Nighthawk

62

Rudi Gunn sat in NUMA’s communications room with Hiram Yaeger, Priya Kashmir and Collin Kane. They were now part of a globe-spanning web of satellite links.

One screen showed the White House Situation Room where the President had convened his Security Council. A second screen displayed Paul, Gamay and Emma at the Internet café in Cajamarca. The Vandenberg control room appeared on the third, where Colonel Hansen and Steve Gowdy were standing by. The fourth connection went all the way to China, where General Zhang of the People’s Republic sat and scowled.

As the conversation progressed, with all its requisite arguments, denials and disagreements, Rudi had the sense of a runaway train with five different engineers in the cab, none of whom had their hand on the tiller.

Finally, the group managed to get down to business. Zhang admitted that the Chinese had two of the Nighthawk’s containment units on board one of their long-range aircraft and gave away its transponder code.

The path was instantly picked up. Much farther along than anyone had expected.

“Are you sure this is the right aircraft?” someone asked.

“The HL-190 has super cruise ability,” Zhang said. “It can travel long distances at supersonic speeds.”

The aircraft was five hundred miles northwest of Hawaii. Its altitude was listed at fifty-one thousand feet. Its speed at more than a thousand knots.

“We know all about the HL-190,” Gowdy said. “Ever since you stole our engine designs.”

“And improved on them,” Zhang said.

The President’s chief of staff broke in with a calming tone. “Gentlemen, we need to work together now or there won’t be anything left to argue over. Ms. Townsend, please explain what you’ve discovered.”

“We’ve taken both bombs apart,” Emma said. She stood calmly on the screen but looked exhausted. “The first attempted a self-destruct when we made a mistake. The second detonator was neutralized. Once it was removed from the explosives, we discovered a USB access port used to program it. Hiram and Priya took it from there.”

Hiram cleared his throat. “The device is a combination GPS receiver and altimeter. It becomes active once the aircraft exceeds a certain threshold speed and climbs above a specific altitude. It will detonate when they descend below the threshold altitude again or arrive at their destination.”

“What speed?” General Zhang said. “What altitude?”

“One hundred and twenty knots,” Hiram said. “Twenty-six thousand feet.”

“Unfortunately,” Priya added, “your aircraft has already exceeded both parameters.”

On-screen, Zhang nodded. “I can see that. How do we stop it?”

“Your people will have to disarm the bomb before they begin their descent.”

“Why not just dump the fuel cell out the door and be done with it?” Zhang suggested.

“Because of the power requirements of the cryogenic system and the magnetic bottles holding the mixed-state matter,” Emma said. “It requires an extremely pure flow of power. Tiny surges or fluctuations could be disastrous. You can’t just plug the unit into a cigarette lighter.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Zhang snapped. “It wasn’t my people who brought this curse down on us.”

“But it was your people who tried to steal it,” Emma shot back. “If they hadn’t interrupted the flight, the material would already be safely stored in underground facilities.”

“Yes,” Zhang said. “Yours and yours alone.”

Again the President’s chief of staff cut in. “Please!” he urged. “None of that matters at this point. We’re all damned lucky that the containment units didn’t explode in Peru. And we’re fortunate, General Zhang, that your aircraft is still out over the Pacific and not coming in for a landing. That gives us time. We can argue over who the mixed-state matter belongs to later. But first the bomb must be disarmed without damaging the fuel cell.”

“How is that to be done?”

“It’s a fairly simple process. We’re prepared to transmit the schematics of the fuel cell, along with everything we know about the detonator, the power demands of the cryogenic unit and the design of the Penning traps. All we ask in return is that your aircraft change course to a more northerly route.”

“Why?”

“Should your agent fail, it’s important that the detonation take place as far from civilization as possible.”

“Perhaps I’ll order the pilot to turn for California or Hawaii,” Zhang replied testily.

“I promise you,” Colonel Hansen said, jumping in. “If that aircraft deviates toward any landmass, American or otherwise, it will be shot down.”

Zhang shook his head. “You are too easily baited, Colonel. Of course I have no intention of doing any such thing. Transmit the information. I have no wish to argue about this again.”

“Turn the aircraft first,” the chief of staff said.

A brief stare-down ensued.

“Very well.”

With that, Zhang’s screen went dark. And the four remaining links in the network lapsed into silence.

It fell to Emma to break it. “What about the Russians?” she asked from the screen. “What about Kurt and Joe? Have we heard from them?”

“All we know is that the Blackjack and the Nighthawk are airborne,” Colonel Hansen said. “A satellite pass forty minutes ago showed the rural airfield to be empty. We’ve launched AWACS from Pensacola and Corpus Christi to look for the bomber’s radar signature. Several squadrons of F-22s are being readied to intercept.”

“Intercept?” Emma asked. “Why would we need to intercept it?”

“To protect ourselves,” Hansen said. “If the Russian government doesn’t believe our claim and they or the pilot act rashly — the way Zhang threatened to a minute ago… well, we’re dealing with a hypersonic aircraft, covered in stealth materials, that could make it from the coast of South America to Atlanta in twenty minutes. We can’t allow that. So we have to find it first and be ready to act when we talk to Moscow.”

“But why would they act rashly?” she asked.

Rudi knew why. Everyone in the room and at the White House and out at Vandenberg knew why. He suspected Emma would have easily guessed the reason if she weren’t exhausted.

He jumped in and explained. “Because they’ve almost certainly exceeded the speed and altitude thresholds that will prime the detonators. And unlike the Chinese plane, there is no physical way for the occupants of the bomber to get at the Nighthawk and disarm them.”

Understanding washed over Emma’s face in high-definition. Understanding and grief. “There’s no way to stop it,” she whispered to herself. “The pilots are dead men. And if Kurt and Joe are on board, they’re dead men, too.”