Burn Zone

55

COLONEL LÁZARO STAUB WAS AT A LOSS. HE SAW HIS LONGTIME assistant, Pelly, pointing a Beretta at him, but he couldn't believe it. Had he gone mad?

Next to him, Lina shook her head to clear it, then she, too, was transfixed by Pelly and the barrel of the small pistol.

Staub said, "Pelly, have you lost your mind?" He let his eyes move off of Pelly and saw the crate of cash near the office but saw no sign of the new Ukrainian physicist.

"Where is the scientist?"

"I sent him on his way."

"Is this a money issue, Pelly?"

"A business issue. This whole plan makes no sense from a business perspective." He looked at the FBI agent and said, "I want Lina released, too."

The bound FBI agent said, "Thanks, Pelly."

Staub felt his heart skip a beat. "I get the feeling you knew each other before today."

Pelly just smiled, the fur wrinkling around his mouth.

Staub cut his eyes to his phone on the shelf next to the office window. Was it time to make the call? He didn't think William Floyd had driven far enough away. He had planned to blow the bomb shortly, in hopes of taking out Duarte and anyone else who could identify them. He had given up Nellis Air Force Base as a target. All Staub needed to do was get into Mexico, and from there he could assume the identity of Wilfredo López of Argentina, living quietly off his fortune, content in the knowledge that he had had the final laugh about the U.S. invasion of Panama. He preferred his primary plan of continuing his career with the national police in Panama, but he could live with his backup plan.

Now his concern was Pelly and his ability with a pistol.

"What do you want, Pelly?"

"Release Lina and let me take the cash. We'll call it even."

As Staub considered the offer, secretly proud that his protégé had enough intelligence to think about the cash, he jumped at the sound of several gunshots in close succession.

Staub felt the impact of the bullets in his chest, like a fist, causing him to lose his grip on the small pistol as he fell backward. Somewhere in his head he heard it clink onto the cement floor. It sounded like it echoed.

From the floor he could see that Pelly had not fired. His assistant spun and started to open up at an unseen assailant high up in the shelving, popping off three quick rounds.

Staub heard his wheezing breath and knew the wounds were serious. He fought to keep consciousness and stave off shock.

Where was his phone? He still needed to arm the warhead.

Alex Duarte didn't care if he had killed William Floyd. He ignored the man slumped on the floor of the truck and immediately hit the gas and pulled the Ford truck into the corner of an empty parking lot to some kind of furniture store.

He reached down and found the little SIG-Sauer in Floyd's waistband and pulled it out, tucking it in his own belt.

He checked Floyd's pulse, which was steady, although blood from several lacerations pooled on the floor of the truck.

Duarte jumped out of the truck and raced to the rear. He popped open the tailgate and tried to slide out the open crate but realized it was too heavy. Instead he crawled up into the covered bed of the truck.

He ran his hand up the front of the metal cylinder in the crate, wiping packing straw away as he moved. Near the top of the open crate, he found several wires and a cell phone attached to it. He knew immediately that this was the triggering system. The question was whether they had installed an antitampering device. If this were really a nuclear weapon and they had spent such a large amount for transportation and arming, he doubted they would have overlooked something as simple as a method of keeping someone from disarming the bomb.

He swept away the straw from the small cell phone attached to the device. He could clearly see the open hatch in the bomb and the connection to the phone. He wondered when Staub planned to detonate the bomb.

He backed out of the truck bed, bounded back to the cab and tugged the limp form of William Floyd onto the ground. He dragged him back to the tailgate, ignoring the couple of street people who had taken notice and started to stare at him and the truck.

He sat William Floyd up and checked his eyes. He appeared conscious but dazed. Duarte patted him on the face, not sure exactly what to do. He shouted, "William Floyd, wake up. Wake up." Slapping him a little harder.

The man mumbled something unintelligible, then said, "What? What?"

"What was your target?"

Floyd's eyes settled on Duarte's face. "Nevada. Nellis Air Force Base."

"How does it detonate?"

"Mr. Ortíz has to call. Once he calls and sets the code, it starts the chain reaction."

Duarte looked at him. "Do you really think he was going to let you drive all the way to Nevada?"

Floyd just stared at him.

Then Duarte felt a chill as he heard the phone on the warhead ring.