Remo punched a keypad while his boss activated a row of computers. On the roof a satellite dish automatically locked onto a communications satellite, putting Suarez in touch with the world. From there the signal took a trip from uplink to uplink, sometimes splitting into two or three signals to be beamed in opposing directions, all converging at the switchboard of the UN Security Council.
When he heard the phone connect Suarez didn’t wait for a voice.
“Did you think I was joking? Why have you not begun to pay?”
“But we have,” said the voice on the other end, a voice he didn’t recognize.
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” said the voice. “Tell me the code.”
“White Mountain.”
“No, that’s your password. The new code.”
Suarez pushed the “hold” button on his switchboard and stared at Remo, who was listening to the call on a headset. “Did you hear that? What are they talking about? ‘New code’? I arranged no new code. What are they doing?”
Remo stared blankly back, not sure what to say.
Until that moment he’d been certain their plan would succeed without a hitch. He tried to think of something comforting, but all he could manage was: “You don’t think they’re playing with us, do you?”
“I think they are,” answered Suarez. “What else could it mean? But why would they be so stupid?” He rested his elbows on the padded desk and buried his face in his hands. “Perhaps they need another lesson,” he said softly.
“We should talk to them,” said Remo. “We can’t let some office jerk screw everything up.”
“No. Let them do the worrying.” He hit the “hold” button again and spoke. “It would be unwise to play games with the lives of so many people. I can detonate the other bombs in the ice at any time. Or do you think I’m bluffing?”
No answer came. The line was dead.
He redialled the special number. It rang three times, then the same voice answered.
“Who is this?” it said.
Suarez took a deep breath. “The money has not been transferred. Do I have to remind you that noon today, New York time, was the deadline? Is this game you are playing with me an invitation to detonate the rest of the bombs?”
There were a few clicks on the line, then the voice spoke again. “We need some proof that you are who you say you are.”
His face began to flush. “My talking to you on this line is your proof. Why haven’t you moved five billion US dollars from the Chase Manhattan Bank? Are you stalling?”
“I see,” said the voice. “Very well. I have orders to transfer you to the President of the United States.”
“The time for talking has ended. I have no interest in talking to your President or anyone else. In the name of the world’s poor, I demand you begin the transfer of cash as instructed — now! There will be no more discussions. And remember this. If the money has not begun to move by midnight tonight, your time, I will detonate the bombs that remain in the Ross Ice Shelf.”
He punched the disconnect switch with a jab of his finger. “You are making this very easy for me, you fuckers!” he shouted. “I will enjoy watching the waves engulf the world, choking the life out of you arrogant bastards.”
Suarez had no idea of the problems that had broken out at the United Nations. The secret phone number had been leaked. Some blamed the World Wide Web, others the phone company; whatever the truth, hoaxers were getting through on the line. The Secretary General himself had ordered the UN staffers to ask for a new codeword; only the real terrorist would know that there was no such new codeword, and that would identify him. Unfortunately, the Secretary General hadn’t been able to tell Suarez this so, when he call ed, the staffers knew they had their man… but they’d pissed him off so much he’d hung up.
President Kerry sat in the Oval Office listening to a dead phone line for nearly a half hour before he gave up and ordered the link closed. He and the Vice-President, the head of the Joint Chiefs, and several top financial attorneys were poised to begin the electronic transfer of five billion dollars. But the President had wanted to speak to the Deep Ice terrorists himself before recommending capitulation to the world’s bankers. Now he didn’t know what to do.
“Get me Hayes,” he said into the speaker phone.
“He’s in the field, sir,” came the answer a moment later. “It may take a while.”
Kerry turned to Vice-President Rockefeller. “Hope he’s got Suarez by the balls.”
It was nearly half past two in the afternoon. Flitting through rocky canyons and above the tips of pine forests, the twin Gadfly choppers led a fairly large air cavalry group. Inside Gadfly Two, General Hayes was wondering how the SEAL commander had been able to foresee how well these Stealth helicopters would suit the mission. No doubt the Hacienda had radar. No doubt Suarez’s antennae were at full mast.
Sitting alongside, Grimes seemed miles away. He just stared through the window without expression.
Hayes nudged him. “What’s up, Kai?”
“My dick, sir,” said Grimes with a smile. “Gonna eat me terrorist for dinner.”
Henry laughed and held firm to Shep’s harness as the Gadfly dipped with a change in the wind. The dog whimpered quietly.
In the distance a speck of white appeared on a hillside. As soon as he saw it, the pilot, Rob Walters, spoke up. “TransAm Optical, Incorporated, twelve o’clock and closing. Ladies, please remove your hats.”
An alarm inside his black helmet alerted Hayes to an incoming call.
“Yes?” he said into his lip mike.
“The President, sir,” said a communications officer.
“Great,” said Grimes. “Let’s all have a nice long chat on the freaking radio with the freaking Prez so Suarez can listen in! Maybe he’ll give us some good advice!”
“Stow it, Kai,” said the general.
“It’s a secured line, Commander,” said Walters.
“Right,” said Grimes, staring into field glasses at the distant building. “Have you lot checked this antenna array?”
Hayes told Walters to slow down and drop low.
The pilot quickly complied.
In less than a minute the attack force began deploying behind a hill they’d decided was the only piece of terrain sure to be a blind spot for any radio or radar at the Hacienda. Behind them, hundreds of miles away, cruise missiles were armed and targeted on TransAm Optical.
On the ground the general conferred with President Kerry. When he emerged alone from the Gadfly, General Hayes wasn’t smiling.
“We have to try to take him alive,” he said to the SEAL.
Henry was again being swept along with the waves of history.
“It had to be you,” said Grimes to Henry as they joined the rest of the SEALs, who stood next to a row of HumVees and other personnel carriers — six in all, of various sizes. “You armed?”
“Yes,” said Henry. Before they’d taken off from the Enterprise he’d been issued a small handgun that looked so terrifyingly efficient he didn’t even like to touch it. He’d put it in the holster they’d given him, which tucked down the back of his standard-issue fatigue pants. Sarah, when he’d modelled the setup for her in their cabin, had made a most unladylike joke about what an accidental discharge from the gun might ream.
“Good,” said Grimes. “Just don’t point it at me, okay?”
They didn’t rol for a while. It wasn’t three o’clock yet.
“I shook the world and it is silent as the hour of doom approaches,” said Suarez.