“Yes,” Davidov replied. “That’s the idea.”
“What if the American is right?” the pilot said. “Falconer murdered my copilot, he did nothing when the Nighthawk was breaking Blackjack 1’s spine. Nothing.”
“Do as I order!” Davidov commanded.
Timonovski stared back at him and then shook his head.
“Then I’ll do it myself.” He stepped away from the pressure door and lunged for the bomb bay controls.
62
NUMA Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
Rudi Gunn sat in NUMA’s communications room with Hiram Yaeger, Priya Kashmir and Collin Kane. They were now part of a globe-spanning web of satellite links.
One screen showed the White House Situation Room where the President had convened his Security Council. A second screen displayed Paul, Gamay and Emma at the Internet café in Cajamarca. The Vandenberg control room appeared on the third, where Colonel Hansen and Steve Gowdy were standing by. The fourth connection went all the way to China, where General Zhang of the People’s Republic sat and scowled.
As the conversation progressed, with all its requisite arguments, denials and disagreements, Rudi had the sense of a runaway train with five different engineers in the cab, none of whom had their hand on the tiller.
Finally, the group managed to get down to business. Zhang admitted that the Chinese had two of the Nighthawk’s containment units on board one of their long-range aircraft and gave away its transponder code.
The path was instantly picked up. Much farther along than anyone had expected.
“Are you sure this is the right aircraft?” someone asked.
“The HL-190 has super cruise ability,” Zhang said. “It can travel long distances at supersonic speeds.”
The aircraft was five hundred miles northwest of Hawaii. Its altitude was listed at fifty-one thousand feet. Its speed at more than a thousand knots.
“We know all about the HL-190,” Gowdy said. “Ever since you stole our engine designs.”
“And improved on them,” Zhang said.
The President’s chief of staff broke in with a calming tone. “Gentlemen, we need to work together now or there won’t be anything left to argue over. Ms. Townsend, please explain what you’ve discovered.”
“We’ve taken both bombs apart,” Emma said. She stood calmly on the screen but looked exhausted. “The first attempted a self-destruct when we made a mistake. The second detonator was neutralized. Once it was removed from the explosives, we discovered a USB access port used to program it. Hiram and Priya took it from there.”
Hiram cleared his throat. “The device is a combination GPS receiver and altimeter. It becomes active once the aircraft exceeds a certain threshold speed and climbs above a specific altitude. It will detonate when they descend below the threshold altitude again or arrive at their destination.”
“What speed?” General Zhang said. “What altitude?”
“One hundred and twenty knots,” Hiram said. “Twenty-six thousand feet.”
“Unfortunately,” Priya added, “your aircraft has already exceeded both parameters.”
On-screen, Zhang nodded. “I can see that. How do we stop it?”
“Your people will have to disarm the bomb before they begin their descent.”
“Why not just dump the fuel cell out the door and be done with it?” Zhang suggested.
“Because of the power requirements of the cryogenic system and the magnetic bottles holding the mixed-state matter,” Emma said. “It re
quires an extremely pure flow of power. Tiny surges or fluctuations could be disastrous. You can’t just plug the unit into a cigarette lighter.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Zhang snapped. “It wasn’t my people who brought this curse down on us.”
“But it was your people who tried to steal it,” Emma shot back. “If they hadn’t interrupted the flight, the material would already be safely stored in underground facilities.”