The tranquility did not last. There was a blinding flash of light, followed by a thunderous explosion a few hundred feet ahead of them.
“What the—”
“Rich, that was a Hellfire missile. I recognize the sound. Has to be the Americans.”
“How did they find us so fast?”
“We’re fucking idiots,” Zak exclaimed. “This is a brand-new car. It’s got GPS and a lot of other gizmos. They must have known we took the Mercedes. Simple matter to track it. We’ve got to bail.”
There was another explosion several hundred feet behind them. “Zak, if those are Hellfires and they are locking onto the Mercedes GPS, how the hell are they missing? When they lock onto a target like that, they are accurate to within feet.”
“Richard, stop the car and get out. The next one will—”
A third Hellfire missile landed some ten car-lengths away. The rear wheels of the Mercedes were lifted ten feet off the ground and the rear window was shattered by the impact. Fortunately they were in a Mercedes, which was solidly built. Airbags deployed all around the passenger compartment, and the three, while rattled, remained uninjured.
“Bail, Richard. Get out!” yelled Zak the instant the Mercedes’s rear wheels touched the pavement. “The next one will get us.” Both front doors and the passenger side rear door of the Mercedes flew open, and three bodies rolled out. “Into the ditch, guys,” yelled Zak. “Get down!”
A fourth Hellfire missile struck the Mercedes dead center, and the vehicle exploded in a mass of flame and shrapnel. The blast wave rolled over them, but the three, tightly pressed into a muddy ditch that ran parallel to the freeway, were uninjured.
Traffic in both directions of the freeway had come to a halt, and numerous people were running toward the flaming wreck to see if any assistance could be rendered.
“Over there,” said Richard, pointing. “There’s a Toyota Camry, sitting on the pavement, engine idling. The owner’s got to be one of the people standing around the wreck. Let’s make a break for it, and steal it. We can trade with other vehicles later on but at least we will get out of here. The cops will be here any minute and we don’t want to be anywhere near here.”
“Good idea, Rich. Let’s go. Kumar, you too. You’re with us.”
The three of them walked along the edge of the onlookers standing around the burning Mercedes, jumped into the Toyota Camry, drove it along the shoulder past the stationary vehicles, and rapidly accelerated to sixty miles an hour when the traffic cleared. They drove for fifteen minutes until they reached a small commercial area adjacent to the N55 motorway. “There,” Zak said, pointing to an old flatbed truck. “Stone Age—probably doesn’t even have a speedometer. Easy to hot-wire.” They parked the Toyota, and Richard and Zak had the ancient Fiat truck hot-wired within seconds.
The three were on their way, heading generally south toward Karachi, having reached a maximum speed of forty-five. The engine was belching blue diesel smoke and poorly bolted parts holding the various components of the ancient truck together rattled nonstop.
“Something’s not right back there,” Richard said.
“Damn right, genius. When your own country is shooting missiles at you, yeah, something is definitely not right.”
“That’s not what I mean, Zak. Those were Hellfires. Probably shot by a drone. Those missiles do not miss. You can fire a Hellfire through the eye of a needle these days. They are accurate to a millimeter. Yet two of them missed us by several hundred feet. The third by a few car lengths. That just doesn’t happen. That’s twice we should have been dead. There’s another dimension to this.”
Before Zak could respond, they heard the distant but approaching sound of multiple sirens.
14
The calm of the TTIC control room shattered into cacophonous shards as the two side doors were kicked open and Daniel Alexander III strode into the room supported by eight large, heavily armed Marines.
“What the . . .” began George Lexia, the Silicon Valley entrepreneur.
“Liam Rhodes, you are under arrest—” Dan Alexander began.
“Have you lost your mind?” said George. “Arresting Liam? He’s the deputy director here.”
“George,” Dan ordered, “zip it if you two know what’s good for you.”
“Like hell will I zip it,” George responded. “What could Liam possibly have done? He is totally straight.”
“I said zip it,” Dan said. “But if you want to know, sure, treason. Logan Act violations. Obstruction of justice. Falsifying documents. Running a rogue military operation specifically not authorized by the White House. You want more?”
“You have lost your mind, Dan?” George responded. “You need to change antidepressants, get some therapy. Not good for the director of TTIC to become delusional.”
Liam stood up. “George, I’m going with them. My lawyers will be on this. Don’t get into this or he will drag you away, too.”
“See, George,” Dan said triumphantly. “That’s why he’s the deputy director, and you’re a nobody. Cuff him up, boys,” he added, nodding to the sergeant.
“Do you have to make such a production of it, Dan?” George said. “Handcuffs? Like Liam’s going to take out eight Marines with his bare hands?”
“Just following standard procedure,” Dan replied smugly as one of the Marines cuffed Liam’s hands together.
“This is going to be a career-ender for you, Dan,” George said. “I’ve never seen anything so moronic in my life.”
“Sure. Fine. You want to come with us, too? We’ve got an extra set of bracelets.”
George did not respond. As Liam was being marched out of the control room, Dan paused and looked at Turbee. “You know, you little weirdo, we have some problems with you, too.” Turbee said nothing, but turned a lighter shade of pale, stood up, and faced Dan, stretching out his arms in front of him, palms together, assuming that he, too, was going to be dragged away. The agony of his previous incarceration was still with him, and any attempt at flight would result in a few more broken ribs.
“That’s the spirit, Turbee,” Dan said with a malevolent grin. “Not just yet. But we
