Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“What if you’d been wrong?”

“Simple math,” he said. “One obliterated continent is better than four.”

“Marginally,” she said.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Kurt replied.

“Any idea where this last unit was supposed to go?” Paul asked.

“I heard Urco’s men mentioning something about Rio,” Kurt said.

“Considering how much deforestation is occurring in the Amazon, it would make sense to wipe out the largest city on the continent in hopes of putting a stop to it,” Joe said. “But now what?”

Kurt was grim. “We’ve won the battle, but we’re losing the war. We need to warn the Chinese and the Russians and get in touch with the NSA.”

They searched both the camp and Urco’s men for any form of long-distance communication. All they found were short-range walkie-talkies, their own satellite phones, which had been destroyed, and Urco’s computer with its bulky satellite antenna.

After twenty minutes of trying, Paul said, “I’ve seen this before. It’s a multistep security program. Even if we could get past the first level, there’s probably a second layer of encryption to get through before we can access the satellite communications suite.”

They pressed the two survivors for information, but they could get nothing out of them.

“We don’t have time for this,” Kurt said. “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Up close and personal.”

“We’ve only got one vehicle and three mega-bombs to chase down,” Joe noted.

“We’ll have to split up,” Kurt said. “You and I will go after the Russians. Paul, you and Gamay take that Jeep Cherokee and see if you can catch Emma.”

“She has an armed escort,” Paul noted.

“Then deal with him.”

“What about the Chinese?” Gamay mentioned. “They’ve got to be airborne by now.”

Kurt glanced at his watch. There was nothing they could do about the Chinese at the moment. “It’s a long flight to Beijing; maybe we can figure out how to defuse the bombs and talk to them before they land.”

Without wasting any time, they carried the last containment unit down the path and out to the narrow dirt road where the Cherokee waited. After loading and securing it, Paul and Gamay got moving. There were no good-byes. Time was too short.

As Paul and Gamay drove off, Kurt and Joe set about to chase down the Russians. The first problem was, knowing where to find them.

“They flew directly over that notch in the ridge and kept on going,” Joe said. “I can’t see any reason they wouldn’t be flying in a straight line to whatever destination they had in mind. And considering the weight and control problems I encountered carrying the Nighthawk, they can’t seriously hope to get too far.”

“I think I know where they’re going,” Kurt said. “Remember the audio from the first bomber’s crash? The pilot of Blackjack 1 was in a panic when the Nighthawk began to break free. He was shouting for the Falconer to use the reset codes on the Nighthawk. He was calling to Blackjack 2.”

“And Urco was the Falconer.”

Kurt nodded. “Which means Blackjack 2 did not crash. It landed safely, and probably in the near vicinity. All we have to do is find the closest airfield.”

“There is one,” Joe said. “About seven miles from here. When I was planning our route, I saw it on the map.”

“That’s a long hike,” Kurt said. “We’d better get to it.”

“We don’t need to hike it,” Joe said. “At least not all the way. The river passes within a mile of the runway. We can take the Zodiac. It’ll save us hours.”

54

The seven-mile flight of the Air-Crane would be its last, thought Major Timonovski of the Russian Air Force. The big helicopter was struggling to carry the load in the thin mountain air. The engine temperatures were in the yellow before they’d made it halfway. But with the Nighthawk’s nine tons of mass slung beneath them, Timonovski did not dare speed up.

“Red light on engine number two,” the flight engineer said.