Zero Hour (NUMA Files 11)

Awkwardly, Joe tried to aim the rifle at Gregorovich’s chains with only one hand on the grip.

“Watch it,” Gregorovich said as the rifle swayed toward his body.

Before Joe could steady his aim, the door flew open again. Joe swung the rifle toward it.

“Hold on, buddy!” a familiar voice called.

“Kurt!” Joe blared. He lowered the gun. “It’s about time you showed up. I almost had to rescue myself.”

“I don’t know, you look like you have things well under control,” Kurt said. “Can I offer some assistance?”

“Maybe you’d better do this,” Joe said, handing the rifle over.

Joe tensed as Kurt took careful aim and blasted the chain off his arm and then did the same for his feet. He stepped forward, glad to be free. Kurt freed Gregorovich the same way seconds later.

Kurt explained about the prisoners and the melee going on outside. He handed Gregorovich two pistols he’d confiscated from Thero’s prison guards.

“I think we’re gaining the upper hand, but we’re running out of time,” he said. “Any idea where Hayley is?”

“Thero took her,” Joe said. “He had something he wanted to show her. I’m guessing we both know what that is.”

“Which way?”

“Not exactly sure,” Joe replied. “But I believe he used the words bring her up. It’s just a guess, but if I was a villain with an underground lair, I’d probably put my own quarters somewhere near the top.”

Seconds later, Devlin and Masinga came rushing in. Their status report seemed to mesh with Joe’s guess.

“Thero’s men are retreating up to the higher levels,” Devlin explained. “We tried to follow, but they sealed off the corridor. We did find something of interest, though.”

“What’s that?”

“The radio room.”

Kurt grinned. “Now we’re making progress. Time to call in the cavalry.”

FORTY-EIGHT

Dirk Pitt’s message to Jim Culver stirred up a hornet’s nest of activity. Within ten minutes, a briefing was under way in the White House Situation Room. Culver was there, along with the President, Vice President Sandecker, and several ranking members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. A cadre of advisers and aides backed them up, while Pitt and Yaeger watched the proceedings on a flat screen, patched in via a secure video link.

A brief set of remarks gave way to the prime question: With time almost up, could anything be done to stop Thero?

To that end, the only voice of importance was a rear admiral whose operational title was COMSUBLANT, an acronym that meant he was the Commander of U.S. Submarine Forces in the Atlantic.

Even though Heard Island was a long way from the Atlantic, the admiral was also in charge of the submarines currently assigned to the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean. These were the closest vessels to what was now considered the target zone: Heard Island.

“… the Tomahawk missiles these ships carry have an extended range capability,” he said in answer to a question from the President, “putting both the Albany and the New Mexico within range of Heard Island, but just barely.”

“So what’s the problem?” Culver asked.

“The time frame. The Tomahawk is a subsonic weapon.”

“Meaning?”

The admiral sighed. “Time from launch until impact is over three hours. According to the timetable you’ve given us, we have less than ninety minutes until this man acts.”

The room went silent. All of them knew what that meant.

“How could this happen?” Culver asked aggressively. “We ordered vessels to begin moving into position two days ago.”