seconds to reach the drop point.
Major Tom Williams listened to the command come in from General Locke.
“Drillbit Flight, you are go for release.”
“Acknowledged, Drillbit Command. Go for release at 2100 hours.”
“Drillbit Flight, be prepared to receive the abort code at any point before that.”
“Roger that.” On the internal comm, he said, “OK, boys, keep sharp. Let’s get this thing right on target.” Williams was the only officer on board who knew the true nature of the mission. He understood the importance of containing a deadly bioweapon, but he sure didn’t want to drop a bunker buster on American soil. He had his orders, but he kept hoping for that abort transmission to come in.
The bomb bay doors opened.
Locke and Grant were in position at the seventh level landing in the west stairwell. Turner was stationed in the east stairwell at the sixth level landing. Dilara was still in the bio lab observation room.
Locke hadn’t run into more guards, so Cutter had to be holed up with his men in the control room.
“Everybody ready?” Locke said. Even though their scrambled radio transmissions couldn’t reach outside, the radios worked within the confines of the Oasis facility.
“In position,” Turner said.
“I’m ready,” Dilara said.
Locke looked at his watch. Four minutes left. The only objective was to communicate the abort code to the bomber.
“Okay, Turner. Execute.”
Turner’s reply came over the radio. “Fire in the hole!”
The explosion was more than 150 feet away, on the other side of the facility, but it rattled the complex like it happened in the next room. Turner had set up the rest of the explosives from Locke’s bag of tricks just outside the east stairwell door leading into the seventh level. The dust and smoke should provide an effective barrier to anyone thinking of going out that way.
“Dilara,” Locke said. “Now.”
In the bio lab, Dilara hit the button marked, “Containment breach.” A siren blared throughout the complex, different from the intruder klaxon heard earlier.
“Warning!” the amplified voice now echoed. “Containment breach on level five!”
As the warning repeated, Locke threw the west stairwell door open. If Connelly’s information was correct, the control room would be at the midpoint of the seventh level hallway. Between the explosion and the containment breach alarm, Locke was hoping to cause a panic with the remaining guards. Surely they knew what Arkon could do.
As he predicted, two men burst through the door of the control room. Locke and Grant had to get there before the door closed on them.
Locke shot the guard on the left, and Grant took the man on the right, neither of whom had time to raise their weapons. Turner, his left arm slack at his side, came from the opposite direction, but he wouldn’t make it to the control room door in time to keep it from closing.
Locke raced down and grabbed the door handle just before it clicked shut. He pulled it back as bullets pounded into it. Grant tossed the last flash bang grenade into the room. They couldn’t risk disabling the barrier controls with a fragmentation grenade.
The flash bang blew, and Grant charged in, followed by Turner and Locke. The control room sprawled across 50 feet and looked like it managed every mechanical and electrical system in the facility. Two guards sat at a control station on the left, blinking their eyes. Grant took them down with two blows from his rifle stock.
Shots came from the right, and Locke saw Cutter and two more guards herding Garrett and his girlfriend into a hallway that had no outlet. It looked like Garrett had his very own panic room. Cutter fired as they retreated.
The panic room’s door began to slide closed. Just before the door shut, Locke saw Garrett smile and mouth the words, “You lose.” Then Garrett, Cutter, and Petrova were gone.
Locke didn’t have time to worry about them. They’d be as dead as him if he didn’t get the barriers open.
The only people still upright in the control room were Locke, Grant, and Turner, and they were faced with a control panel that stretched almost the length of the room.
The clock on the wall said 9:58. Half the monitors were black screens for the blown video cameras. The other half of the screens showed the status of different systems for operating of the facility.
“Quick!” Locke said. “Everyone look for the barrier control!”
“Hard switch?” Grant said.
“They wouldn’t use a software control. They’d have something dedicated.”
They started running their eyes over every switch and LCD panel.
“I think I found it!” Turner cried out. “It’s called Lockdown!”
“Try it!”
Turner flicked the switch. The monitor above it changed from red to green. The barriers were opening.
Sixty seconds.
Turner spoke the abort code into his radio. “Ares Leader to Drillbit Command. Come in Drillbit Command. The well is dry. I repeat, the well is dry.”
Nothing but static came back.
“We’re too deep,” Turner said. “Too much interference. We need to get to the surface.” Turner was beginning to go white from blood loss. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. And Grant was strong, but Locke was faster.
“I’ll go,” Locke said. He dropped his weapon and his pack and ran for the stairs.
As he leaped up the stairs two at a time, he kept repeating, “Drillbit Command. The well is dry. Drillbit Command come in.”
By the time he got to the second level, he was out of breath. The last hour of nonstop action had sapped him, and his adrenaline was gone. But as he reached the landing, Locke heard a voice drop in and out. He willed himself up higher.
“Ares…come…can’t…you…”
“I repeat, the well is dry. The well is dry!”
“This is Drillbit Command.” It was his father’s voice. “Say again.”
“Dad, it’s me! The well is dry! Don’t drop the damned bomb!”
His father yelled in the background. “Abort! Abort! Abort!” Locke’s new favorite word. He fell to his hands and knees, panting like he’d just run a marathon.
“Abort! Abort! Abort!” came the radio call. The pilot, Major Williams, relayed the command to the bombardier, who had been about to release the weapon.
Williams realized only then how tightly he had been clenching the yoke. Now that he no longer had the specter of bombing his own country hanging over him, he eased up on the grip and relaxed.
“Drillbit Flight returning to base,” Williams said into the radio and turned the B-52 on an eastern course, back toward Spokane.
The bomb bay doors closed.
FIFTY-SIX
Locke emerged from Oasis to find that the special forces team outside had already taken care of the rest of the guards, capturing a few, killing most, with three casualties of their own, including Private Knoll. As soon as the abort code had been given, Blackhawk helicopters that had been on standby flew in with two platoons of military police from Ft. Lewis. Scores of soldiers patrolled the grounds, looking for any stragglers who might be trying to make an escape through hidden exits. It took the MPs nearly an hour to roust the inhabitants of Oasis and gather
