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Chapter 27
No one says anything when we enter the jet’s command center; I head straight for the tactical monitors. Real-time satellite footage has given us a clear view of everything on the ground. Little red boxes hover over every man and vehicle, tracking their movements and feeding targeting data to our missile launchers.
“Anton’s been busy,” Eyal says, pointing at the overview. “Hardened emplacements along the northern shore. More guards than usual. Numerous vehicles — including several parked on the landing strip. We won’t be able to land until they move.”
“Well, let’s give them a reason,” I say.
Before now, the Enclave never had reason to build fortifications. We never faced military threats. Our security forces were largely there to keep the courtesans in line. Most of their job was theater: to provide a presence and ensure that disagreements between Masters were settled through discussion, rather than fighting.
I’m pretty sure those days are over.
As far as I can tell from the information at hand, we shouldn’t have any trouble with the new measures. Unless those new vehicles include a tank, they won’t hold us off.
An alarm sounds, and a fast-moving, red exclamation mark appears on the radar.
“Missile lock! They’ve fired on us,” says Eyal. “Everyone, strap in — prepare for evasive maneuvers.”
I drag Kate to a seat and buckle her in. There’s no fear on her face; only grim determination. I run back over to the command center and strap in by the console.
“Deploy flares,” I say. “Give them what they expect for now.”
“Yes, sir.”
A buzzing sound alerts us to the firing stream of burning magnesium, drawing away the missile until it bursts harmlessly in the air.
I knew Anton couldn’t resist taking a shot at me. What does he have to lose? If it succeeds, he wins — at least for today. If it fails, he’s not in any worse of a position. His compliance at this point won’t save him from us.
The alarms go off once more.
“Another missile inbound,” Eyal warns.
“Use an interceptor this time,” I say.
“Understood.”
Right now Anton is probably watching the missile on radar heading toward our jet. Is he smiling, seeing that we’re not using flares again? Is he suspicious? He’s about to know why in a moment.
Once we get in range, one of our own missiles fires. It moves so fast we can barely track it. Like a dart thrown at an egg, the interceptor punctures Anton’s missile and explodes, eliminating the threat.
How long will it take Anton to realize we used one of Hamza’s rockets, now adapted to work as a countermeasure? Is it dawning on him that he could fire every missile in his arsenal, all at the same time and they won’t stand a chance? We’ll pluck them out of the sky like a swamp full of frogs devouring flies.
I turn to Kate; her face has paled to an ashy gray.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods, replying, “That was close.”
“It’s under control. We’re going to be fine. Just relax.”
“We’re almost in range of the island,” says Eyal.
No more warm-up. Now the real show begins.
I open a channel to the Masters’ com center and activate my voice scrambler.
“Clear the landing strip. You have one minute.”
I set a timer on the screen, then watch the vehicles. Infrared detects heat signatures from the engines — they’re running and could move at any second. They stay put, though.
