Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

He could see her counting. When she got to 5, she reached beneath the unit. Four latches held it in place. Three of which were easy to access. The fourth, Urco knew, lay in an awkward spot.

He cocked his head to watch as she stretched and winced, trying to pull the latch free with her fingers. With a snap, it came loose. When she brought her hand out, it was bleeding.

She ignored the blood, stood quickly and moved to one side of the unit.

“Help me,” she called out. Each unit weighed a hundred and forty pounds. Powerful magnets and cryogenic tubes filled with slush helium accounted for most of the weight. But inside the tubes and magnetic bottles lay the supply of exotic and deadly matter. Twenty-five pounds of it in each of the eight units.

At her request, Urco climbed into the cargo bay himself. He donned a pair of gloves and grabbed the frame of Unit 1. They lifted together, heaving it upward and carrying it over the lip. Two of his men took it from there and set it down on the wing.

“Please reconnect the device,” Urco asked calmly.

Emma climbed out of the cargo bay, hopped off the edge of the wing and rushed to the fuel cell that had been brought out to them.

Urco imagined a clock was ticking in her head: But there was plenty of time.

She flicked through a series of switches on the side of the fuel cell and watched as it came to life, making energy instantly.

She grabbed the power cord and rushed to the containment unit but ran out of cord a foot shy of the connecter.

Urco stood absolutely still; neither did any of his people move. But Joe Zavala did. He jumped to his feet, dashing past the man who was guarding him, grabbing the fuel cell and carrying it closer. Urco grinned at the cooperation.

Emma connected the cord. In quick succession the amber lights blinked out and the entire panel went green. The power was back on. The frozen slush began to circulate again. The antimatter would remain suspended in the magnetic bottles, held safely at a temperature near absolute zero.

Urco smiled and clapped loudly at their efforts. “Excellent work. I trust we won’t have to go through this again.”

Emma’s chest heaved as the effort and the adrenaline had sent her heart pounding. She looked up at him and shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’d rather not.”

He grinned. Another battle won. The pretense that they could resist him was gone. Wiped from their thoughts. It no longer mattered what he intended to do with the antimatter. Whether he planned to sell it to the Russians or to the Chinese or to auction it off to the highest bidder in a worldwide contest.

It didn’t matter whether he promised to free them, kill them, or keep them prisoners until the end of time. None of that mattered. Any and all outcomes were preferable to a world of darkness brought on by the mixed-state matter escaping its magnetic prison and exploding all at once.

He owned them now. He owned them all.

43

Daiyu sat in darkness. She’d been placed in the back of the same truck that she’d hijacked on the mountain road. Her hands and feet were bound with cord, cinched tight by men used to tying off knots that climbers’ lives depended on. Despite hours of trying, she could neither loosen the bond nor pull free.

She’d chafed her wrists bloody from the effort before switching tactics. Sliding herself across the wooden floor of the trailer, she’d gone back and forth until she found a rough spot where a nailhead had worked loose from the planks.

Flipping over, she’d positioned her hands near it, writhing in the dark and rubbing the cord across the nail until her muscles cramped from the effort. Collapsing onto her side, she felt for the edge of the rope. It was damaged and fraying, but she couldn’t tell if it was enough.

She relaxed, waiting for the painful spasms in her back to pass, so she could begin again.

She would get out. They would not stop

her. She would complete her mission. And if she got the chance, she’d kill every one of the Americans and their new Peruvian friends in the process.

Breathing deeply but otherwise still, she caught the sound of voices approaching outside. Heavy boots were scuffing against the dry soil of the mountain road.

She instantly redoubled her efforts, grinding the rope across the exposed nail with maniacal intensity.

It had to snap. It had to.

She heard the key hit the padlock and then the handle being thrown over. An instant later, the door slid upward and the white light of day poured in, blinding her.

As she shut her eyes against it, two men climbed into the vehicle, grabbed her by the feet and pulled.

“No,” she grunted, kicking at them. She was so close to freedom.