The Edge of Armageddon (21 page)

Drake scrambled across the floor, rolling Gator onto his stomach as the madman giggled into the bloody deck. Dahl dropped beside him, pain, horror and foreboding written all over his face. The strap was buckled down, but Drake had it open in a moment and then eased the metal casing clear of the rough material.

The countdown timer faced them, its flashing red numbers as menacing and terrible as the blood that spread across the floor beneath their knees.

“Forty minutes,” Hayden spoke first, her voice hushed. “Don’t play with it, Drake. Defuse that thing right now.”

Drake was already turning the bomb as he had the last. Kinimaka handed him an opened utility knife, which he took to the screws, moving carefully, wary of the plethora of booby traps a bombmaker like Gator could put into play. When he had the device clear of the mad terrorist he glanced up at Alicia.

“Say no more,” she said, grabbed the man under the arms and dragged him away. For this kind of killer there would be no mercy.

With a steady hand, he removed the bomb’s front plate. Folded blue wires came with it, stretching alarmingly.

“It’s not a fucking pipe bomb,” Dahl whispered. “Be careful.”

Drake paused to stare at his friend. “Do you want to do this?”

“And be responsible for setting it off? Not really. No.”

Drake chewed on his lower lip, hyper aware of all the factors involved. The flashing countdown was an ever present reminder of how little time they had left.

Hayden called Moore. Kinimaka called the bomb squad. Someone else called NEST. All angles were covered as Drake took a look at the device, and information rapidly flooded in.

“Pull the wires again,” Dahl suggested.

“Too risky.”

“I’m guessing there’s no motion sensor this time judging by the way Gator was running around.”

“Correct. And we can’t re-employ your sledgehammer idea.”

“Collapsing circuit?”

“That’s the issue. They already used something new—a failsafe wire. And this bastard is the real thing. If I tamper with this it could go off.”

Gator made unearthly noises from the other room as Alicia worked. It wasn’t long before she stuck her head through the shattered door. “He says the bomb does have an anti-tamper switch.” She shrugged. “But then I guess he would.”

“No time,” Dahl said. “There’s no bloody time for that.”

Drake glanced at the timer. Already they were down to thirty five minutes. He rocked back on his haunches. “Shit, we can’t risk it. How long ‘til the bomb squad get here?”

“Five minutes tops,” Kinimaka said as choppers pounded down onto the ferry’s decks wherever they could. Others hovered just above as first responders jumped. “But what if they can’t defuse it?”

“How about throwing it into the bay?” Lauren suggested.

“Nice idea, but it’s too shallow,” Hayden had already asked Moore. “Contaminated water would saturate the city.”

Drake rocked back and forth, contemplating madness, and then caught Dahl’s eyes. The same idea was in the Swede’s, he knew. Through the locked gaze they communicated directly and easily.

We can do it. It’s the only way.

We’d be blind. Outcome unknown. Once started, there’s no going back. We’d be taking a one-way trip.

So what the hell are you waiting for? Mount up, motherfucker.

Drake responded to the challenge in Dahl’s eyes and straightened. Taking a deep breath he strapped on his rifle, holstered his guns and pulled the nuke free of the backpack. Hayden stared at him with wide eyes, a perceptive frown on her face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You know exactly what we’re doing.”

“The safe distances might not add up. For you, I mean.”

“Then they won’t.” Drake shrugged. “But we all know there’s only one way to save this city.”

Drake hefted the nuke and Dahl led the way. Alicia stopped him for one more precious moment.

“You’re leaving after just one kiss? Do not let this be the shortest relationship of my life.”

“I’m surprise you haven’t had shorter.”

“I’m purposely discounting the guy I decided I liked, shagged, then got bored of in about eight minutes.”

“Oh, good. Then I’ll see you in a few.”

Alicia held him with her eyes alone, holding the rest of her body absolutely still. “Come back soon.”

Hayden pushed between Drake and Dahl, talking fast, relaying information from Moore and keeping her eyes out for first responders who might be able to help.

“They’re saying the bomb has a payload of five to eight kilotons. Taking into account its bulk, weight and the speed at which it will sink . . .” She paused. “The safe depth is eighteen hundred feet . . .”

Drake listened, but headed up the nearest stairs toward the top deck. “We need the fastest chopper you’ve got,” he told the approaching pilot. “No fucking about. No whining. Just hand us the goddamn keys.”

“We don’t—”

Hayden interrupted. “Yeah, eighteen hundred feet to neutralize all that radiation according to NEST command. Shit, you’ll need to be eighty miles offshore.”

Drake felt the bomb’s metal casing slip a little through the sweat that coated his fingers. “In thirty minutes? Ain’t gonna happen. What else you got?”

Hayden blanched. “Nothing, Drake. They got nothing.”

“That sledgehammer’s starting to look good now,” Dahl commented.

Drake noticed Alicia shoot past, heading out onto the top deck and looking out to sea. What was she searching for out there?

A pilot approached, Bluetooth device flashing at the base of his helmet. “We got the fastest goddamn chopper in the Army,” he drawled. “Bell SuperCobra. Two hundred miles per hour if you push her.”

Drake turned to Hayden. “Will that work?”

“I think so.” She did a few mental arithmetic calculations in her head. “Wait, that can’t be right.”

Drake clung onto the nuke, the red numbers still flashing, Dahl at his side. “Come on!”

“Eighty miles,” she said, running. “Yes, you can do it. But that’ll leave you only . . . three minutes to get the hell out of there. You won’t escape the blast zone!”

Drake approached the SuperCobra without slowing, eyes taking in the sleek gray shape, turret mounts, three barrel cannons, rocket pods and Hellfire missile launchers.

“That’ll do,” he said.

“Drake,” Hayden stopped him. “Even if you do drop the nuke safely the blast will destroy you.”

“Then stop wasting our time,” the Yorkshireman said. “Unless you or Moore or any of the other bods in your head know of another way?”

Hayden listened to the data, advice and intelligence Moore was constantly passing on. Drake felt the ferry bobbing on the rolling waters, saw the skyline of Manhattan in the near distance, even made out the ant-like scurrying of people already returning to their lives. Military vessels, speedboats and choppers sat all around, manned by many who would give their lives to save this day.

But it came down to just two.

Drake and Dahl climbed aboard the SuperCobra, receiving a crash course in its operation from the exiting pilot.

“Godspeed,” he said, departing. “And good luck.”

Drake passed the nuke to Dahl, a little smile on his face. “Figured you’d want to do the honors, mate.”

The Swede hefted the bomb and climbed into the rear of the chopper. “I’m not sure I can trust you to drive in a straight line.”

“It’s not a car. And I do believe we already established I can drive better than you.”

“Why’s that? I don’t remember it that way.”

“I’m English. You ain’t.”

“And what exactly does nationality have to do with it?” Dahl slipped into a seat.

“Pedigree,” Drake said. “Stewart. Hamilton. Hunt. Button. Hill. And more. The closest Sweden came to winning F1 was when Finland came first.”

Dahl laughed, buckling in and setting the black metal casing along his lap, pulling the door closed. “Don’t talk so loud, Drake. The bomb might be equipped with a ‘bollocks’ sensor.”

“Then we’re already fucked.”

Hauling on the cyclic stick he lifted the chopper clear of the ferry after checking that the skies above were clear. Sunlight flashed behind and caught the city’s million reflective surfaces, giving him a little reminder of why they were doing this. Upturned faces stared with respect from the deck below, many of them his friends and family, his team mates. Kenzie and Mai stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces expressionless, but it was the Israeli who ultimately made him smile.

She tapped her watch and mouthed:
Get a fuckin’ move on.

Alicia was nowhere to be seen, nor Beau. Drake sent the military chopper swooping low over the waves and on a straight course across the Atlantic. Winds crisscrossed their path and sunlight glimmered atop every rolling swell. Horizons hung suspended to all sides, vaults of light blue sky competing with the awe-inspiring vastness of the seas. The epic skyline at their back fell away as the minutes and seconds ticked slowly toward zero.

“Fifteen minutes,” Dahl said.

Drake eyed the odometer. “Right on schedule.”

“How much time will we have spare?”

“Three minutes,” Drake rolled a hand. “Give or take.”

“What’s that in miles?”

“At two hundred miles per hour? Roughly, seven.”

Dahl raised a hopeful expression. “Not bad.”

“In a perfect world,” Drake shrugged. “Doesn’t include turn maneuvers, speeding up, shark attack. Whatever the hell else they might throw at us out there.”

“This thing have an inflatable?” Dahl cast around, fingers clutched tight to the nuke.

“If it does, I don’t know where.” Drake watched the clock.

Twelve minutes to explosion.

“Get ready.”

“Always am.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to be doing this when you woke up today.”

“What? Dropping a nuclear bomb into the Atlantic Ocean to save New York City? Or talking to you, face to face, whilst riding a marine’s chopper?”

“Well, both.”

“The first part crossed my mind.”

Drake shook his head, unable to hide a smile. “Of course it did. You’re Torsten Dahl, the great hero.”

The Swede relinquished his grip on the nuke for just one second to place a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “And you’re Drake, Matt Drake, the most caring person I have ever known. No matter how hard you try to hide it.”

“You ready to drop that nuke?”

“Of course I am, ya daft Northern dickhead.”

Drake made the chopper dive, plummeting nose first toward the gray swell. Dahl threw open the rear door, shuffling around to get the best position. A current of air gusted through the SuperCobra. Drake tightened his grip on the stick and worked the pedals, still plummeting. Dahl shifted the nuke one last time. Waves tossed and collided and sent errant spray flaring up to meet them, a white foam laced through with diamond sparkles of sunlight. Bracing every muscle, Drake finally pulled up hard, leveling the halo off and spinning his head to watch Dahl heave the metal-cased weapon of ultimate destruction out the door.

It fell toward the waves, a spinning bomb, entering the water easily because of the low altitude it had been released at, another failsafe to ensure the anti-tamper sensor remained neutral. Drake instantly gunned them away from the point of impact, skimming the waves so low they washed over his skids, wasting no time in climbing and giving the chopper less space to fall through in case of calamity.

Dahl checked his own watch.

Two minutes.

“Get your foot down.”

Drake almost repeated that he wasn’t actually driving a car but concentrated instead in coaxing every modicum of speed from the bird, knowing that the Swede was just venting tension. Everything was down to seconds now—the time before the nuke exploded, the miles they were distant from its blast radius, the span of their lives.

“Eighteen seconds,” Dahl said.

Drake prepared for hell. “Been a pleasure, mate.”

Ten . . . nine . . .

“See you soon, Yorkie.”

Six . . . five . . . four . . .

“Not if I see your stupid—”

Zero.

Drake and Dahl saw nothing of the initial underwater explosion, but the enormous wall of water that erupted from the sea behind them was enough to make their hearts falter. A liquid mushroom cloud exploding thousands of feet into the air, dwarfing all else, shooting up toward the atmosphere as if striving to drown out the very sun. A spray dome surged up, the precursor to shock waves, a spherical cloud, high surface waves and a base surge that would rise to a height beyond five hundred meters.

The blast wave was unstoppable, a manmade force of nature, an energy corruption. It struck the rear of the chopper like a hammer blow, giving Drake the impression he was being pushed along by the hand of a malicious giant. Almost immediately the chopper swooped, lifted and then turned to the side. Drake’s head struck metal. Dahl clung on, a rag doll being thrown around by a vicious hound.

The chopper rocked and rolled, buffeted and beaten by the endless blast, the dynamic wave. It spun again and again, its rotors slowing, its body pitching. Behind it, the immense curtain of water continued to rise, propelled by a titanic force. Drake struggled to stay conscious, abandoning all control of his destiny and just trying to hang on, remain awake and in one piece.

Time was rendered irrelevant and they might have lurched and bucked inside that blast wave for hours, but it was only when it surged past and they found themselves in its wake, that the true toll of its devastating power became clear.

The chopper, almost upside down, plunged toward the Atlantic.

Out of control, Drake braced himself for the impact with the knowledge that, even if they did survive the crash, they had no life raft, no life vests, and no hope of rescue. Somehow retaining enough cognizance to hold on with every last ounce of strength, he watched as they plunged into the ocean.