidest stunt ever attempted. The roar of the Agusta above was so deafening he could barely think. He felt all of his forty-nine years, a weight crushing down on him with the finality of eternity. . . .
Then the last clamp snapped free, and he watched as the door opened by itself, slowly swinging upward. It was heavy, shaped like the pressure door on an airplane fuselage, and designed to withstand the frictional heat of space flight. But the spring mountings on the recessed hinges were intended to open and close automatically.
And there sat a metallic sphere outfitted with a jumble of connectors and switches. So that's what a bomb looks like, he marveled. It was somehow nothing like he had imagined, if he had had time to imagine.
Now Bates had lowered the helo just enough to allow him to slide inside and take the weight off the line. Finally he could breathe, but again the matter of passing seconds had all his attention. If the vehicle really was going up at 7:48, then there probably was less than a minute left now to get the device unhooked and out.
He looked it over, puzzling, and decided on one giant gamble, one all-or-nothing turn of the wheel. It was a terrifying feeling.
Quickly he untied the wire from around his waist, and began looping it around the metal sphere: once, twice, three times. There was no time, and no way, to disconnect the telemetry, so the device would simply have to be ripped out. One thing was sure: if it blew, he would never be the wiser.
When he had the wire secure, or as secure as he could make it, he looked out the door and gave Cally a thumbs-up sign, hoping she would understand. She did. She turned and yelled something to Bates, and a moment later the Agusta began to power out as the pitch of the blades slowly changed. The line grew taut, then strained against the sides of the bomb, tightening his knots.
Will the wire hold? he wondered, and does this little toy helo have enough lift to yank this thing out of here? It's like pulling a giant tooth.
Then there was a ripping sound as the connectors attached to the sphere began tearing loose. So far so good, he thought. At least the telemetry is now history. If the vehicle goes up now, it'll be orbiting a dud. Mission partly accomplished.
Then the bomb pulled away from its last moorings and slammed against the side of the door, leaving him pinned against the frame, unable to breathe. But he instinctively grabbed the line and wrapped his legs around the sphere, just as it rotated and broke free. As it bumped against the doorframe of the payload bay, he barely missed hitting the closing door, but he ducked and swung free, into the open air, riding the device as though it were a giant wrecking ball.
7:48a.m.
"Those bastards firing on us have gone inside," Philip Sexton yelled. "Let them wait. Let's stop the damned chopper from egressing." He was pointing through the windscreen of the Apache. "Orders are to keep everybody on the ground."
Manny Jackson hit the pedals. Nothing to it. There, almost in his sights, was the striped Agusta chopper, with a terrorist hanging beneath it. Probably fell out. He was hanging on to something, though what it was you really couldn't tell through the thin mist.
It didn't matter. The guy was open and in the clear. This was the beginning of what was going to be a marvelous operation, taking these bastards down. With a feeling of immense satisfaction, he reached for the weapons station.
And then his world went blue.
7:49a.m.
Cally stared out the open door of the Agusta and felt her heart skip a beat. A beam of energy, so strong it ionized the air and turned it deep mauve, seemed to be engulfing Michael. Staring down, she was almost blinded by its intensity. He was there, she was sure, but where she could not tell.
Then it shut off for a second, and she realized it had been directed toward the base of VX-1. Next came an enormous clap of thunder as the splintered air collapsed on itself, sending out shock waves. Just like lightning, she thought. The Cyclops is sending energy as though it were lightning. . . .
Then the blue flashed again, and this time it began microsecond pulses, like a massive strobe light. All the action was now highlighted in jerky snippets of vision, as unreal as a disco dance floor. The air around the beam was being turned to plasma, ionized pure atoms . . . but the next burst of energy came from the propulsion unit of VX-1, which slowly began discharging a concentrated plume out of its nozzles, a primal green instead of the usual reds and oranges of a conventional rocket.
The Cyclops had just gone critical, right on the money, ionizing the dry-ice propellant in VX-1. Would the impulse be enough to lift it off? she wondered. Was Isaac's grand scheme going to work? Years had been spent planning for this moment. She felt her heart stop as she waited for the answer, totally forgetting the man who was dangling just below the chopper, bathed in the hard, pulsing strobes.
7:50a.m.
As Manny Jackson grappled for the collective, blinded by the intense monochromatic light engulfing him, a clap of thunder sounded about his ears, deafening him to the roar of the Apache's turboshafts.
What in hell! Had one of the nuclear devices been detonated? No, his instincts lectured, he was still alive. If it had been a nuke, he would be atoms by now, sprayed into space. This had to be something else.
Now his vision was returning, the blue receding into quick flashes, and the chopper seemed to be stabilizing. Maybe, he thought, I'm not going to be permanently blind. But I've got to get this bird on the ground. We'll just have to take our chances. Then the realization of what had happened finally sank in. The damned Cyclops laser had switched on. They had arrived too late. . . .
He was thrown against the windscreen as the Apache slammed into the asphalt and collapsed the starboard leg of the retractable gear.
"Jesus!" He turned back to the cabin, forehead bleeding, and yelled, "Everybody okay?"
The assault team was still strapped in, and nobody seemed the worse for the bumpy landing. The Apache was a tough bird, hero of tank battles in Iraq.
"No problem," came back a chorus of yells. They were already unfastening their straps and readying their weapons.
"All right," he bellowed, killing the power. "Everybody out. Let's take cover and kick ass."
7:50a.m.
Vance heard the thunder and felt the shock wave almost simultaneously. He gripped the wire, trying to hold on, and felt it cut deep into his palms. The pain seemed to work in opposition to the numbing effects of the shock wave that had buffeted him, assaulting his eardrums and his consciousness. For a moment he forgot where he was, shut out all thought, and just hung onto the wire with his last remaining energy.
In the Agusta up above, Bates was struggling with the controls, trying to keep stabilized as the pressure pulse from the Cyclops swept down the island. The dangling bomb, and Vance, were serving as a counterweight, holding the small commercial helo aright. It was all that kept it from flipping as the sudden turbulence assaulted the main rotor.
The energy that filled the air now had yet another release.
As his eardrums recovered, Vance heard a new roar, deeper and throatier than the sound of the Agusta, welling up around him. Down below, wave after wave of pressure pulses were drumming the air, and he watched spellbound as VX-1 shuddered, then began to inch upward into the morning sky. It was a gorgeous sight, the lift-off of the world's first laser-driven space vehicle.
Was Cally watching this moment of triumph? he wondered. She should be ecstatic, even in spite of all the rest.
But would the vehicle make it to orbit? he suddenly asked himself. With the payload gone, wouldn't the weight parameters be all out of whack. But then maybe it didn't matter. The mere fact that it was going up should be enough to cover Bates’ contractual obligations with his investors.
That was down the road. He was so mesmerized by the sight of the lift-off that he had totally forgotten he was wrapped around a nuke, hanging on for all he had as the asphalt loomed fifty feet below, like Slim Pickens riding the bomb down in that famous closing scene from Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove.
Then the pain in his hands refocused his attention. The bomb down below, he figured, was now permanently inoperable. But Ramirez still had Mannheim as a hostage, and he had made good his escape. Which meant he was still in the terrorists' catbird seat. Using innocents for a shield rather than slugging it out fair and square.
As the Cyclops continued to pulse, and VX-1 edged upward into the morning mist, Bates steered the Agusta toward the old landing pad where it had originally been parked. In moments he had eased down the bomb, just as though settling in a crate of eggs, no more than twenty feet from where they had taken off five minutes earlier. It was a marvel of professionalism.
As the weapon bumped onto the asphalt, Vance had a sudden thought. The damned thing was useless now, and harmless. But what about the other one, the one Ramirez had taken with him in the Sikorsky?
"Michael, are you all right?" Cally had leapt from the open door of the Agusta, looking as disoriented as he had ever seen her. "You were only a few feet away when the Cyclops turned on. For a minute there, I couldn't even see you. What was it like?"
"Try the end of the world. Like a thousand bolts of lightning, all aimed at one place."
"A perfect description." She smiled and reached to help him stand up. "I'd never realized there'd be a thunderclap when it switched on at full power. God, what a sight." She was beaming at the thought, exhilarated that all SatCom's work had been vindicated.
"You know," he said, "speaking of the end of the world, we came pretty close. I hate to think what would happen if a bomb actually went off on Crete."
"I've got a sinking feeling the end of the road wasn't going to be Crete at all," Bates declared, stepping down from the Agusta. "I've been thinking. Something that little Israeli prick let drop as we were coming out to start up the Sikorsky finally sank in. He was rambling on about retargeting the vehicle. You know, I think it was going to come back here. He had the trajectory set to begin and end right here on Andikythera. After he bugged out, of course."