They dumped their trays at the door on their way to the War Room, their feet pounding against the tunnel floor. Karen greeted them on the inside. “We found something.”
“Put it on the screen,” Clark prompted.
She typed furiously and the audio file displayed on the overhead screens, next to a phone number with a New York address. “I figured if Abdullah was in New York in the nineties and he was a devout Muslim, he had to spend time in a mosque. I cross-referenced the list of known Muslim clerics from that time with ones who have ties back to Afghanistan and the Mujahideen, then put taps on their phones. This man, Muhammad Al-Hamid, made this call ten minutes ago.”
They listened to the voice speaking in Arabic. Karen translated. “Al-Hamid is speaking to a man named Ahmed, pleading with him to abort the operation. Ahmed is saying that it will be a great blow to the city and to the Americans. Al-Hamid says he will pray to Allah that Ahmed will come to his senses, that the operation is a mistake. Ahmed says it is no use arguing, their friend has too much influence and the youth are behind him. The attack will happen by noon.” Karen turned to them, her face ashen. “Noon? If that’s the East coast, that’s only forty minutes from now.”
They all sat back, stunned. Clark was the first to speak. “City? Does he mean New York?”
Eric nodded. “Sergeant, pass the info along to DHS, they need to issue an imminent threat alert. Nancy, get Kelly and get the jet ready, I want wheels up in fifteen.”
“There’s not enough time,” Nancy said. “We need a contingency plan.”
Eric turned to Clark. “We have one. Is the Black Lady still on standby?”
Clark’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
Eric nodded and grabbed John by the shoulder. “Grab the Battlesuit and meet me at the entrance tunnel in five.”
John grabbed the plastic cases and ran to the tunnel entrance, the cases swinging wildly and banging into his legs. Eric was waiting in a Humvee, and when John tossed the cases in the back, Eric gunned the engine and they went screeching out of the tunnel into the hot desert air.
“Put on the suit and VISOR,” Eric said.
John opened the cases, strapping on the Battlesuit armor. He struggled to clip on the combat harness as the Humvee bounced across the desert floor, barely managing to click the tabs in place. He put on the VISOR and activated the electronics, the HUD winking into existence before his eyes. “If you keep driving like this, I’m going to puke inside this thing.”
“You won’t be able to take your HK, just your handguns. There’s not enough room.”
Not enough room? “Eric? What’s the Black Lady?”
Eric floored the Humvee and headed for the main runway at Groom Lake. He pointed his finger and John’s mouth dropped as the plane pulled onto the tarmac. It was a giant black dart, one hundred and forty feet long, with bulges in the middle and gigantic engine nacelles near the rear. Men worked on something underneath the plane’s belly, but John could not make out the details.
Eric smiled. “That is the Black Lady. Smith dug it out of black budget. You’ll be in New York in no time.” Eric hit the runway, the tires squealing as they bit concrete, and brought the Humvee to a screeching halt near the middle of the aircraft.
John struggled to load his M11’s, and he shivered when finally got a good look at what the men were working on. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
It was a bomb casing, split in half, with a hollow center. Eric thumped him on the shoulder. “The Black Lady is a one-seater bomber, but we’ve turned it into a delivery vehicle. For one man. You. When you reach your destination the pilot will drop you. A couple of hundred feet above ground the top will blow off, the retrorockets will kick in and slow your speed. When you’re within five feet of the surface the harness will blow and you’ll have a short drop to the ground.”
John’s mouth went dry. “That’s insane.”
“They got the tech from an egghead at NASA. They call it a skycrane, they’re going to use it on some Mars probe.” Eric smiled. “Don’t worry, either it’ll work or you’ll be paste. It’s a tight fit, I hope you’re not claustrophobic.”
He wanted to scream at Eric that he was, indeed, claustrophobic. He keyed off the comms on the VISOR so that no one could hear their conversation. “I don’t want to go.”
Eric turned to him, his gaze unwavering. “I know you’re angry at us. I know you probably want to take a swing at me—”
“I don’t,” John interrupted. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t ever want to hurt anybody again.”
Eric paused. “Think of what happens if Abdullah succeeds. You want that on your conscience? Think of it as karma. You can’t ever make up for what you did, but maybe this can pay some of it back.”
John shook his head. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re ready,” Eric reassured. “You’ll do this because you’re a good man who wants to do the right thing. No matter what else you may think, understand this. I believe in you.”
John realized he’d been holding his breath, waiting for Eric to shoot him, but Eric’s words filled him with hope. He didn’t want to let the man down. He keyed his comms back on. “How do I get in that thing?”
John felt suffocated inside the bomb casing, even though the VISOR was piping fresh air across his face. His HUD showed his elevated vitals and erratic pulse. He blinked rapidly as the aircraft vibrated, preparing for takeoff.
The bomb casing provided its own heating and cooling and two hours of air. When he asked Eric why two hours, Eric shrugged and said within two hours he would either be where he was supposed to be or dead.
“John, can you hear me?” Eric’s voice crackled over comms.
John took slow breaths in an attempt to calm his breathing. “Yes.”
“As soon as the Black Lady is airborne, we’ll be following in the Gulfstream. You’ll be in New York in less than thirty minutes. We have a ground team ready and waiting, we’re going to drop you on the edge of the city. They’ll pick you up. Just hang in there.”
John hesitated. He tried not to think of how little space there was inside the bomb casing, but no matter how tried, even the tiniest of movements reminded him that he was flat on his back and packed in like a sardine. “Eric? It’s tight in here. I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“John? It’s Doctor Barnwell. We can help with that. We can trigger the Implant to inject a mild sedative until your deployment.”
John sighed. “That would be fantastic.”
“Activating the Implant.”
Calm washed over him as his vitals dropped to normal, and he suddenly felt sleepy instead of panicked. “Thanks, Doc.”
A whine increased in pitch, becoming a dull roar, and the VISOR worked hard to dampen the sound of the engines. The plane shook as it rolled down the runway, then the g-pressure increased.
The sense of motion increased and the roar of the engines could no longer be muffled by the VISOR. He felt his entire body shake like a taught bowstring, and then his stomach dropped out and knew they were airborne.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Karen slammed down her tenth large coffee. Her bladder was killing her, but she was too caught up in her work to pee.
She shook her head. They really needed to put more coffee machines in the War Room. Or, maybe she could requisition a coffee machine just for her desk. No, Clark would never agree. Everyone thought she had a problem with caffeine. She tried to explain that it kicked her mind into overdrive, but no one listened. Her husband understood.
She stared at her monitor. She missed Brad. The casual sex on base helped, but it wasn’t the same. It might be interesting with Eric, though, and if she had her way he would be next on her list.