He considered the talk button, then pushed it and said to the man in the weapons bay, the man he saw for the first time just minutes before, “God go with you, son.”
The skyscrapers of Manhattan approached, the ship’s speed finally dropping to sub-sonic as the scramjets flamed out, slow enough to finally release the package. He imagined the people below, looking up as the roar of the sonic boom finally caught up to the sight of the black aircraft, and wondered what they would think.
The skyline rushed closer, the tall buildings a giant canyon so close he felt he could reach out and drag his fingers across the concrete and steel, and then the ship jumped and he knew the package had been released.
The most powerful jet engines ever developed roared to life, slamming him skyward. He felt his body compress and his flight suit inflate against his skin, desperately trying to counteract the g-force and keep the blood flowing to his brain. The ship headed for the edge of space where the scram-jets could once again come to life — a quick burn over the Atlantic to meet up with the modified KC-135 for refuel and he would soon be heading home.
John was barely conscious of the outside world until the ding of his comms alerted him to Eric’s incoming call.
“John, we have a development.”
He blinked sleepily. “Where am I?” His body vibrated, shaken by an invisible hand, and then he remembered.
He was a human bomb.
“They’re activating the Implant, John.”
He felt a surge of adrenaline through his veins and gasped for breath. The previous experiences with the Implant had never felt so intense, his body and mind going into overdrive as his heart tripwired in his chest.
“What’s happened?”
“We believe a PEPCO truck loaded with the stolen cesium just pulled into Times Square.”
The Black Lady shook and he felt grinding through the airframe.
His VISOR displayed a grainy video and he watched as two men dressed in PEPCO uniforms walked steadily away from the truck, heading west.
“We believe the taller one is Abdullah,” Eric said. “The younger one is a member of the Islamic Brotherhood, a kid named Ahmed. They’re two blocks west on 46th street, and Karen says they are looking at a manhole cover. They’re probably going to try and trigger the bomb remotely, but Karen’s locked down the cell towers in Manhattan. Are you ready?”
He wanted to scream. Of course I’m not ready! “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good answer, because you’re going to be dropped any second now.”
He heard an unfamiliar voice whisper through the VISOR. “God go with you, son.” Then the Black Lady shook and his stomach dropped away as the bomb was released.
He watched the altimeter plunge in the VISOR. The HUD showed his trajectory as he came in over 8th Avenue at six hundred miles per hour, and then there was an thump and a jerk that took his breath away as the sky-crane deployed.
With a mighty bang the bomb casing split in half and the carbon fiber panels blew apart, the sky now open to him.
The view was incredible.
He rocketed through the air, feet first, clear blue sky above him. As he arced down, the skyscrapers of Manhattan came into view over the tips of his boots, and he knew that he was seeing something no one had ever witnessed — Manhattan in the open air, at six hundred feet. The g-forces added up and the altimeter continued to plunge, and then the sky-crane was blasting away.
He was coming in hot, the people below him turning to look up, their faces shocked. The numbers continued to drop, slower now, and the sky-crane’s rockets blasted harder and there was a metallic snap as the wires from his harness released.
He was just meters above the hood of a passing tan Volkswagen, stopped to honk at someone in the crosswalk. He had time to register the driver, a harried silver-haired woman, face frozen in fear, before he slammed into the hood, crumpling it like a beer-can, the impact sending a stinging pain through his legs.
He jumped from the hood onto the crosswalk at the corner of 46th and 7th, pedestrians shrinking back in fear, pointing at him.
He had arrived in Times Square.
Abdullah pulled the truck onto the curb in Times Square as the noon-day traffic rushed around them. He absently fingered his coat with the PEPCO label. The New Yorkers went about their business, oblivious, as he got out and Ahmed helped him place orange cones around the truck.
They each took a stack of cones and headed west, down 46th street, against the flow traffic. Police officers milled to the south, but none had noticed the truck. Ahmed walked faster, but Abdullah pulled him back.
“Do not rush.”
They continued past the theater and the New York Church of Scientology headquarters until Abdullah motioned to the manhole cover in front of the Paramount Hotel. “Here.”
Ahmed placed a cone on the west side and Abdullah placed a cone on the east, then they withdrew steel rods with rings on one end and hooks on the other from their coats and worked together to lift the manhole cover out of place. The midmorning rush of traffic stopped in that lane, cars honking. Abdullah smiled and waved at them to go around. A turbaned cab driver in front of him saluted him with his middle finger but Abdullah just waved pleasantly.
Across from him, Ahmed looked up. “You are sure?”
“I studied civil engineering. I worked in these tunnels. Now, hush child. In the name of Allah.” He punched in the number, hit the send button, and waited.
Nothing happened.
He felt the first twinge of panic. That was not right. He ended the call and dialed again but the call did not connect.
The cell phone displayed no signal. He held the phone aloft, but still no signal. He looked around and noticed that people up and down the street were holding their phones aloft, faces puzzled.
The Americans have jammed the cell phones.
He grabbed Ahmed by the coat. “They have shut down the phones. We will have to trigger the bomb manually,” he said through clenched teeth.
Ahmed nodded, face pale. “I will do it.”
He turned to leave but Abdullah grabbed him by the shoulder. “No. I will go.”
He turned and started back toward the truck, trying to appear nonchalant. He was almost there when he heard a roar echo throughout the concrete and steel walls of Manhattan.
He turned his gaze skyward. A black arrow-shaped aircraft was plunging toward Times Square.
Impossible!
He wanted to run to the truck and trigger the explosives but he froze in awe. Something hurtled from the aircraft, and then with a roar that made him clap his hands to his ears, the aircraft rocketed off, windows shattering in its wake, the people below running from the shower of glass raining down.
An object had dropped from the aircraft and arced down, moving fast, and then it blew apart and the top half shot skyward, rockets firing, cables dragging a form below it, a shape he realized was a man.
People around him gasped in awe and terror and Abdullah joined them. He watched, dumbstruck, as rockets slowed the man’s descent and he got his first look at the man’s back.
He was tall and dressed in black body armor and matching helmet. With an explosive crack, the man was cut free, falling onto the hood of a stopped car. The man jumped to the street and rushed north to the PEPCO truck.
It was too late to stop the man from disarming the bomb. His only chance lay in escape. He turned and saw Ahmed watching from the distance, still standing in front of the open manhole. He ran back, waving to the manhole. They had only moments before the armored man would come for them.