The man said nothing.
“You don’t look to me like one of those Islama-psychos, wants to get all blown up in the name of some holy war. Am I wrong about you or what?”
Luis hesitated, then said, “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“Not necessarily, not if you tell me what I need to know.”
Luis was in pain, but he figured his injuries were not fatal. Maybe, he thought, survival was an option. “Where are the others?”
“You’re the last man standing,” Sandor lied to him, “which means you only have yourself to save here. So what’s it gonna be?”
“You gotta promise…”
Sandor stepped forward and kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his back. “No deals, no negotiations, just tell me what I need to know.”
“Timers,” he said, “they’re on timers.”
“How long?”
“A little more than half an hour now.”
“Nuclear?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Those gray pods, how are they programmed?”
When Luis hesitated, Sandor aimed his M-4 between Luis’s eyes.
“Hey, take it easy, I’m talkin’ to you, right? They’ve got low-speed propellers, gyroscopes, each set to reach the refinery as the timer runs out.”
“Any booby traps in the setup?”
“No, I didn’t see none.”
“You telling me the truth?”
Luis nodded. “The truth. Now get me the hell outta here.”
“Oh sure,” Sandor said, “I’ll have you on your way to the local Ritz-Carlton in no time.” Then he rolled the man on his face and trussed his wrists and ankles with plastic ties, all the while making his report over the microphone to the communications center at Corpus Christi.
Once Sandor had the man secured, he continued to describe the scene while he ran for Martindale’s backpack and pulled out the digital Geiger counter. As soon as he placed it on the ground beside the trailer and turned it on, it confirmed that the area was hot.
“We’re affirmative on the weapons,” he reported. “We’re dealing with weapons-grade plutonium. These are nukes and they’re set to go.”
Captain Krause spit out a string of expletives.
“We need to get a team that can disarm these,” Sandor said, “and we need them in place right now.”
“Roger that,” Krause responded. “Any chance we can just blow them out of the water?”
“That’s a negative. We need to catch up with them first and have a look. I’m not so sure there isn’t some triggering device if we interfere with their program.”
“All right,” the CO said, “but we don’t have much time if this asshole is telling you the truth.”
“Get the bomb squad on those Coast Guard speedboats as soon as you can,” Sandor said. He was standing on the bulkhead now, looking downriver for Martindale. “The pods are running with the current,” he told Krause, then ran to each door of the trailer, finding the compartments empty. The remnants of the crating were scattered about on the soaking wet turf. “Looks like whatever they meant to do is already done,” he reported.
“What the hell does that mean?” Krause demanded.
“It means I’m going to follow Martindale.”
“Hang on, Sandor, we’ve got Coast Guard on the way. If you go in the water, we’ll have no radio contact.”
“Damn,” Sandor said, knowing he was right. “I’m not just going to stand around here, I can tell you that.” He moved quickly, dragging the two bound terrorists, one at a time, to the side of the trailer. He lifted them, shoving each one into a different compartment, slammed the doors shut, jumped into the cab, and started the engine. “I’m heading for the refinery,” he said into the microphone. “It’s only three miles, and I’ll get there in the truck. Maybe the two I have with me will have more to tell us once they’re staring at those pods coming downriver.”
At that moment the Coast Guard speedboats arrived from the south. They were Defender-class vessels with dual outboards and, as they came around the bend of the river, the crews spotted the two floating bombs. They also saw a man just behind the two gray crafts and proceeded to open fire.
“What the hell are they doing?” Sandor yelled into the microphone as he was maneuvering the gears on the large truck. “Order a cease-fire, they’re shooting at Martindale.”
Martindale also saw the USCG boats as they raced into view, then heard the first rounds go whizzing by his head, the bullets slowing as they entered the water all around him.
He had no choice but to dive, using the two large fiberglass pods for cover.
Krause, who was surrounded by a team of officers in the communications center at Corpus Christi, quickly had the situation under control. “This is Captain Krause, commanding officer at COM-CENT,” he bellowed into the speakerphone. “Get those nitwits to cease firing. They’re not only about to kill one of our own, but we don’t know enough about those pods or how they might be wired to set them off.”
Sandor was listening as he steered the rig onto Samuels Road and accelerated toward the refinery entrance, just a couple of miles south. “Tell security I’m coming,” he said to Krause, then got the large rig moving south.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Hurricane Charlene had reached Category 3 and was at full force now, battering the entire region with winds that gusted over a hundred miles an hour and rain that was falling so hard that roads began to resemble rivers and fields had become swamps. The Mississippi was a torrent of roiling water.
After barreling down the deserted highway, Sandor reached the refinery entrance in just a few minutes. He pulled the tractor-trailer to a stop at the first security checkpoint, which today was being manned by fully armed members of the United States military. When Sandor threw the door of the truck open, four soldiers leveled rifles at his head.
“I’m Sandor,” he told them, but they stood at alert. He still had his helmet on, with radio access to Corpus Christi. “Hey, I’m glad you guys are on top of this, but Captain Krause is coordinating this defense, he’ll vouch for me.”
At the mention of Krause’s name, the senior man on duty stepped forward. “They’ve got a team that just arrived down at the dock, Mr. Sandor. Come with me.”
“Two hostiles in the trailer,” Sandor warned the others. “Keep them bound and alive and get them down there with us, they may be useful.” When one of the younger soldiers gave him a curious look, Sandor added, “After we clean up this mess, as far as I’m concerned you can do anything you want with them.”
Sandor climbed into the Jeep being driven by the captain in charge and they raced through the next two security stations, not stopping until they came to a long wharf overlooking the Mississippi. Sandor checked his watch. Nearly ten minutes had elapsed since Adina’s man told him they only had a little over half an hour.
The team waiting onshore in the driving rain consisted of various skilled personnel. The only people Sandor wanted to speak with, however, were the members of the bomb squad. The lead man was a Major Formanek, his second in command a young woman wearing captain’s bars by the name of Franz.
“We’ve likely got two low-yield nuclear weapons set on timers that may go off in fifteen minutes,” Sandor told them. “We have no idea if there are booby traps in the pods carrying them downriver, and we don’t have a lot of time to figure it out.” He fixed the two officers and their subordinates with his dark gaze. “Are you guys the right people to intercept and disarm them?”
“We are,” Captain Franz replied, her eyes locked on Sandor’s.
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “All right, let’s move out.”
The Coast Guard Defenders had already picked Martindale out of the water and the two speedboats were now moving slowly on either side of the two pods as they made their way downriver. By now, Washington had tied into the call with representatives from the entire task force huddled together in the White House Situation Room to monitor the situation in real time.