Zero Hour

FORTY-SIX

With the gale rising in strength, Paul and the other NUMA commandos had a difficult time boarding the MV Rama, but once they were aboard, things calmed down. They marched to the bridge and took over command of the ship.

The Vietnamese captain then led them to the sick bay, where Captain Winslow and four members of the Orion’s crew were being held. They also found several of the Russian commandos laid up and dehydrated.

“Grab their weapons,” Paul said to the Gemini’s chief. As his men traded in their wooden rifles for real ones, Paul felt a sense of control building.

He made his way to Captain Winslow, who eyed him strangely.

“Paul?” the captain said, glancing at the Australian flag armband. “You make a career change recently?”

“Sort of,” Paul said. “Gemini is standing by to help. What’s the story here?”

Winslow explained about the sinking of the Orion and the rescue/abduction of the survivors at the hands of the Russians.

“How’d you get control of the ship?” Paul asked.

“Obviously, we didn’t.”

“But this ship’s been tracing out the path of the constellation of Orion for the past thirty hours,” Paul said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

Winslow smiled. “Kurt,” he explained. “He had those Russians chasing their tails. Zigzagging all over the place. He said it was to keep the final destination secret. Who’d have thought he was sending up a message at the same time.”

“Where is he?” Paul said. “We haven’t found him.”

“The Russians took him, Joe, and the Australian woman with them. They’re staging some kind of raid on Heard Island. That’s where Thero’s base is. That’s where he’s hiding.”

Paul turned to the Vietnamese captain. “Where’s your communications center?”

The news that Kurt, Joe, and at least some of the Orion’s crew had survived was met with joy in Washington, D.C. It was tempered by the hands of the clock. Zero hour was a hundred and twenty minutes away.

Pitt looked at Heard Island on the map. Printouts of the Russian spy photos indicating Thero’s assumed location were coming through on the fax machine. The more Pitt studied them, the more precarious the situation appeared.

“Everything this guy has done is underground,” Pitt said. “Looks like he followed the pattern here. I have to give this info to the NSA.”

Yaeger looked grim. “They’re going to put a spread of missiles on that target.”

“I know,” Pitt said unemotionally.

Yaeger leaned in close. “Kurt and Joe are probably there right now.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Pitt said.

“So they’ve been brought back from the dead just to be obliterated by Tomahawk missiles from our own submarines?”

Pitt glanced up at his old friend without a hint of malice. He understood exactly what Yaeger was saying. “I don’t do this lightly, Hiram. But we have no other choice.”

He pressed the intercom button. “Get me Jim Culver at the NSA.”