Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

"Close enough." Baron dug into his pack, pulled out a stethoscope and plugged it into his ears. He listened at several points on the outside of the missile, smiling and frowning like a heart specialist examining a patient.

"She's all dressed up and ready to go. I can hear humming."

"What about those connections?" Mason asked.

"Fuel and electrical. I could cut them, but that might tell this baby it's operating on its own."

"In other words, it might start the launch."

Baron nodded. "I've got to cut the heart out of this thing." He ran his fingers along the slightly raised edge of a panel on the side of the missile. Then he dug out a set of tools from his rucksack, and after a couple of tries found a lug that fit the nuts holding the panel cover on. Using a battery-operated wrench, he started to unbolt the panel cover.

Like a sportscaster broadcasting play-by-play, Mason kept up a running account of Baron's work for the other teams, instructing them to stay one step behind. His men, in the meantime, had scoured the area and come up with one-inch cable they'd found in a storeroom. They ran the cable under the thrusters, hoping to rig up restraints on the projectile.

Baron was making slow progress. He stripped some bolts that had rusted in the dampness of the big room and had to use a special attachment to get a grip on them. He was leaning against the missile, his head close to the exterior. All at once, he stopped his work and listened.

"Crap!" he said.

"What's wrong?" asked Mason, who'd been peering intently over Baron's shoulder. Baron started to answer, but Mason stilled him with a hand signal. The 21C was calling from the wheelhouse.

"I don't know if this means anything, Lieutenant, but all the screens and panels are going crazy up here."

"Stand by." Turning to Baron, he said. "That was the wheelhouse. The instruments are showing unusual activity." Mason cocked an ear. A loud humming that grew in intensity filled the chamber.

Baron looked around as if he could see the sound. "The damned thing is about to launch."

"Can you do anything?" Mason said evenly.

"There's a chance. If I can get this panel off, maybe I can sabotage its activation circuit. Stand by with those wire cutters."

Baron unscrewed another bolt and was working on the next one when they heard a new noise, like the grinding of great gears. The sound was coming from below. They looked down, which probably saved them from eye damage when the electrical conduits and hoses blew off the sides of the missile a few feet above their heads. They dove onto their stomachs. Below them, the moon pool gates started to move apart.

Then the rotors inside the thruster housings began to whir.

As the moon pool fully opened, there was another explosion and the gantries holding the missile blew off. The jerry-rigged cables snapped like thread and the loose ends sliced the air and would have decapitated anyone in the way.

Then the bomb dropped.

VOICES WERE YELLING in Mason's ear. The other team

s were seeing similar developments. Joe Louis was yelling. "Omega Two. Bomb has dropped."

Then Carmichael's voice came on. "Omega Three. So has ours."

Mason and his men crawled to the edge of the opening once occupied by the bomb and stared down. Waves and froth created where the missile splashed into the sea and its thrusters dug in. As they peered into the dark roiling sea, it was as if they were looking into the bowels of hell.

36

PETROV'S LEAD MAN, a giant whom Austin had nicknamed Tiny, stepped forward and drove the wooden butt of his AKM into the side of the guard's head. The guard's legs turned to rubber and he crashed to the deck. Figures were running toward them. Someone flicked on a flashlight that caught Austin in its beam. An AKM burped once. At a firing rate of six hundred rounds per minute, even a short burst was deadly, especially at close range.

The flashlight skittered across the deck, but in its quick flicker, Razov's men had sized up the strength and position of the assault group. White-hot muzzle bursts blossomed in the darkness. They dove for cover. In the stroboscopic effect created by the fusillade,.Petrov's men looked as if they were moving in slow motion.

Austin and Zavala hit the deck belly first and rolled over until they were behind the protection of a bollard. Bullets shredded the air over their heads and ricocheted off the big steel mushroom. Austin hauled out his Bowen and blasted at a moving shadow, unsure if he'd hit anyone. Zavala pecked away with his H and K. The muzzle bursts became more scattered, indicating that Razov's men were spreading out.

“They're trying to outflank us," Zavala shouted.

Tiny, who was on his belly a few feet away, was waving to get their attention.

"Go!" he bellowed. "We hold position."