Black Order (Sigma Force 3)

3:36 p.m.

Gray flipped the toggle, and the shield began to lower. They all held their breath. What would they find? The motors grumbled. Everyone gathered around the shield wall.

Monk glanced to him, his eyes worried.

In the silence, a small chime sounded, coming from the left.

The blast chamber slowly cleared into view. The Bell, quiet and dark, rested inertly in the center—then Lisa appeared, crouched over Painter, her back to them.

No one spoke.

Lisa slowly turned, rising. Tears, held suspended by lashes, poured down her cheeks. She clutched Painter under her arm as she stood. He looked no better. Pale, weak, debilitated. But he lifted his head on his own and spotted Gray.

His eyes shone sharp and focused.

Relief spread through Gray.

Then the small chime sounded again.

Painter's eyes flicked in its direction—then back to Gray. Painter's lips moved. No words came out. Gray stepped closer to hear.

Painter's eyes narrowed hard on him. He tried again. The word was faint and made no sense. Gray worried about the man's mental status.

"Bomb…" Painter repeated hoarsely.

Lisa heard him, too. She glanced in the same direction as Painter. To the body of Baldric Waalenberg. She then shoved Painter toward Monk.

"Take him."

She headed to the man's twisted form. At some point, unseen, unmourned, Baldric had finally expired.

Gray joined her.

Lisa knelt down and shoved up the man's sleeve. He wore a large wristwatch. She turned it over. A second hand swept over a digital readout.

"We've seen this before," Lisa said. "A heartbeat monitor tied to a microtransmitter. After his heart stopped, it began a countdown."

Lisa twisted the man's arm so Gray could read the number.

02:01

As he watched, the second hand swept over the number twice more. It sounded the familiar chime as it dropped below 02:00.

"We have less than two minutes to get the hell out of here," Lisa said.

Gray took her at her word and straightened. "Everybody out! Monk, radio Khamisi! Tell him to clear all his men as far away from the mansion as possible."

His partner obeyed.

"We have a helicopter on the roof," Lisa said.

In seconds, they were all running. Gray took Painter from Monk. Mosi helped Brooks. Lisa, Fiona, and Marcia followed.

"Where's Gunther?" Fiona asked.

Brooks answered. "He left with his sister. He didn't want anyone to follow him."

There was no time to search for him. Gray pointed to the elevator. Monk's group had jammed the doors open with a hall chair, to keep anyone from using it to come after them. Mosi yanked it out one-handed and threw it down the hall.

They piled inside.

Lisa hit the top button. Sixth floor. The elevator slowly began to rise.

Monk spoke. "I radioed our man up top. He doesn't fly, but he knows how to turn a key. He'll get the engines warmed up."

"The bomb," Gray said, turning to Lisa. "What do we have to expect?"

"If it's the same as back in the Himalayas, it'll be big. They've developed some quantum bomb using that Xerum 525 material."

Gray pictured the tanks stored at the deepest level.

Crap…

The elevator continued to climb, passing the main floor, which was deathly silent. And upward they went.

Painter stirred, still unable to hold his own weight. But he caught Gray's eyes. "Next time…" he whispered hoarsely "…you go to Nepal on your own."

Gray smiled. Oh yeah, Painter was back.

But for how long?

The elevator reached the sixth level and opened.

"One minute," Marcia said. She had had the presence of mind to note and monitor the time.

They raced up the roof stairs and found the helicopter waiting, blades spinning. They ran for it, supporting one another. Once under the rotors, Gray passed Painter to Monk.

"Get everybody aboard."

Gray ran to the other side and climbed into the pilot's seat.

"Fifteen seconds!" Marcia called.

Gray cranked the engine speed. Blades screamed. He yanked on the collective, and the bird lifted its skids off the roof. Gray was never so happy to leave a place. The helicopter took to air, rotoring up. How much clearance would they need?

He adjusted his blade pitch and fed more power.

As they swept upward, he yawed the bird a bit. He searched the grounds around the estate. He saw Jeeps and motorcycles racing in all directions away from the mansion.

Marcia started a countdown. "Five, four—"

Her precision was slightly off.

A blinding light suddenly blazed beneath them, as if they were lifting off the sun. But the most disturbing effect was the total and absolute silence. Unable to see, Gray fought to hold the bird in the air. But it was as if the air had vanished beneath him. He sensed the helicopter plunging earthward.

Then the light fell away around them with a loud clap, shedding like a wash of water.

The rotors suddenly found air again, bobbling in the sky for a long moment.

Gray stabilized the craft and banked away, frightened to his core. He stared back to where the mansion used to be. A massive, smooth-walled crater lay below, cut cleanly through rock and soil. It was as if some mighty Titan had taken a giant ice-cream scoop to the mansion along with most of the surrounding gardens.

Everything was gone. No debris. Just emptiness.

Pools and creeks, cut in half, poured over the lip in trickling waterfalls.

Farther from the edge, Gray spotted vehicles stopping and people glancing back, some walking closer to check. Khamisi's army. Safe. The Zulu people gathered along the borders, claiming back what they had lost so long ago.

Gray flew the chopper over them, banking to circle the crater. He remembered the missing drum of Xerum 525, the one marked for the United States. He toggled the radio and began passing a long chain of security codes to reach Sigma Command.

He was surprised to hear someone other than Logan pick up the line. It was Sean McKnight, the former director of Sigma. Fear iced through Gray. What was he doing there? Something was wrong. McKnight quickly briefed him on what had happened. The last came as a blow to the gut.

He finally signed off, numb and shocked.

Monk had leaned forward, noting his growing consternation.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

He turned. He had to face his partner when he said it.

"Monk…it's about Kat."

5:47 p.m. EST WASHINGTON, D.C.

Three days had passed. Three long days settling matters in South Africa.

Finally, their plane had landed at Dulles International after a direct flight from Johannesburg. Monk had ditched Gray and the others at the terminal. He had hailed a taxicab and taken off. Then the taxi hit congestion near the park. Monk had to force himself not to yank open the door and run on foot, but eventually the bottleneck broke up, and they were moving again.