The Edge of Armageddon

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

Drake passed the nuke to Dahl, a little smile on his face. “Figured you’d want to do the honors, mate.”

The Swede hefted the bomb and climbed into the rear of the chopper. “I’m not sure I can trust you to drive in a straight line.”

“It’s not a car. And I do believe we already established I can drive better than you.”

“Why’s that? I don’t remember it that way.”

“I’m English. You ain’t.”

“And what exactly does nationality have to do with it?” Dahl slipped into a seat.

“Pedigree,” Drake said. “Stewart. Hamilton. Hunt. Button. Hill. And more. The closest Sweden came to winning F1 was when Finland came first.”

Dahl laughed, buckling in and setting the black metal casing along his lap, pulling the door closed. “Don’t talk so loud, Drake. The bomb might be equipped with a ‘bollocks’ sensor.”

“Then we’re already fucked.”

Hauling on the cyclic stick he lifted the chopper clear of the ferry after checking that the skies above were clear. Sunlight flashed behind and caught the city’s million reflective surfaces, giving him a little reminder of why they were doing this. Upturned faces stared with respect from the deck below, many of them his friends and family, his team mates. Kenzie and Mai stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces expressionless, but it was the Israeli who ultimately made him smile.

She tapped her watch and mouthed: Get a fuckin’ move on.

Alicia was nowhere to be seen, nor Beau. Drake sent the military chopper swooping low over the waves and on a straight course across the Atlantic. Winds crisscrossed their path and sunlight glimmered atop every rolling swell. Horizons hung suspended to all sides, vaults of light blue sky competing with the awe-inspiring vastness of the seas. The epic skyline at their back fell away as the minutes and seconds ticked slowly toward zero.

“Fifteen minutes,” Dahl said.

Drake eyed the odometer. “Right on schedule.”

“How much time will we have spare?”

“Three minutes,” Drake rolled a hand. “Give or take.”

“What’s that in miles?”

“At two hundred miles per hour? Roughly, seven.”

Dahl raised a hopeful expression. “Not bad.”

“In a perfect world,” Drake shrugged. “Doesn’t include turn maneuvers, speeding up, shark attack. Whatever the hell else they might throw at us out there.”

“This thing have an inflatable?” Dahl cast around, fingers clutched tight to the nuke.

“If it does, I don’t know where.” Drake watched the clock.

Twelve minutes to explosion.

“Get ready.”

“Always am.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to be doing this when you woke up today.”

“What? Dropping a nuclear bomb into the Atlantic Ocean to save New York City? Or talking to you, face to face, whilst riding a marine’s chopper?”

“Well, both.”

“The first part crossed my mind.”

Drake shook his head, unable to hide a smile. “Of course it did. You’re Torsten Dahl, the great hero.”

The Swede relinquished his grip on the nuke for just one second to place a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “And you’re Drake, Matt Drake, the most caring person I have ever known. No matter how hard you try to hide it.”

“You ready to drop that nuke?”

“Of course I am, ya daft Northern dickhead.”

Drake made the chopper dive, plummeting nose first toward the gray swell. Dahl threw open the rear door, shuffling around to get the best position. A current of air gusted through the SuperCobra. Drake tightened his grip on the stick and worked the pedals, still plummeting. Dahl shifted the nuke one last time. Waves tossed and collided and sent errant spray flaring up to meet them, a white foam laced through with diamond sparkles of sunlight. Bracing every muscle, Drake finally pulled up hard, leveling the halo off and spinning his head to watch Dahl heave the metal-cased weapon of ultimate destruction out the door.

It fell toward the waves, a spinning bomb, entering the water easily because of the low altitude it had been released at, another failsafe to ensure the anti-tamper sensor remained neutral. Drake instantly gunned them away from the point of impact, skimming the waves so low they washed over his skids, wasting no time in climbing and giving the chopper less space to fall through in case of calamity.

Dahl checked his own watch.

Two minutes.

“Get your foot down.”

Drake almost repeated that he wasn’t actually driving a car but concentrated instead in coaxing every modicum of speed from the bird, knowing that the Swede was just venting tension. Everything was down to seconds now — the time before the nuke exploded, the miles they were distant from its blast radius, the span of their lives.

“Eighteen seconds,” Dahl said.

Drake prepared for hell. “Been a pleasure, mate.”

Ten… nine…

“See you soon, Yorkie.”

Six… five… four…

“Not if I see your stupid—”

Zero.