She reached her left hand to the knob, the right fist balled on the pistol grip of the M-16— her trigger finger was inside the guard. She turned the door handle, her right foot snapping out, her left hand slapping hard against the front handguard of the M-16 as she stepped through the doorway.
The lights were still on on the radio— Cole was 'careless,' she murmured. She started across the room, the airman on the floor, the top of his skull blown away and splattered across the far wall, clearly, undeniably dead.
She stopped beside the radio, her left hand going out, blood on her fingers as she touched the head. Her right thumb worked the selector of the M-16 to safe as she set it on the table holding the radio set, both hands touching Paul Rubenstein' s head.
There was much blood. She smudged at it, watching as the eyelids fluttered.
A scalp wound. Despite the blood, she hugged his head against her chest, whispering, 'Paul—
thank God.' Her own words startled her...
O'Neal would live, the wound to his neck deep and bloody but packed now and the bleeding stopped. But he would be very weak. Rourke studied the man's face, O'Neal still not conscious, but sleeping rather than in a coma. Rourke heard the noise of the Jeep behind him, reaching to the shoulder holsters where he'd transferred the Detonics .45s from the side pockets of his flight suit.
On his knees, he wheeled into a crouch, both pistols coming up, feeling a smile cross his lips as he aborted thumb-cocking the hammer spurs. Natalia drove the Jeep and beside her, hands rubbing his head— 'Paul,' Rourke whispered. That Natalia had brought his friend back alive, Rourke counted a minor miracle— but Cole was no less culpable. And Cole would die.
'Paul!' This time Rourke shouted the name, the guns suddenly awkward in his hands but no time to reholster them as he ran to meet the oncoming Jeep, Natalia cutting into a slight curve to her right, the Jeep skidding on the concrete hangar flooring with a squeal of brakes, bouncing as it stopped. She jumped from the driver's seat, Rourke handing her his pistols— nothing else to do with them— and stepping up into the Jeep to inspect Paul's wound.
Rourke had encountered something similar once before he remembered as he studied Rubenstein's wound, gingerly pulling back the bandage Natalia had improvised. 'You have a hard head, Paul,' Rourke told his friend, watching as Rubenstein forced a smile. 'There was a case in Chicago years ago of a police officer shooting at a man who was rushing him with a broken bottle or something. Tried the standard things— calling halt, firing a warning shot. Finally he didn't have a choice. He fired, the shot went high and the man with the bottle had a high forehead. The bullet hit the man's forehead and glanced off. It was a .45. The man with the bottle got scared to death and ran and the cop probably died of a heart attack— a headshot with a
.45 not putting a man down. Same thing happened with you— bullet hit the right side of your head— back here,' and he touched lightly at the wound, Rubenstein wincing. 'Then it just glanced off. What they call a scalp wound in the movies.'
'Shit— I— I feel like somebody— somebody hit me with a sledgehammer.'
Rourke laughed, still inspecting the wound. 'Two hundred thirty-grains of gilding-metaljacketed lead traveling slow and steady isn't something you should expect to feel good. Now tell me all you can about Cole— anything that didn't get on the radio. But wait a minute.' Rourke turned and looked behind him, Natalia smiling strangely. 'What are you laughing at?'
'Men— you two are like brothers and you tell macho stories to one another and joke when you'd really in your hearts like to hug each other. Crazy.'
Rourke swallowed hard, feeling his eyes smiling at her. 'Just shut up and get that medical kit.'
'Hmm,' she smiled.
Rourke closed his eyes, shaking his head...
'So I guess he either got Colonel Teal to tell him where the missiles were or figured he could sweat it out of him.'
'You've been reading too many American detective stories, Paul,' Natalia said, Rourke watching her smile. ' 'Sweat it out of him'— really!'
Rourke rolled the thin, dark tobacco cigar across his teeth to the left corner of his mouth, saying,
'But the fact remains, figures of speech aside, that what Paul said is a pretty accurate description of the situation.'
'But this Teal— he seems tough,' Natalia began, looking at Rourke, sitting between them on a long, low tool chest at the far side of the hangar. 'If I had a complete drug kit and the time, I could get the information out of Teal. But this Cole— he is so inept—'
'So inept that he waited for the optimum chance to strike, got himself transported on faked or stolen orders aboard a nuclear submarine, so inept that we can't go after him or he'll kill Teal, so inept he'll wind up with control of six missiles—'
'Why the hell would somebody make missiles with such big warheads?' Paul chimed in.
'Should I tell him?' Natalia asked, not smiling at all.
Rourke only nodded.
'You see, Paul,' she began, patient sounding, as though explaining to a child, Rourke thought,
'you see— for a time it was thought that the larger the warhead, the greater and more formidable a weapon. This was before your country began searching for greater accuracy in delivery systems— like the MX missile, which caused so much controversy. A smaller warhead that could reach to a target with virtual pinpoint accuracy had less residual effect and greater destructive capability on hard targets than something huge and dirty. These were soft- target warheads—'
'Soft target?' Rubenstein, his eyes still pained— seeming, pain-filled, repeated.
'A soft target is a population center,' Rourke said emotionlessly. 'A hard target is a missile silo, a command bunker— something made to withstand everything except a virtual direct hit.'
'And if Captain Cole is so knowledgeable as to be able to take control of these missiles and their eight megaton warheads—'
'Then we must assume,' Rourke interrupted her, 'that he knows how to fire them and already has targets in mind.'
'Why are we sitting here, then?'
'He wouldn't kill Teal until he knew where the warheads were,' Natalia added.
'We have to wait,' Rourke answered. 'Teal told me there were helicopters here, in a locked hangar. After I checked your wound and while I bandaged it, I told Natalia to take a look through the rest of the hangars.'
'And one was locked— the windows were shuttered. Helicopters— OH-58A Kiowas. I checked them after I shot off the lock. The choppers had been repaired— their circuitry had been burned out during the electromagnetic pulse, but apparently Teal had repaired it. There were three machines, and two of them would start. The third was partially stripped down. Apparently Teal hadn't completed repairing it.'
'So, after Cole gets what he wants out of Teal, he'll keep Teal alive just in case— just in case Teal deceived him or a special access code is needed— just for insurance, and as insurance against Natalia and me— and now you. Jeeps were missing— seventy-five miles cross country, with time out to work over Armand Teal, watching out for the wildmen to attack— sometime tonight he should be there. We go airborne after dark and look for signs of Cole and the others—
then we do whatever the situation allows—'
'Or demands,' Natalia interrupted.
'When we were airborne,' Rourke said, standing, shifting the stump of burned-out cigar in his teeth, 'we saw signs of masses of the wildmen— they're going to attack here.' Rourke glanced at the black-faced Rolex on his wrist. 'Probably in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Natalia is going to preflight two of those helicopters— you stay here with Lieutenant O'Neal, Paul. I'm taking a fighter out of here— it's a three-seater. I'm going to strafe the wildmen just to let them know we're interested, kill as many of them as I can since they'll all be so conveniently assembled, then land the thing somewhere nearby with a nearly full fuel load. Fighter bomber really— an FB-111HX. Carry the three of us eventually. Our ticket out of here. Then I'll land, camouflage the plane and get Natalia to pick me up with a chopper. You and O'Neal'll be on your own for a little. She'll fly me back, we'll take both helicopters and search for Cole and the others. Natalia'll show you what to do after she preflights the choppers— so you and O'Neal— he should be awake enough to keep an eye on your back— can sabotage all the remaining aircraft on the
