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Not practical, but sometimes my anger overcomes practicality.
Jeremy has a radio receiver in his left hand, with a hearing plug in his left ear, and he gives me a running narration as the Land Rover bounces and races its way to the runway, punching through low brush and saplings.
“An exchange has been made,” Jeremy whispers. “Gamma-ray emissions still being monitored. Aircraft is starting to depart. The van is going back down the road. Ah, it looks like—”
We break out and we’re on the runway, at the south end, racing down towardthe north end. Carlos says something to Jeremy, but I can’t make out the muttered words. I can barely see through the armored windshield, but now there’s the Cessna just ahead. Suddenly a blur of sharp, heavy gunshots, one after another:BLAM BLAM BLAM.
Jeremy says, “The aircraft is being disabled.”
The Land Rover picks up speed and Jeremy says, “Van is on the move again…van is—what?”
My pistol is in my hand.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The van…it’s not going down the road,” he says. “It’s coming up the runway…right at us.”
Victor barks a command and the Land Rover brakes to a halt. The rear door flies open and we all tumble out onto the runway. The same happens with the Land Rover behind us. Hidden high-powered floodlights click on from each side of the runway, and I see two things unfolding before me at the same time.
The first is the Cessna single-prop aircraft, shuddering and stumbling as sniper fire shreds its tires and shatters its windows. There’s a puff of smoke from the engine, then it coughs off and the propeller flutters to a hard stop.
And there’s the van, still roaring up the center of the runway. Victor and his men spread out, their MP5s stuttering out in quick three-round bursts.
I have my pistol in both hands, having brought it up to a shooting position without even thinking about it. The dark blue van skids left, then right as its tires get ripped apart. I almost want to yell out, “Stop shooting at the nuclear device, you morons!” when the van comes to a halt, rocking from side to side.
The airplane isn’t moving.
Four armed men burst from the brush and saplings at the far side of the runway, running toward the aircraft as some poor shmuck inside tries to open the pilot’s door. The French paramilitary squad obviously thinks he’s an emerging threat, because a burst of gunfire tears up the door—and him with it.
The van.
The van holding the suitcase nuke.
Harsh floodlights are on the van, and the paramilitary gunmen rise from their firing positions just as another Land Rover skids to a halt and more armed men bail out. Now a line of paramilitary men—Victor and others—are slowly advancing on the van, weapons up.
I’m behind the line of men with Jeremy and Paqua, the gunman assigned to protect us, and I want to move toward the van as well, to see what’s there. But my feet won’t move.
My feet stay still.
Jesus Christ.
“Stop!” I scream out.“Arrêtez!”
Jeremy says, “Amy…”
“It’s too easy!” I yell. “It’s too goddamn easy! Victor, tell your men to halt!Arrêtez!”
But the brave and well-trained French paramilitary won’t listen to an American. They won’t listen to someone not in their chain of command, and they definitely won’t listen to a woman. So they confidently march a few more steps, right as the van explodes in a mushroom of flame, smoke, and heat.
Chapter45
TOM CORNWALLis outside the Olson Manhattan Preparatory School waiting for his daughter, Denise, his computer bag dangling from his right shoulder. The school has an early release today for an afternoon field trip to the nearby City Hall. A month ago—in a spasm of fatherly guilt for not being the best dad ever—Tom had agreed to be a chaperone for today’s trip, and he’s been regretting it ever since.
He really doesn’t have the time.
Still, all things considered, he’s in an okay mood. He’s got half a dozen calls and feelers out to various sources to follow up on his initial feeling that something big is stirring—something approaching 9/11 status. Even his mysterious foreign correspondent Yuri had given him a quick iMessage update earlier, saying he had something to share later. Before Tom left work, he briefed Dylan and got an optimistic grunt in return, which was pretty affirming, all things considered.
And yes, there is Amy’s phone message.
