Bluey James' filthy Baltimore apartment, waiting for the phone to ring.
They were waiting for the call that would instruct Bluey to send out the V-CD of Bittiker's message to all the TV net works. Naturally, Bluey's phone had been hooked up to a bank of FBI tracing equipment.
There was a knock at the door.
Mitchell opened it to reveal two agents from Demonaco's Domestic Terrorist Unit—a man and a woman, both young, clean-cut thirtysomethings.
'What have you got?” Demonaco said.
'We checked out Henry Norton,' the female agent said.
'The guy whose cardkeys and codes were used in the break- in. Our own investigations have confirmed that he had no known paramilitary contacts.'
'So who did he work with, then? Who could have seen him enter his codes and then pass them on to somebody?'
'Apparently he worked closely with a guy named Martin Race-Martin Eric Race. He was one of the DARPA people working on the project, the ignition system design engineer.“
'But we checked him out too,' the male agent said.
'And he's clean. No militia links, not even a history of contact with any extremist groups. He's even married to a high-ranking Army scientist named Lauren O'Connor.
She's technically a major, but she's had no combat experi ence. The rank is purely honorary. Race and O'Connor were married late in 1997. No kids, No apparent discord. But…”
'But what?“
'But exactly three weeks ago, her FBI file was flagged when she was spotted leaving a motel in Gainesville with this man'—the agent handed Demonaco an 8 x 10 black- and-white photo of a man leaving a motel room —'Troy Copeland. Also a major with the Army's Special Projects Unit. Seems Ms O'Connor has been having an affair with Mr Copeland for the last month.'
'So… ?' Demonaco said expectantly.
'So. Copeland has been under periodic surveillance for the past year, under suspicion of passing Army security codes to certain militia groups, one of which is—wait for it—the Republican Army of Texas.'
'But since the affair is only a month old,' the female agent said, 'DARPA probably hasn't picked up on it with any follow-up checks.'
Demonaco sighed. 'And the Army and the Navy aren't exactly the best of bedfellows. They've been pulling the rug out from under each other for years.' He turned. 'Commander Mitchell?'
'Yes.'
'Does the Army have a Supernova?'
'They're not supposed to.'
'Answer the question.'
'We think they are working on one, yes.'
'Is it possible, then,' Demonaco said, 'that this O'Connor woman was getting her husband to pass secret DARPA codes to her and the Arm36 and then she was passing them on to her lover Copeland, not knowing that he was giving them to the Texans?'
'That's what we figure,' the male agent said.
“Damn it!'
With the Spirit of the People in his hands, Frank Nash stepped out of his grounded Black Hawk II. Lauren, Marty, Copeland and the pilot did the same.
The two unmarked Black Hawks that had landed on either side of the Army chopper kept their rotor blades turn ing swiftly.
“Step away from the helicopter!' the voice on the loud speaker demanded.
Nash and the others did so.
An instant later another finger-like trail of smoke raced down from the sky at incredible speed—from one of the other Black Hawks hovering above the village. The missile slammed into the Army Black Hawk II, blasting it to smithereens.
Nash winced.
A long silence followed, the only sound the rhythmic whump-whump-whump of the rotors that still turned atop the two unmarked helicopters.
After nearly a full minute had passed, a lone man got out of the nearer of the two unmarked choppers.
He was dressed in full combat attire—boots, fatigues, combat webbing—and he carried in his left hand an odd- looking semi-automatic pistol.
It was a big gun, black in colour, and easily bigger than the famous IMI 'Desert Eagle', the largest production-made semi-automatic pistol in the world. This gun, on the other hand, had a sturdy grip and an unusually long slide which ran for the entire length of its barrel.
Nash recognised it instantly.
It wasn't a semi-automatic pistol at all. It was a rare and very expensive Calico pistol, the only truly automatic pistol in the world. You depressed the trigger and a stream of bullets blazed out from the barrel. Like an
