Rourke touched at the nearest blue wire— he followed it out to the terminal— his hands gloved to guard against electrocution— but leather wouldn't do much he knew— he worked with his tiny screwdriver.
The computer voice droned on. 'T minus four minutes twenty seconds and counting.'
Didn't the voice know that it too would die, he thought?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
'T minus four minutes, fifteen seconds and counting.' Natalia heard the voice, stared for a moment at Cole's dead eyes, then ran on, her pistol holsters slapping at her sides, her feet seeming to her barely to touch the concrete floor as she reached the ladder, then started down three rungs at a time to the lower level and to the missile access tunnel. 'T minus four minutes five seconds and counting.'
The voice was maddening...
Rourke looked up, hearing the thudding of heels on the concrete. 'T minus three minutes twenty seconds and counting. T minus three minutes fifteen seconds and counting. T minus three minutes ten seconds and counting. T minus three minutes five seconds and counting. T minus three minutes to irretrievable launch. Two minutes fifty- five seconds to launch. T minus two minutes fifty seconds and counting.'
Natalia— he shouted her name— 'Natalia!'
She skidded on her heels, dropping into a crouch beside him at the electrical panel— six wires were removed, three cut— he held his knife against a fourth, his finger behind the wire.
'What happened when you cut these?' she said breathlessly.
'Nothing— not a damn thing—'
'This could take hours and we still might fuse the wires and automatically trigger a launch—'
'Shit,' he rasped.
'I love you, John— I think we're going to die here—'
'I love you, too,' he told her, the knife blade still poised over the wire.
'Don't cut that— I wish we'd had more time together— I wish you'd made love to me—'
'I couldn't— why shouldn't I cut it—'
'Sarah could never understand how lucky she is— that you love her— were faithful to her—'
'I had no choice— it's me— it wasn't you— it's the way I'm made— I wanted to so much—'
She looked at him, Rourke taking her hand, squeezing it. 'I never loved anyone like I love you,' he whispered.
'I'll love you even after death—'
'T minus two minutes five seconds and counting. T minus two minutes and counting.'
'The wires have to be the way to stop this,' Rourke rasped.
She shifted her gaze, Rourke following it as she picked up the cover panel that had been over the wiring itself.
'That protected the wires—'
'Protected—' She dropped the panel, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, Rourke feeling her mouth full against his lips. Breathless, she told him, 'That's it— if I can find the preignition wire here, I can activate the ignition test sequence and start the nearest of the missiles to burn—'
'What are you talking about—'
'The panel, John— that's what it did— the packing inside— all around here— fireproof— it's like a fireproof vault— these launch in series— these missiles. If the panel and the circuit box weren't fire-proofed, the first burn would destroy the launch system wiring and the other five missiles wouldn't launch at all— if I can get an ignition check burn, the flames will vaporize the wiring and the system will be dead—'
'So will we,' Rourke added. 'What do we do—'
'Maybe not— I can rig a delay— maybe fifteen seconds just by stripping away most of the insulation on one of the wires and grounding it to a hot wire— say for the lights—'
'If you know what you're talking about, fine— you lost me— do it.'
'You run— I'll do it myself.'
'T minus one minute thirty-five seconds and counting. T minus one minute thirty seconds and counting.' A claxon began to sound, the computer voice louder now to be heard over it. 'T
minus one minute twenty-five seconds and counting.'
'I'll stay with you— I won't leave you— I won't.'
She looked at him— her eyes, their incredible blueness, her skin so white, her hair almost unnatural in its darkness, a lock of it fallen across her forehead, her left hand unconsciously brushing it back from her face.
'Take my gloves—'
'I have my own— tighter fit,' she nodded, smiling.
'T minus one minute fifteen seconds and counting.'
Natalia began tracing out wires with her right hand Rourke helping her into the left skintight leather glove. She took the right glove, pulling it on herself as he watched her eyes follow out the wiring system.
'I have no way of knowing if this is the right wire— I think it is— but I don't know—'
'T minus one minute five seconds and counting. T minus one minute to irretrievable launch ignition— preignition in ten seconds. T minus forty-five seconds.'
'That's it— their preignition burn— I can get it here—'
'T minus forty seconds—'
Her hands moved across the panel, a wire ripped free, the Bali-Song coming out in her right hand, the blade a blur of gleaming steel, the blade slicing against the plastic coating of a blue wire.
'Preignition burn—'
Natalia fell back, screaming— 'John—' Rourke grabbed her in his arms and felt the electrical current pulse through her, throwing his weight and hers away from the panel and ripping her free.
She was breathing— barely.
The computer voice droned. 'T minus twenty-five seconds. T minus twenty—' The voice was swallowed in the roar of the missile engine.
Rourke, his body trembling still from the electrical shock, pushed himself to his feet, his hands clawing Natalia's body to his chest, his right shoulder butting into her abdomen as he flung her across it, the roar of the engine deafening now.
A glance behind him— a ball of flame rolling from the nearest of the missiles.
Rourke started to run— The claxon still sounded, louder than before, the roar of the fireball behind him, the heat oppressive— his lungs ached, his chest ached.
'No, I won't die!' He screamed the words to the tunnel walls around him as he ran, an explosion from behind him, the electrical conduit along the tunnel ceiling afire now, the lights—
fluorescent tubes— bursting, exploding, flecks of razor-sharp glass raining down on him as he ran.
The fireball— he could smell it, taste it; he stole a glance over his shoulder as he ran— it was blindingly bright and right behind him.
Ahead, he could see the door to the access tunnel entrance— Natalia had left it ajar as had he—
he opened his mouth wide, the hot burning air seeming to sear his lungs as he gulped it to sustain him— he ran.
The door was twenty yards away— he couldn't remember if it was fireproof— fifteen yards away. Ten yards. He glanced behind him, the fireball nearer, his left foot buckling, but he caught his balance. Five yards. Rourke threw himself through the doorway, lurching and twisting, hurtling his weight against the door, slamming it, his left hand snaking out to the bolt latch— his fingers burning as he touched it.
The door was starting to melt.
Rourke kept running— ahead— perhaps fifty yards ahead was the access ladder to the control room.
'John—' The cough— the voice— Natalia.
Rourke slowed, leaning his weight against the wall as he stopped, slipping Natalia to her feet—
'What—'
'Fireball— other— other side— the door— melting—'
As if punctuating his words, there was a groaning sound, then the roar of the fireball— the door was gone.
'Run for it,' and Rourke shoved her ahead, Natalia starting to run, outdistancing him, fresher—
