High Alert

CHAPTER 49

Nick, Lamont and Ronnie waited in the back of the plane. It had plenty of room. The Cessna was big enough to carry eight or nine passengers in addition to the pilot. This one had been modified for skydiving with the rollup door.

Nick activated his microphone.

"Selena, you copy?"

"You're five by five, Nick."

"Where are you?"

"I just passed Haltman's place. I'm about to turn around and head back."

"We're coming up on the drop zone any moment now."

"The fog is getting thicker," Selena said. "Be careful."

The voice of the pilot came over the comm link. "Two minutes."

"See you soon," Nick said. "Out."

Lamont pulled open the rollup door. Nick and Ronnie lined up behind him. The cabin filled with the noise of the engine and the air rushing by.

"Go in five," the pilot said over the comm link. "Four. Three. Two. One."

Lamont dove out of the open door, followed by Nick and Ronnie. The slipstream buffeted them, then was gone as the Cessna disappeared into the night.

They popped chutes and steered for the target.

Below, the white froth of the ocean broke in a ragged line against the rocky coast. The pilot had done a good job. Haltman's house was below them in the mists, outlined by landscaping lights. The patio where they would land was visible through the shifting fog.

A gust of wind tried to send Nick into the swimming pool. He steered clear and came down hard near the diving board. His ankle twisted under him as he struck the stones. Pain shot up his leg and into his lower back. He rolled, released the chute and stood, testing the ankle. It hurt, but he could walk on it. As long as he kept moving, it would be okay. He could feel the muscles in his back trying to lock up. It had given him trouble since a bad landing in Tibet.

They'd landed at one end of the house. They ran to a set of glass doors opening onto the patio. A single light shone inside the room. Nick guessed it was a guest bedroom. He slid the door open on quiet rollers and they stepped inside. No one was inside the room.

Lamont spoke in a quiet voice. "That was easy."

"Yeah," Nick said. "Maybe too easy. Remember what Freddie said."

In the room at the other end of the house, where Haltman was sipping from his crystal snifter, a red light began blinking on the wall over the monitors.

Haltman picked up a handheld radio and spoke into it. "They're here. The blue bedroom."

Two clicks sounded an acknowledgment.

Ronnie waited by the door of the bedroom, his hand on the knob. Nick nodded and Ronnie pulled the door open.

The bedroom was at the end of a hall leading away to the right, toward the rest of the house. Across the hall another door opened to a second bedroom. Lamont crouched down and covered the hall. Nick and Ronnie slipped across and into the bedroom.

"Clear," Nick said.

He came out of the room. The hall was spacious, with a high ceiling. It was ten feet wide, carpeted from wall-to-wall with thick pile and lined with expensive paintings in carved, gold frames. The only light came from lamps hung over the art.

Nick looked down the hall.

It's a shooting gallery. If I remember the plans right, this opens out into the main living area.

He signaled with his hand. They moved toward the living room. Ronnie heard a sound and glanced back, his MP-7 up at his shoulder. One of Haltman's guards stepped out of the bedroom they'd used to enter the house. Ronnie opened fire, a three round burst that caught the careless guard full in the chest. He fell back into the room.

Two men appeared at the other end of the hall. Nick and Lamont dropped down and opened up as the men fired.

The noise from the guards' guns drowned out the coughing stutter of the MP-7s. Two of the paintings blew from the wall. The frames shattered, sending a cloud of splinters through the air. Bullets gouged into the walls on either side. The two guards went down under the hail of bullets Nick and Lamont sent toward them.

"That's torn it," Nick said. "Move. Haltman's in here somewhere."

Selena heard everything over the comm link as she waited in the Suburban.

They ran into the main living area. Couches, chairs and end tables were scattered about the room. A light shone on a large oil painting hung over a mission style sideboard. A wall of windows twelve feet high faced out toward the back and the patio.

"Outside," Ronnie yelled.

Four more men were sprinting across the flagstones. Nick, Ronnie and Lamont turned as one toward the patio and fired. The windows exploded in a cascade of falling glass. The noise was intense, a strange symphony of breaking glass, the chatter of the guns, and shots and cries coming from the men outside. The couch next to Nick exploded in a cloud of stuffing as bullets ripped into it.

Lamont cried out and went down. A cold wind blew in through the shattered windows, bringing tendrils of fog and the salt odor of the ocean, mixed with the pungent smell of burnt powder.

One of the men on the patio was twisting on the ground in pain. Nick put two more rounds into him. He stopped moving.

Nick swiveled to cover Ronnie, bending over Lamont.

"I'm okay." Lamont took a painful breath and looked down at a hole in his shirt. "Sucker hit the armor."

"Take two aspirin and call me in the morning," Ronnie said.

He helped Lamont to his feet.

"We'll keep going," Nick said.

They passed a formal dining room with a long, polished table and entered another hallway leading toward the far end of the house.

The next room was the kitchen. Nick got down on one knee and glanced around the corner. A prepping island and grill took up the middle of the large room. Shining, copper bottomed pots and pans hung from a rack above it.

He ducked back as bullets splintered the frame of the door.

Ronnie reached down, drew out a grenade and lobbed it through the door. The explosion ripped the fancy cookware from the ceiling and sent shrapnel flying into the high-end appliances scattered about the room. Nick looked around the corner again. No more shots came from within.

They moved past two more empty rooms toward the end of the house, where it formed a right angled L at the end of the patio. Light came from around the corner. Music came from somewhere ahead. Someone was humming along with it.

Nick looked around the corner into a large room that took up the entire end of the house. A rack of computer monitors lined a wide shelf on the far wall, displaying images of the grounds. Someone was seated in a large, leather chair, his back turned toward the entrance. He had a glass in one hand. The other was moving in time to the music.

Then Nick realized he was looking at an image of himself looking around the corner on one of the monitors.

"I wouldn't advise coming any closer," Haltman said.

He swiveled his chair around.

"Why don't you all come out where I can see you?"

Nick and the others stepped out. Lamont watched the hall for more trouble.

"Let's see," Haltman said. "You're Carter, aren't you? And that brown looking man with the big nose must be the Indian."

Ronnie raised his weapon and stepped forward.

"You really shouldn't take another step, you know. Allow me to show you why."

Haltman set his drink down and picked up a piece of paper. He held it up to show them it was only paper, nothing more. He crumpled it into a ball.

"Watch carefully," he said.

He touched a button on the arm of his chair. Instantly, the opening filled with narrow, crisscrossing beams of red light.

He tossed the ball toward them. Just before it reached them, it burst into flame. The ashes dropped to the floor.

"Lasers," Haltman said. "My own design. Effective, don't you think?"

"Give it up, Haltman," Nick said. "There's nowhere for you to go."

"Nowhere for you, either."

"Nick," Lamont said. He gestured with his rifle.

Ten feet down the hall they'd just passed through, a second grid of red laser beams blocked their return. They were trapped.

"Do I have your attention?" Haltman asked.

"What do you want, Haltman? You know it ends here."

"Want?" Haltman's eyes were wild. "There's nothing I want from you except to watch you die. Like you watched my brother."

He giggled.

"Asshole is stoned," Lamont muttered under his breath.

"Your brother was a traitor and a murderer," Nick said. "He got what he deserved."

"Yes, you would say that, wouldn't you?"

Haltman picked up what might have been a television remote control, except it was larger and seemed to have more buttons than normal.

"I now call your attention to the central monitor on the top row," he said. He clicked on a button.

The picture on the monitor changed from a camera overlooking the front gate to an overhead satellite view of a broad expanse of snow covered ground. Tiny dots on the ground might have been buildings.

"You are looking at the Eastern Ukraine," Haltman said.

He clicked another button. A second monitor lit next to the first.

"Romania. What do you see, Carter? Oh, wait a minute, let me zoom in."

The images expanded as Haltman entered another command. As the lenses zoomed in, Nick recognized what he was looking at.

THAAD missile installations, the new deployments of America's latest system, set up as part of the highly touted European Shield.

"What do you think would happen if those missiles were fired into Russia?" Haltman said. "Please, humor me."

"You know damn well what would happen," Nick said. "It could start a war."

Haltman held up the remote.

"I designed the guidance system. I left a little something in the programming, just in case it might come in handy some day."

"What are you talking about?"

Haltman waved the remote back and forth.

"Do you see this button here? The big red one? I really couldn't resist making it red. If I push this button, all of those lovely missiles will take to the air. Can you imagine their surprise in Washington? In Moscow?"

"He's serious," Ronnie said.

"That's right, Tonto, I'm serious."

"You know I can't let you do that," Nick said.

"Right now you're probably thinking of shooting me and worrying about the lasers later. But that won't work, you see. I thought of that. Perhaps you've noticed that I haven't let go of this controller since I picked it up. If I let go, the missiles will launch. If I press the red button, the missiles will launch."

He smiled at them.

"My, my, whatever will you do?"

Outside the estate, Selena had heard every word as she sat in the car. Now she spoke into her microphone.

"Nick, don't show any sign. It sounds as though he's got you penned in with some kind of electronic trap, is that right? Cough once for yes, twice for no."

Nick coughed.

"I'm coming. Stall him."

Cough.

Her MP-7 was on the passenger seat next to her. She rolled down her window, started the engine, switched on the bright beams and pulled out onto the highway. She picked up speed, came to the entrance to the estate, and swung a hard right onto the drive.

Selena put her foot down on the accelerator. The outer chain-link fence appeared out of the mists. She kept her foot down, ducked, and drove the truck at speed into the double gates. They flew open with the sound of tearing metal, ripping off a fender and one of the headlights.

It was a quarter-mile from the outer gate to the stone wall. The drive was a dark, straight line cutting across the manicured grounds around it. She kept her foot down on the accelerator. The car shook, the steering wheel vibrating in her grip. A loud, screeching noise came from the engine compartment. Steam rose from the radiator. The battered vehicle would never be able to break through the heavy iron gate in the wall ahead. Haltman's guards would be at the guardhouse waiting for her. By now, they had to know she was coming.

Whoever designed the estate had made a mistake. The guardhouse was placed outside the wall instead of behind it, where it would have been protected. The lights in the guardhouse were on. Four men with submachine guns stood in front of the gate. They began shooting at her.

Selena ducked as bullets from the guns smashed through the windshield. She grabbed her weapon from the seat, opened her door and rolled out of the speeding truck. The ground was soft from rain, but still hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Knife-like pain wracked her injured thigh. She rolled, clutching the MP-7. The suburban hurtled toward the wall and smashed into the gate, scattering the men firing at her.

The gas tank ruptured and exploded, lighting the night with fire. Burning gas enveloped two of the guards. One rolled on the ground, trying to put out the flames. One man ran screaming into the darkness, a human torch.

Selena got to her knee. The last two guards were illuminated by the flames. She shot them before they recovered from the blast. She stood and limped as fast as she could toward the broken gate.

Inside the house, Nick, Ronnie and Lamont had heard everything over the comm link and watched on a monitor as the Suburban hurtled toward the gate. The camera had gone dark when the vehicle struck.

Haltman's right eye began twitching as he faced them.

"It won't make any difference," he said. "She won't get here in time. I assume it's your lovely wife, Carter? Even if she did, she couldn't get past the lasers. We wouldn't want to fry that little being inside her, would we?"

"What?" Lamont said.

"How did you know about that?" Nick said.

"I've been keeping an eye on you. I have many friends, Carter, in many places. Not so hard to obtain medical records, even if they're in Russian."

"Selena is pregnant?" Ronnie asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, Tonto? Aren't you going to offer congratulations?"

"You know, you really are an asshole," Ronnie said.

"Sticks and stones…" Haltman said.

"He's bluffing," Lamont said. "Shoot him."

"Let me demonstrate how this button works," Haltman said.

"Wait," Nick said. "I believe you. But I don't understand why you're doing it. I understand you think we're responsible for your brother's death. We're not, but I don't think I can convince you of that."

"Got that right," Haltman said. He giggled again.

"Okay. You want to punish us. But why start a war? It's kind of overkill, don't you think? Besides, the missiles on that system don't blow up. They're designed to destroy an incoming missile on impact, not land and set off a big explosion."

"Very good," Haltman said. "You're right, those missiles don't explode. But these do."

He pressed the button on his controller and a third monitor lit. It showed what appeared to be another THAAD installation.

"This is in Poland," Haltman said. "Take a good look, Carter."

Nick studied the image. Something wasn't right. Then he realized what it was.

"Those are cruise missiles. Tomahawks, nuclear tipped. There aren't supposed to be any offensive ground missiles in Europe."

"Go to the head of the class, Carter. It seems that someone in the Pentagon has been concealing things from your President. When I press this button, those will be launched along with the defensive missiles at the other locations. I expect the Russians will be quite upset when they see all those pretty streaks on their radar screens. They won't know which one to shoot down first. What would you do, if you were in their shoes?"

I'd retaliate, Nick thought. Shit, he's got nukes pointed at them.

Outside on the grounds, Selena limped as fast as she could toward the building. She didn't see the dog until it leapt at her with a low growl. She fired as the beast landed on her and knocked her down. The dog twitched and lay still.

It made her angry, that someone would take an animal and turn it into a killing machine. It helped fuel her will to get past the pain and keep going.

She was thinking about the plans to the house. If she remembered correctly, a panel controlling all the electrical power going into the building was located in the garage. If she cut the power, she'd take the lasers off-line. She spoke into her comm unit.

"Nick, I'm heading for the garage and the power. Keep him talking."

A single cough sounded in her ear piece.

The adrenaline surge was running out. A sudden wave of fatigue tried to overwhelm her. She pushed on, using the pain in her leg to keep going.

The garage was big enough for a second home. It featured three sets of arched, wooden doors and walls of stone. The parking apron in front of the garage was lit, but the interior was dark. She hoped there were no more guards or dogs to deal with. As she approached the garage, she changed out the magazine in her HK for a fresh one. She worked the charger and moved toward an entry door on the side of the building. She tried the handle.

Locked.

Screw this, she thought.

She stepped back and put a three round burst into the lock, then pushed the door open. A half dozen expensive cars were lined up inside, partly illuminated by light coming through windows in the garage doors. She moved toward the back of the garage, past a silver Bentley, looking for the power panel.

It has to be in here somewhere. Probably painted gray.

She saw what she was looking for next to a long workbench. Tools hung in orderly rows over the workbench.

"Don't move, bitch," a voice said behind her.

Most people would have done as they were told. Instead of freezing in place, Selena dropped and turned and fired at a man standing next to a low-slung Corvette. He fired as her rounds struck home. The bullets went over her head and into the rack of tools, sending wrenches and sockets flying. They made ringing, metallic noises as they bounced on the parked cars and the cement floor.

She waited to see if there were any others, then got painfully to her feet. She went over to the gray panel and opened it. Rows of circuit breakers greeted her, lined up one above the other.

Which one fed current to the lasers? She had no time to experiment. Selena moved back from the panel.

"Nick," she said, "get ready. I'm taking out the power."

She raised her MP-7 and fired. The result was spectacular. The panel erupted with cascades of orange sparks and arcing, violet-white light. The interior of the garage went dark as the lighting outside failed.

After images danced in her eyes. Sparks and crackling noises came from the panel. A tongue of flame crawled in a line up the side of the wall. In a minute, the wall was burning. Acrid smoke seeped out into the garage, smelling of burnt insulation. She coughed and limped back out into the air.

Inside the house, everything had gone dark.

"No!" Haltman shouted.

Then an emergency generator started up.

The lights flickered and came back on, along with the monitors. But the laser beams were gone. Nick and the others stepped into the room and stopped a few feet away from Haltman's chair.

"Stop," Haltman said. He had his finger over the red button.

"Don't do it," Nick said. "Please."

Haltman looked at him and Nick knew he'd lost.

"That's what Carissa must have said." He pressed the button.

On the monitors where the live satellite feed displayed the THAAD deployments, the systems came alive. Nick watched in horror as the platforms swiveled and elevated.

Flame and smoke shot from the back of the missiles as they streaked away toward Russia.

Haltman began laughing. His hand slipped down into his chair and came up with a pistol.

Ronnie shot him.

"Who the hell is Carissa?" Lamont asked.