Tammi Muckerheide rose at the rear of the audience. The teenage widow had insisted on attending the meeting, despite her recent bereavement and swelling belly. A black armband had joined the red one on her sleeve. She seemed to have aged five years since her hellish wedding night several days ago. She continued, “But I know that Roger would want me to keep on fighting— for our baby’s sake.” She patted her abdomen. “What kind of future will he or she have if we don’t stop Skynet now?”
Molly felt a lump in her throat, and even Jensen backed off a little.
“Gee, Tammi, I’m not talking about giving up, you know that. I wanna send the damn machines to the scrap yard as much as anybody. But I’m not sure Molly’s got the right idea here. I’m afraid she’s going to get us all terminated.”
“Molly saved my life back at the camp,” Tammi shot back. “And she’s kept us alive longer than anybody else could.” Her voice cracked. She wiped a tear from her eye. “What’s more, she drowned the metal that killed my Roger.” She glared at the others, as though daring them to dispute her. “That’s good enough for me.”
Murmurs of assent seconded her vote of confidence. Molly felt the room turning back in her favor. She wanted to hug Tammi, protruding stomach and all.
“Aw, hell.” Jensen conceded defeat. He plopped back down onto his seat. “What more have I got to lose anyway?”
Doc lurched to his feet, shaking off Sitka’s best attempts to keep him quiet.
“Volley’d and thunder’d,” he declaimed, seemingly determined to get to the end of the verses. “Stormed at with shot and shell....”
Molly didn’t recognize the poem, but it sounded like a pretty good description of what they were in for. She couldn’t tell if he was in favor of Operation Ravenwing or not.
“Into the valley of death....”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
2003
The explosion rattled the library. Losenko was knocked off his feet. Books and journals were thrown from their shelves. Chairs toppled over. Dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling.
Ashdown grabbed onto his desk to keep from falling. Charts and documents blew about the room before wafting down to the floor. Losenko swatted the falling papers away from his face. His ears were ringing.
He stared up in alarm. It had come from above them, perhaps from the roof of the research station. He threw his arm over his face, half-expecting the ceiling to cave in on them, but only dislodged plaster speckled him. The echoes of the unexpected detonation began to fade away, and he realized that he had survived the bombing. The walls were still standing, at least for the moment.
He scrambled to his feet, choking on the dust.
“General?”
Ashdown smacked his fist on the desk. Although spattered with debris, he appeared unharmed. “What the Sam Hill was that? Are we under attack?” He appeared more angry than alarmed. His voice was hoarse. “Damnit, this was supposed to be a secure location!”
Losenko doubted the explosion was accidental. But who was responsible? The Chinese and their allies? The human collaborators? Skynet? The Resistance had too many enemies. For a second, he even wondered if maybe Ivanov had launched one of the
The library door banged open. Corporal Ortega— accompanied by two armed security guards—burst into the library.
“General Ashdown!” the pilot called out through the dusty haze. An M-16 was cradled in her arms. “Are you all right?”
Ashdown patted himself down.
“Looks like it,” he said brusquely. He squinted at Losenko, quickly ascertaining that the Russian was intact as well, before getting straight to business. “Sitrep...
“A bomb, sir!” Ortega reported breathlessly. “On the roof. It took out our primary communications and radar arrays.” Her agitated voice crept up an octave. “We’ve been sabotaged!”
“No shit,” Ashdown replied. “We’ve got a goddamn mole in our midst. Maybe more than one.”
Ortega beckoned from the doorway.
“We need to get you out of here, sir. The roof’s on fire. This whole building could go up.”
The pilot wasn’t exaggerating. Smoke began to seep into the library. Losenko heard flames crackling overhead. Weakened rafters creaked ominously. He tugged on his collar; the room was already feeling uncomfortably warm. A smoke alarm went off, hurting his ears. The high-pitched squeal made it seem like the center itself was screaming in pain.
“Understood.” Ashdown scooped up the nearest maps and reports and thrust them carelessly into a battered leather valise. He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting something important. “All right, let’s go.” He nodded toward the newly appointed Russian general. “Losenko, you’re with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Losenko was concerned about Utyosov and Sergeant Fokin, but now wasn’t the time to go searching for them. He would have to hope that his fellow Russians could look after themselves. On impulse, he snatched the red armband from where it had landed on the floor, and slipped it over his sleeve. “I’m ready.”
The guards, each toting an M-16, led the way as they rushed out of the burning building. Losenko reached for his own pistol, then remembered that he had surrendered it earlier. He scowled, unhappy to be without a weapon at such a moment. What if the saboteurs intended further mischief?
“General,” he reminded Ashdown, “I am unarmed.”
Ashdown instantly grasped his predicament.
“Corporal!” he barked at Ortega. “Give General Losenko your sidearm.”
“General?” Ortega did a double take, but handed over the weapon without hesitation. “Here you go, skipper.”
The Glock automatic pistol fit comfortably into Losenko’s grip. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
The party scurried off the front porch onto the boardwalk. The sun was sinking in the west, and twilight was creeping across the island. Losenko paused to look back at the research station. Bright orange flames ascended from the shingled roof. The satellite dishes and antennae were nothing but mangled metal, obscured by the smoke and flames. Alarmed delegates and their bodyguards ran from the building; Losenko searched for Utyosov and Fokin, but did not see them.
A fire crew hustled to put out the blaze. Ashdown looked like he was tempted to join them, but thought better of it.
“My sub, the
Losenko had thoroughly studied Santa Cruz on the way to the summit. As he recalled, the anchorage was about 2.5 kilometers away. The island’s only paved road connected the research center with the port of Puerto Ayora.
“I can drive you, sir,” Ortega volunteered. “My jeep is parked nearby.”
“You’ve got yourself a fare, Corporal.” He strode past her decisively, and motioned to the Russian. “Let’s get going.”
Before they could head for the parking lot, however, the base’s anti-aircraft units boomed into action. A pair of Avenger air defense systems, mounted atop a pair of modified Humvees, fired a round of Stinger missiles into the sky.
“Incoming!” came the shout, and a soldier pointed northwest into the setting sun. “We have company!”
A low hum, like a swarm of angry bees, came from above. Losenko looked up to see an unmanned aerial vehicle—less sophisticated than the Hunter-Killer prototype Ashdown had warned of before—soaring toward them at a high altitude. Missiles were mounted to the underside of its wings. It took Losenko only a moment to identify
