“If we weaken them, the rocket would fall over anyway,” the marine pointed out.
“That in itself probably would not cause the plutonium cell to be destroyed,” Hood suggested.
“True. And the heat might be enough to slag the bomb,” the Marine said.
“That’s what I am hoping,” Hood said.
“Sir, it is a chance.”
“Alert General Rodgers and have him pass that along to the launch crew,” Hood said. “Then help me figure a way to get us out of here.”
The marine input the text message to Rodgers. He was poised and focused as bullets chewed at the concrete several feet away, spitting splinters at the two men. He was an inspiration to Hood, who was squatting to the man’s left, slightly behind him. Hood had not noticed until now that the marine had positioned himself almost directly between the helicopter and Hood.
“General Rodgers is phoning the information to one of the English-speaking scientists here,” the marine said.
Hood nodded. His legs were beginning to cramp, but he dared not move. Not until he had to. He looked to his right at Anita’s car, which was still near the heavily reinforced equipment shed about three hundred yards behind them. He could not understand why she was just sitting there. He waved for her to go. The windows were darkly tinted, and he could not tell whether she had seen him.
The marine’s wristwatch flashed. He read the incoming message.
“The Chinese agree with the plan and are undertaking an expedited countdown,” the young man said.
“Which means we have to get the hell out of here,” Hood said.
“Affirmative, sir. They’re lighting them up in three minutes.”
Hood was looking ahead, trying to figure out how to get from their position to anywhere else. There was nothing that did not cross exposed spaces. The choppers were moving lower and converging. Their shots were coming at a different angle but still falling short of the spot below the clamp.
“Do you think they know what mission control is planning?” the marine asked.
“Doubtful. They would have been cut from the comm loop as soon as they showed their hand.”
Either way, it was not good for Hood, his partner, or Anita. In two minutes they would be under cryogenic propellant that was fired to a temperature of five thousand degrees.
Hood was scared now. He was aware of each breath, every heartbeat, all the perspiration that was running from his temples and armpits. He wanted it all to continue. He did not want this complex symphony of the taken- forgranted to end.
“Thoughts?” Hood asked.
“Only one, sir. The car.”
“Forget it. I am not going to ask the prime minister’s daughter to drive through the gunfire—”
“I’ve just watched the vehicle take multiple hits, sir,” the marine told him. “I think it’s armored.”
Suddenly, the sedan revved its engine and sped toward them. Anita must have heard from her father what was being planned. Hood was certain that the prime minister had told her to leave. Hood also did not doubt that she was going to try to give them a way out.
Hood watched anxiously as bullets flashed off the roof and hood. They dented the metal but did not go through it. White scrapes appeared on the windows as gunfire skidded across the dark surfaces. One of the choppers moved in lower. It evidently intended to try to pick off the men when they tried to get into the car.
Behind them, steam began hissing from vents in the rocket as coolant was pumped through thick capillaries in the metal skin.
The car stopped about twenty feet beyond the clamp, at a point where the coolant pipes turned away from the launchpad. The passenger’s side was facing the two men. The door opened.
“Come on!” Anita yelled.
The marine rose and peered over the topmost coolant pipe. He looked out and began typing a text message.
“We have to run for it,” Hood said.
“You’ll never clear that open space,” the marine told him. “Give me another few seconds.”
“These idiots may hit the rocket,” Hood said. “They’re shooting wild—”
“They won’t. The fireball would catch them, too.”
The kid was right. The chopper descended and fired more carefully on their position. Hood felt foolish as the men dropped back behind the pipes. The marine had a grasp of the obvious that Hood had somehow lost or misplaced. That was the problem with having a head too full of experience. Information was something you kicked around behind a desk. In the field, it obscured instinct and wisdom.
Fortunately, Hood did not dwell on his failings. The clang of the bullets on the metal was unnerving. The marine finished typing his message, then sent it to the other members of his team.
Suddenly they heard the drumbeat of coordinated fire from the other side of the sedan.
“Are the choppers within range?” Hood asked.
“No. They won’t be able to get any lower.”
“Then what are your guys firing at?” Hood asked.
“Just be ready to follow me,” the marine said as he moved into a crouching position facing the car.
Hood turned and looked over the marine’s shoulder. He looked past the sedan at the blast shield where it had been parked a minute before. Flashes were sparking off the transformer — one bullet after another in the same spot. Finally one of them punched through the gas tank and another followed it through. The hot shells ignited the fuel and caused a small blast that sent smoky plumes of dark smoke rolling upward.
“Follow me,” the marine said.
The young man rose, his shoulders hunched low, and moved to the edge of the pipes. Hood followed him. They stopped just a few feet from the car. As the smoke continued to blanket the area, the marine put his left arm around Hood’s shoulders. He pulled him close, shielding Hood with his own body.
“On my word we run for the car,” the marine told him.
The gunfire thinned as the smoke obscured the launchpad. Hood felt himself being ushered forward, even as the marine shouted,
The two ran toward the car. Bullets pierced the thick cloud as they crossed the open space between their makeshift sanctuary and the car. It was only six or seven yards, but each step seemed like a long flight of stairs. Smoke and fear took Hood’s breath away as they ran ahead. As the smoke thickened, the driver beeped his horn to give them a beacon. Hood could hear the delicate whiz of gunfire and the jazzlike beat it produced as it struck metal and pavement. When they reached the car, Hood was shoved forward onto the leather seat. He scrambled across to make room for the marine. The young man literally dove in after him.
“Go!” the marine shouted as he turned and pulled the door shut.
“Is there anyone else we need to pick up?” Anita asked.
“No,” the marine replied. “I told my coworkers to head for the command bunker once we were rescued.”
Hood looked at the young man as the car sped off. “Are you all right?”
“Intact, sir,” the marine said.
Anita turned and regarded the young man. “You are not a scientist,” she declared.
The marine put the gun in its holster. He did not answer. He looked out the window at the retreating launchpad.
“Who are you?” Anita demanded.
Hood responded. “He’s just a man who may have helped save your space complex and your father’s government.” Hood smiled. “Speaking of saving, thanks for pulling us out of there.”
Anita looked at Hood. Gunfire continued to hit the car. Depending on the angle, the shots rang like a bell or sounded like a cat scratching. The sedan left the asphalt and began racing across the field that separated the launchpad from the Technical Center. The rutted ground caused the car to bump and rattle. The high, rigid grasses sounded like steel wool along the chassis. But all of the sounds, all thought and lingering questions, vanished when the booster lit up. It was about three quarters of a mile behind them. Hood heard a deep blast, then felt the car tremble. Everything from the license plates to the seat belts rattled, like teeth. The vehicle was literally bumped
