Alan Henderson looked at the others for a moment. The Secretary of State folded her arms and said nothing; the Attorney General shrugged.
“Okay, Bill,” Henderson said, “but you’d better be right about this or this is going to come back and bite you on the ass.”
“If I thought I was wrong, Alan, I would never have done this.”
He looked at his watch.
“I have to get going. My car will be downstairs in two minutes.”
ONCE VICE PRESIDENT Collins was in his car and had the soundproof window between him and the driver shut, he took out his cell and called J. P. Sunderland.
“How’d it go?” asked Sunderland.
“I feel like I’ve been worked over by prizefighters.”
“Did they buy it?”
“So far, but they’re not exactly on our team. Since we didn’t actually come up with MindReader and can’t prove that Church has anything on the President, we’re going to have to switch to Plan B and do it mighty damn fast. I’m on my way to Walter Reed now to meet with the President. He’s going to want to tear me a new one, so it would be useful if his people got a call about our scapegoat. I don’t want this coming through me, you understand?”
“Sure. Don’t worry, Bill… I’ve got it all in hand.”
They disconnected and the Vice President sank back against the cushions and watched the gray buildings of Washington roll past. He looked calm and collected, but inside he was screaming.
Chapter Forty-Five
Deep Iron Storage Facility
Saturday, August 28, 4:22 P.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 91 hours, 38 minutes
The satellite phone buzzed and Gunnery Sgt. Brick Anderson reached for it without taking his eyes off of the front door of the main building at Deep Iron. He identified himself and received today’s command code. When he verified it a voice said, “Hold for Mr. Church.”
A moment later Church said, “Give me a sit rep, Gunny.”
“Nothing new at this end. Captain Ledger and his team have been in the hole for seventy-one minutes and I’ve been sweating bullets for seventy of those minutes.”
“Any activity?”
“Nothing from them, and nothing from anyone else.”
Church was silent for a moment. “Very well. Listen to me, Gunny; the situation has changed. The President is awake and back in charge, though he’s still in the hospital. The Vice President has been ordered to tell the NSA to stand down.”
“Well, halle-freaking-lujah. And about goddamn time, too, sir. Company would be appreciated.”
“Agreed. I’ve notified the Hub and backup is rolling. You’ll have technical support in thirty minutes from your own office, and I’ve just gotten word that the Colorado State Police SWAT units are airborne and inbound to your twenty. ETA thirty-five minutes.”
“Orders, sir?”
“Sit tight until the backup arrives. SWAT has been informed that this is a National Security matter and that you are in charge until Captain Peterson or Ledger is located. If neither has turned up by the time SWAT arrives I want you to enter Deep Iron, assess the situation, and if there is no immediate threat I want you to locate our people.” Church paused. “I know you’re no longer on active mission status, Gunny, but I need one of my people down there to lead the search. Are you up to this?”
“Sir, I lost my leg,” Brick said, “not my trigger finger.”
“Good man. Keep me updated.”
Church disconnected the call.
Brick set the sat phone down, looked at his watch, and then leaned back into position, staring down the length of the minigun at the front door. He was relieved that the NSA problem was over, at least for now, but the bad feeling he’d had all day was still there. Stronger than ever.
ON THE FAR side of the building two misshapen figures crawled out of an air vent and moved away, keeping low. One limped heavily from a bullet wound in his left thigh; the other staggered along behind him, hands clamped to the ruin of his mouth. They both trailed dark blood as they went. They paused at the edge of the roof and surveyed the foothills on the far side of the facility. No one and nothing moved except withered grass in the late August breeze.
One of the figures opened a Velcro pouch on his hip and withdrew two syrettes. He handed one to his companion and they both injected a cocktail of morphine and adrenaline into their arms. Almost immediately the pain diminished to manageable levels.
The one with the injured leg pulled a sat phone from a belt holster, turned it on, checked his watch, and then punched in that hour’s frequency. The call was answered by a woman with a sensual feline voice.
“Mission accomplished.” The injured soldier’s voice was a complete contrast to the woman’s. It was deep and guttural, his words badly formed, as if his mouth and tongue were ill suited to the task.
“Status?” asked the woman.
“We’re both injured but able to move. Request extraction at the drop point.”
“How soon?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Very well.” The woman disconnected.
The man returned the sat phone to his holster, pocketed the used syrettes, and exchanged a nod with his companion. They clambered over the wall, moving as quickly as their injuries would allow, ran across the back parking lot, scaled the chain-link fence, and headed into the foothills, making maximum use of natural cover. Within minutes they were gone.
Chapter Forty-Six
Deep Iron Storage Facility
Saturday, August 28, 5:21 P.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 90 hours, 39 minutes
The lights came on and a few moments later we heard the heavy hydraulics of the elevators. A couple of minutes later we heard voices. Muffled and distant. We checked our weapons and took up firing positions behind the stacked file boxes.
Then I heard Gunnery Sgt. Brick Anderson’s bull voice bellowing, “Bluebird!”
The cavalry had arrived.
“About damn time, too,” said Bunny.
He and Top began moving boxes away from the door. They opened it carefully and Top cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into the echoing cavern.
“Canary!”
We heard shouting, the whirring of machines, and the sounds of men running. Brick called the challenge again
