Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“That’s far enough,” he said. “One more step and I’ll kill us all.” Urco pulled the hammer back and cocked it. The fate of the world now hung on a hair-trigger response of a man who was literally shaking with anger.

“No,” Kurt said. “I don’t think you will.”

“Don’t test me,” Urco said. “I am more than willing to die.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Kurt said. “But your plan . . . You’re not thinking this through. You can’t pull that trigger now. Your other bombs are too close. This one is too powerful. It’s a thousand Hiroshimas, maybe five thousand. If you set it off, the shock wave and fireball will engulf the Russians in our stolen helicopter. That will set off a second reaction. The combined effects of which will obliterate Emma Townsend on the road to Cajamarca, triggering a third explosion.

“Even if the Chinese have somehow transferred their containment units to a long-range transport headed for Asia, they can’t have gone far. Certainly not far enough to escape the effect of three small suns igniting a hundred miles away. The same shock wave you intend to use on the industrial civilizations of the world will swat that plane out of midair. The gamma rays and EMP burst will fry the circuitry and melt the containment unit. One way or another, that fourth ticking bomb of yours will go off. It will be a cataclysm, but it’ll be South America that bears the brunt of the disaster and the children of the machine who come to render assistance.”

Urco’s jaw clenched as Kurt spoke. It was possible he’d already thought it through. Was it even possible that he’d never considered it? But he saw it now, saw it exactly how Kurt had laid it out for him.

Kurt took another step. The only thing he needed to do was prevent Urco from firing by accident.

“Stay where you are!”

“It’s over, Urco!”

“I will pull this trigger,” Urco shouted. “It will still be a cataclysm. And it will affect your society far more than it affects those who live in the jungles, the tundra or the distant plains.”

Kurt was close enough now that he could see the flaring of Urco’s nostrils and the wildness in his eyes. He watched a bead of sweat run down his temple and his knuckles turn white on the pistol grip.

“You’ve got one move left,” Kurt said. “One shot. It’s either the bomb . . . Or me.”

Urco was shaking with fury. A second drop of perspiration trickled down his face. It ran down his beard and stopped for the slightest instant before dropping onto the containment unit. It hit and froze instantly on the supercooled pipe. “Damn you!” h

e shouted.

With a shift of his shoulders, Urco snapped the pistol upward, swinging it toward Kurt.

Kurt dove away as two shots rang out almost simultaneously. One near and one sounding off in the distance.

Urco was thrown to the side by the rifle shot, which hit him in the ribs beneath his outstretched arm. He crashed to the ground, still grasping the pistol. Joe rushed forward, leapt on top of him and punched the gun away before he could attempt to fire again.

Kurt looked up from where he’d landed. Urco’s shot had missed. The barrel had stuck momentarily to the frost-covered cylinder of the containment unit. He rushed over to assist Joe.

“He’s bleeding out fast,” Joe said.

They tried to stanch the bleeding, but the bullet had gone through his body. Too many organs had been hit and damaged. Too much tissue had been torn up.

Kurt gave up trying to save Urco and attempted to force one last answer out of him.

“You’re going to die,” he said. “Don’t take half the world with you. Tell me how to stop what you’ve set in motion.”

Urco gazed at Kurt blankly.

“We’ll come back here. We’ll help your people and the other people. You’re not wrong about what’s been and is being done, but you have to help us first.”

Urco looked at him. “I almost . . . believe you,” he said in a whisper. His eyes were unfocused. “It’s too late,” he said. “What goes up . . . will never . . . come down.”

53

Urco died without saying anything more. Joe and Paul gathered up the dead and the two survivors. Gamay came running from her hiding place and embraced Paul.

“My compliments to your shooting instructor,” Joe said.

“I’ll tell my father,” she said, then turned to Kurt. “That was some game of brinksmanship.”

“I figured he’d put so much into his plan that he’d do anything but short-circuit it now.”