Two soldiers were waving for them to stop. They were out in the middle of the bridge.
The pontoon section in front of them was starting to come apart.
The rocket had severed some of the cables.
Atkins pumped on the brakes and the Humvee started to slide on the wet metal surface. He saw the black gap opening between two pontoon sections. They were coming up on it fast. He pushed down on the brakes for all he was worth, downshifting into first gear.
The Humvee came to a stop several yards from the edge.
Gunfire raked the bridge. Bullets ricocheted off the Humvee’s right fender. Tracers were arcing out at them from the black shoreline.
Soldiers were frantically pulling on two long chains, trying to draw the separated sections of the floating bridge back together. The opening between them was about five feet.
“Get it closer!” Atkins shouted to the soldiers. He threw the Humvee into reverse and started backing up.
“What the hell you think you’re doing?” the corporal said. “You gonna try to back all the way off this thing?”
Atkins stopped suddenly. He was about one hundred yards from the gap in the deck. He told the corporal and Booker to brace themselves and check the straps of their life jackets. Then he floored the gas pedal.
“Jeeeesus!” the soldier shouted, realizing what Atkins had in mind. “We’re never gonna make this.”
Atkins glanced at the speedometer as he fought to hold the heavy vehicle in a straight line on the wet deck.
They were doing thirty miles an hour when they reached the gap between the sections. They were airborne less than two seconds, slamming down hard on the pontoon deck with a few feet to spare. Atkins fought to keep from losing control as the Humvee slid sideways, then straightened out.
In another minute they reached the end of the span and banged down off the metal deck onto muddy ground. Atkins pulled into a clearing in the woods and parked. Soldiers ran up to them.
The corporal slumped back in his seat. Reaching across to shake Atkins’ hand, he said, “You can drive for me any time you want.”
After helping a team of medics get the wounded sergeant out of the backseat, Booker examined the bomb. He made a brief but careful inspection and pronounced it undamaged.
The colonel who’d led the convoy met them. There was more trouble. National Guard troops were dug in around the route they’d planned to take to the mine. Not many, but enough to risk a bloodbath if they tried to force their way through. The road was also clogged with people trying to get out of the evacuation zone.
“The president doesn’t want a confrontation,” the officer said. “We’ve got scouts out trying to find another way to the mine.”
Atkins heard gunfire in the distance, the spatting of small-arms fire. “I may know someone who could help,” he said. Someone who knew this country better than anyone else.
NEAR BARDWELL, KENTUCKY
JANUARY 20
1:35 A.M.
AN ARMY UH-60 LANDED IN THE CLEARING, ITS rotors kicking up dirt and fallen leaves. Coming in at low altitude from the Missouri side of the Mississippi, the big blue helicopter made its approach as four Cobra gunships hovered overhead.
Atkins watched as Elizabeth Holleran, Guy Thompson, and Walt Jacobs scrambled out, heads down, running to get away from the strong downdraft. Two other men he didn’t get a look at followed them in the darkness.
Atkins ran over to meet Elizabeth. She put her hands on his face and gave him a quick kiss.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, smiling when he started to ask about the “trouble” Guy Thompson had mentioned. “I’ll tell you later.”
Atkins had been worried about her ever since he’d left Texas with the bomb. Wondering what had happened, he wanted to talk to her, but there was no privacy and too much was happening. He was struck by the power of his emotions when he saw her after their brief separation. Her smile and the touch of her fingers on his face lifted his spirits. The strength of his feelings for her continued to surprise him.
“I was hoping you’d be here,” he said.
“Sorry I didn’t make it until you were already across the river,” she said.
He laughed out loud, and it felt good. “You planned it that way, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He was surprised to see Walt Jacobs with her. Jacobs looked totally exhausted. His bearded face and bright eyes peered out from under his hooded parka.
Guessing what was on Atkins’ mind, Jacobs put up his hands apologetically. “I know. I still think this is a bad decision and that we’re taking a tremendous risk, but I had to be here, John. I want to help, and anyway, I feel like I got you into this mess in the first place.” His smile was genuine. “If this works, I’ll make sure you get a nice promotion.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Atkins asked, taking his friend’s hand and shaking it hard in gratitude. It meant a lot to have Jacobs here. And it was good to see him smiling again.
“Then we’ll both enjoy an early retirement.”
Or a jail cell, Atkins thought, only half in jest. He wasn’t sure a nuclear explosion at depth would work either, not completely, but he knew it was their only chance to stop another earthquake. He agreed with the president. He wanted to kill the beast that was growing ever stronger in the ground, kill it any way he could by whatever means. There was no way he was going to back away from this. They were going to explode that bomb. For once, they were going to fight back. They weren’t just going to sit there and wait for the country to be shaken apart again. Not this time.
Atkins was convinced this was the right place to try to end the nightmare. The American heartland. The heart and soul of the Mississippi Valley. It gave him an emotional boost just being there and knowing he was with the right people. Booker, Elizabeth, and now Jacobs.
And if it worked, if they actually pulled it off? What would that mean?
He didn’t want to try to think that far ahead. He tried to put those thoughts out of mind.
It was just after midnight. No stars were visible in the overcast sky. Lights were kept to a minimum. It wasn’t until they’d all jammed into the back of a windowless Army trailer to work out their plans that Atkins noticed the two men who’d also gotten off the helicopter with Walt and Elizabeth—Paul Weston and Mark Wren.
Not expecting them, he looked for Weston’s other assistant, Stan Marshal, the geologist who’d been operating the blaster when that unexpected explosion nearly killed Elizabeth and him a few days earlier.
He still hadn’t figured out what had happened. A freak radio signal might have triggered the premature detonation just as Marshal and Wren had suggested. That kind of thing happened often enough during highway blasting, often with tragic results. And yet Atkins still had his doubts and that bothered him.
One thing remained fixed in his mind: there was no way in hell he would have gone into a mine with Marshal. Weston must have realized that.
Looking well-groomed even in a dirty jumpsuit, Weston was clean shaven, something Atkins hadn’t managed for several days. He’d been wearing the same clothes for nearly a week—a pair of twill trousers, cotton sweater, and an insulated parka. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed or had a shower.
Weston started with the announcement that the Seismic Commission had broken all ties with the governor of Kentucky. “If I could make a personal comment,” he said. “I believe the course he’s taken is treasonable. I also believe it’s tragic. I liked the man.”
He then made a stunning comment. He said he’d come to agree with the minority viewpoint, believing that a deep explosion was their only viable chance to break the lethal cycle of earthquakes. He said he’d gone on record with this in a letter to the president.
“I want to apologize to anyone who feels I was short-tempered or… unreasonable these last few days,” he
