The lights inside the apartment were off.
“What do you think?” Coy asked the controller.
“I’m not really sure,” the operations officer replied. “Let me see if we can get a good laser shot at the window.” He nodded to the controller, who initiated the proper commands.
“What do you mean, laser shot?” the DIA director asked. “What good will the laser do us now?”
“Sir, the laser has many purposes other than to lock onto and designate targets. For example, what we are doing here is to focus the laser on the target’s front window. If there is anyone inside who is talking, the laser will detect the vibration in the glass from their voices. This kind of technology is really nothing new. It’s something we have been doing for over a decade now. It’s just that this is the first time we can do it from one of our birds up in space.”
Coy looked to the DIA Director and smiled. Such an incredible toy. He was proud.
“Just a minute, sir,” the controller called out. “We are getting just a hint of vibration. Someone is talking from inside the president’s quarters.”
“Bingo!” Coy whispered to himself.
The operations officer turned to his satellite controller. “Let’s go in and have a good look around,” he said.
With a few keystrokes, the visual scene faded away and was replaced by an infrared image once again. The soldiers appeared ghost-like, their bodies nothing but blurry masses of white light. The heat from the vehicle engines burned brightly on the huge screen. The controller moved the picture to the inside of the “quarters. Several white circles and half a dozen long, white lines filled the screen.
“These are hot water pipes and the hot water heaters,” the controller explained while he circled each object on the screen. “This is the furnace. And this… ” he paused for a moment, “… this looks to be a big-screen television. See how it glows. It is warm. It is on. This could be the source of our voices.”
“Okay,” Coy barked out. “It is really quite fascinating, but forget the tour. Just tell us if you think he’s there.”
The controller scanned through the rooms, then said, “Negative, sir. He’s not there. Unless he’s dead. There is no living source of heat. There is nothing alive in these rooms.”
“All right, then let’s keep on looking. And let’s pick it up. We haven’t much time. And who knows where the target might be?”
The controller punched at his computer. Forty-five miles above the surface of the earth, the satellite’s sensors were moved once again. This time, they honed in on Fedotov’s private office, a small cubicle of stone which jutted out from the back of the Kremlin.
Moments later, the operations officer shouted in excitement, “That’s him! It has to be him! You can see him at his desk. He is watching some kind of screen. With his military officers all around him. It has to be Fedotov.”
“Are you certain?” Weber Coy asked.
“Certain as we can be! It has to be him. Who else could it be?”
Coy rubbed the stubble on his chin, and then said, “Okay. Designate the target.”
With the stroke of a key, the EYE was commanded to slip out of its search program and into its target-designator mode. Instantly, a four million watt, pencil-thin beam of invisible light lazed down from the satellite and locked onto the office, scattering a pool of reflective energy around the wooden shingles at the crest of the roof line. The Sunbeam would use the laser beam to home in on its target.
Major Peleznogorsk leveled off at 4,000 feet and pushed up his throttles to keep up his speed. The sky had cleared for a moment through a thin break in the clouds, and looking down, he could barely make out the dim outline of the barren hills and narrow valleys that ran northward from the Khoper River toward the city of Borisoglebsk. The low mountains sat in mute silence in the moonlit night.
Twelve miles to the south, Richard Ammon watched the time-to-target display on his screen. One minute and thirty-two seconds to go. The flight profile data was already loaded into the Sunbeam. Its internal batteries were up and running. The starter motor was standing by.
All that was left was the final countdown sequence. Sixty seconds to align the missile’s internal gyroscopes and navigation computers.
Ammon looked out in front of his bomber. In the glimmer of the clearing night, he could just make out the Khoper River as it began to come into view.
It was time to go.
With a jerk of his hand, Ammon threw the aircraft into a sudden and tight left-hand turn. He felt himself sink into his seat from the force of the Gs. The Khoper slid underneath the nose of the bomber as Reaper’s Shadow shuddered against the strain of the high-G turn.
Morozov called out in a panic. “What are you doing? Where are you going? Ammon, come back to heading three-five-two. Come on, Ammon, do it now!”
Ammon did not reply. Instead he rolled the aircraft out on a westerly heading, then reached down and began to punch the launch code into his navigation computer.
“Carl, where are you going?” Morozov demanded.
Still Ammon did not reply.
“Carl Vadym Kostenko… what are you programming into the computer?” Morozov shouted. Some numbers flashed up on his screen. “Ammon! I want you on a heading of three-five-two. That’s three-five-two, Ammon! Turn it, Ammon! Turn it now!”
The aircraft continued to the west.
Morozov’s voice filled Ammon’s ears once again. “Ammon, think what you’re doing to Jesse. What about her, you yellow-faced coward? Think of blood and pain and tears of sadness. You can’t even imagine what my men will do!”
Ammon blinked his eyes and swallowed hard. His stomach rolled in hate and disgust.
With a start, he shook his head and finished entering the code into the system computer. He checked the numbers to ensure that he had not made a mistake. Then, reaching up, he paused over the “Enter” key on his computer’s keyboard.
“Morozov, ol’ buddy,” he said very simply, “I think you should listen to me now. It’s time for your little surprise.”
Ammon jammed the computer’s “Enter” button.
Immediately the coordinates of the missile launch line flashed up onto Morozov’s navigation computer while a bright red light began to flash on his screen.
“SELECTED MISSILE IN FINAL COUNTDOWN”
The new time-to-target display showed Reaper’s Shadow was only fifty-nine seconds from launching the missile.
Morozov wiped his hands over his face as he stared at his screen. For a long moment, he sat in quiet shock. What was this missile? Where did it come from?
And then it hit him. Whatever Ammon was doing, he wasn’t working for him.
“Ammon, I swear I will kill you!” he shouted. “I swear, I swear, I will kill you! I’ll rip out your heart and shove it down your throat! I’ll—”
Richard Ammon reached down and disconnected his communication cord from the intercom box. There was no longer any reason to listen to Ivan Morozov. He pushed up all four of his throttles and once again was pushed back in his seat. The Bone began to accelerate, leaving a vapor trail of super-heated air in its wake.
All the while, the missile continued in its countdown. At ten seconds, Morozov felt the bomb bay doors swing open, dropping with a rush into the oncoming wind. At seven seconds, he heard a faint hiss and rumble as the missile starter-motors kicked in. At three seconds, he felt a quick rattle against the aircraft’s frame, as two hydraulic pistons slammed against the missile, sending it downward with a sudden thaat!