Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“The other burst was seven hundred miles from Hawaii. It set off seismometers all over the globe. Hawaii’s gone dark. The Aleutians have gone dark. The entire Pacific Rim has gone dark. There are likely to be tsunamis and a hot shock front. If we had any satellites working out there, we’d expect to see fires and damage on most shores, effects the equivalent of a large earthquake, but we were lucky that it was so far away. The majority of the radiation and destructive energy dissipated prior to making landfall.”

Kurt looked at the faces around him. Russian and American alike were calm and resigned. “You know how far we can go,” Kurt said. “Give us a location when you have one. Until then, we’ll conserve as much fuel as possible.”

As Kurt spoke, Major Timonovski adjusted the flight setting to its most efficient mode. The wings came forward and the engines powered back. The Blackjack 2 rose up and slowed down like a ship meeting a large, lazy swell.

It was peaceful, Kurt thought to himself, quiet. Truly, the calm before the storm.

66

Emma stood in the empty Internet café and felt her knees go weak. Not only would Kurt and Joe be killed but the detonation would inflict lethal damage across a large swath of the Americas and the Caribbean.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered.

She sat down on the floor, tried to breathe and found her lungs would not draw in any air. “This can’t be happening,” she said again.

Gamay approached. “Breathe slowly,” she urged. “You’re hyperventilating.”

“I killed them all,” Emma said, tears streaming down her face. “Kurt and Joe, and a hundred million more.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I was part of it!” she snapped, going instantly from despair to anger.

She knew what Gamay was trying to do, but she didn’t want to be told how it was going to be all right. It most certainly was not going to be all right.

“They’re carrying twice the mixed-state matter that was on the Chinese plane. Even from the middle of the Caribbean Sea, the shock wave will cover half the South. Every living soul from Houston to Tampa will be incinerated, irradiated or drowned in a hundred-foot wave. Along with half of Mexico, Central America and every living being on every island in the Caribbean.”

Gamay just stared at her. There was nothing to say.

Emma stood and turned away. In her darkest moment, when she would have rather died than be witness to what was about to happen, the defiance of Hurricane Emma flared the brightest. “I will not accept this,” she said. “I will not!”

She pulled free of Gamay’s attempt at kindness and willed her tired mind back into action. There had to be a way. There had to be!

She went over the properties of the mixed-state matter, the design of the containment units, tried to calculate the minuscule odds that they would survive if the Semtex detonated. But there was no way to stop the reaction; no known way, aside from the frigid cold of absolute zero, to stop matter and antimatter from annihilating each other.

She paced around the room searching for an answer. The frustration boiled over as she bumped a small table. In a fit of rage, she pushed it across the room. It slid with surprising ease, toppled and gouged a line in the painted concrete floor.

Emma stopped in her tracks, staring at a lengthy scratch. It was white on blue, like a vapor trail in the dusky sky.

Paul took a step toward her.

“Stop,” she said without looking his way. Something had come to mind.

Vapor trail . . . Contrail . . . The thought lingered in her consciousness. Streams of tiny ice crystals released by passing aircraft, high in the frigid sky.

The thought hit with so much force, she almost fell over. “There is a way,” she whispered. “There is a way!”

She turned with a snap. “Get Rudi back on the line. I need to talk to Kurt. I need to talk to him now. Before time runs out.”

67

The scene in the NUMA communications room had become chaotic. With the impending disaster all but certain, all government assets had been turned toward coordinating the efforts to minimize the damage.

Orders were being sent out, troops mobilized. People directed to shelter underground. Anything and everything that could be thought of and acted upon in two hours was being done.

Highways were closed to southbound traffic. Aircraft were ordered to proceed as far north as possible and land within the two-hour window. Information was relayed to Central and South American countries, though there was no assistance to lend and by morning it would be every man, nation and group for themselves.

Into this maelstrom, Emma’s attempt to communicate foundered. No line was free, no satellite communication available. No ear open to listening. Everyone too busy sending out orders and making requests.