for him to get out the other side. The frightened man scooted out just as the police arrived. Rodgers tucked the gun back into his belt and walked toward the back of the van. He went through a pile of papers on the passenger’s seat of his car. He pulled out a set of blueprints and grabbed his cell phone. He opened the large document on the hood of the car and motioned for the security guards to bring one of the men over. The man was pulled roughly toward the red Xiali.
Rodgers pointed at the diagram. “Boom!” he shouted, throwing his fingers outward to simulate a blast. Then he ran a hand palm-up over the blueprint. “That’s universal for ‘Tell me what the hell I want to know, or I’ll slap you silly.’ ”
The security guard obviously understood. He said something to his captive, who muttered something back and pointed a trembling finger at the diagram.
“Shit,” Rodgers said and got on his phone.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Hood reached the holding clamp before the marines arrived. The clamp was one of two huge, inverted L- shaped structures that held the rocket in place as the boosters fired. Ignition typically occurred four to six seconds before liftoff. When the two powerful engines had built to maximum thrust, the clamps were drawn back so the rocket could lift off. The clamps were about the size of a fullsized semi, bent at the rig and slung over flanges on the bottom of the boosters. In front of him were stacked pipes that carried coolant to the launchpad. They were heavily insulated with a ceramic thermal coating to keep the contents from boiling and exploding during the launch. To the left was an equipment rack the size of a cottage. It was set well back from the raised launchpad and contained various monitors, cameras, and other recording devices. There were also several emergency generators there, used to keep the rocket functioning in case of a power failure during the postignition moments of the countdown. That was not a time when mission control wanted to have a dead, flaming rocket on their hands.
The entire area was protected by a massive blast shield. That would keep the equipment box and generators from being immolated during launch, but it would not protect a person from the heat or smoke it generated.
The marines showed up about a minute later. They were dressed in lab coats and coming from several different directions. A moment after that, the car that had brought Hood returned. Hood was shocked to see Anita get out. She was waving to him and shouting.
“More of Tam Li’s men are coming!” she cried. “My father just warned us about it—”
As she spoke, the helicopters that had been circling the perimeter converged overhead.
“Get away!” Hood yelled, motioning her back. “We’ll deal with this!”
Anita hesitated.
“Go!” he shouted. This was something else he did not need to worry about. Not now.
Anita got back in the car, but she did not leave. The driver pulled up beside the large equipment bay.
Hood looked back at the marines. He pointed up and shouted, “Bad guys!”
The marine leader nodded and directed his people to stay back, under cover. They took up positions behind large wheels that controlled the flow of coolant to the rocket. A system of hoses was designed to keep the booster and its mechanisms from being affected by the intense heat of ignition. The external hoses were released at launch. The remaining liquid raced through the rocket, turning to steam and being vented as the rocket rose.
Hood crouched beside the clamp as the marine leader continued running toward him. A slight overhang of metal from the clamp afforded Hood some protection overhead. Huge fuel lines stacked along the pad protected him in front. Fortunately, the helicopter could not come much lower. Between the pipes and the transformer there was not enough room to accommodate the rotor radius.
As he waited for the marine to move confidently along the coolant pipes, Hood felt a flash of anger — at himself. This was not the trade Hood was supposed to be practicing. This was not like a natural disaster or terrorist attack where bystanders pitched in. Hood had put himself in this position. Twice before he had been in situations like this, once in the Middle East where an Op-Center team was missing, and once when he rescued his daughter from UN hostagetakers. In both cases he had strong personal reasons for being there. Not now. He was a bureaucrat, not a soldier. He should be back at the White House drinking coffee in an air-conditioned office with CNN reporting on what other crazy damn souls were doing.
This was stupid. Worse than that, it was irresponsible. His presence could be a burden to the process, a distraction to the marines. It had already drawn Anita here, risking her life.
The marine arrived, ready to work.
“Do you have weapons?” Hood asked.
“Yes, sir,” the marine said as he threw off his lab coat. He pulled an M-9 semiautomatic from a holster under his left armpit. “It doesn’t have the kind of reach they’ve got up there. We need them a lot closer before it’ll do any damage. But, sir, we have worse problems.”
“How can it be worse?”
“I just heard from General Rodgers. The bomb is in here, sir.” The marine rapped his knuckles on the clamp.
Hood swore.
“Exactly, sir,” the marine said.
Bullets pinged above them. The marine pushed Hood down slightly. Hood felt his age under the kid’s firm hands.
“Does Rodgers know anything else?” Hood asked.
“Nothing helpful,” the marine went on. “According to what the general gleaned from his prisoner — and this makes sense — the explosive has a double-jeopardy trigger. It blows either when the clamp lifts or when the timer hits zero. If the bomb detonates, the clamp will most likely be destroyed, the rocket will fall over, and the fuel will be ignited by the fire from the bomb.”
“Same result.”
“Yes, sir.’
“In nine minutes?” Hood said, glancing at his watch.
“My timer gives us seven, sir,” the young man replied with unflappable Marine-bred directness. “The problem is, sir, even if we had the tools, I do not know that we can get to the device in time. Cutting through the clamp will take longer than we have. General Rodgers said he is standing by to help, as are Chinese security forces. Unfortunately, the men with the guns are all on Tam Li’s side.”
“Of course they are,” Hood said bitterly.
Gunfire chattered from the helicopters. The gunmen were not at a good angle to hit Hood or the marine. In addition to the overhang, the gantry and various pipes impeded their view. He found himself wondering which would be the better way to die: shot or incinerated. There was something surreal about the calm with which he asked himself that question.
“Cutting through them,” Hood muttered, repeating what the marine had said.
“Sir?”
Hood glanced behind him. The rocket loomed, the boosters almost overhead. Each opening was the diameter of a good-sized swimming pool. “What if we could actually do that?”
“How, sir?”
“I watched all the Gemini and Apollo missions as a kid. Sometimes those rockets would flame and not take off. What if we did that?”
“Turn on the boosters and melt our way through?”
“Right. We can ignite the thrusters without lifting the clamps, give them a good frying, then shut the rocket down.”
