"It wasn't easy, sir. You covered your trail well."
Ronnie rolled his eyes.
"I know you want to stop me, Carter. But you can't. You want to talk, come out where I can see you, in front of the cabin. Leave your weapon. The satellite is overhead. I have a dead man's switch in my hand that keys the transmitter. If you shoot me, the missiles will launch. There's nothing you can do about it."
Nick kept his voice low. "Ronnie, are you all right?"
"Yeah."
"Selena, there has to be a back door. You and Ronnie go in. Be quiet. Disable that transmitter. I'll keep him busy."
"What about that switch?" Selena said.
"I'll figure something out. Try not to let him know you're there."
"I'm waiting, Carter." Westlake's voice had an odd lilt to it, as if he were amused about something. His voice sounded a little slurred.
"Yes, sir," Nick called. "I'm putting down my weapon. I'm coming out."
"Nick, he could shoot you," Selena said.
"His ego won't let him, at least not right away. Go."
They got up and faded into the dark. Nick stood up, raised his hands and walked out in front of the cabin. Westlake stood on the porch, pointing a Colt .45 at Nick with his right hand. His left hand was clenched around a silver cylinder. His thumb was pressed down on the top.
Dead man's switch.
"That was clever of you, Carter, escaping back in Denver."
"Thank you, sir."
Careful. Don't overdo it.
"I know what you're doing. Flattery isn't going to make me change my mind."
"I wouldn't dream of it, General."
"Was that you that shot at me?"
"No, sir. It was someone waiting in the trees."
"You eliminated him?"
"Yes, sir."
"My former colleagues are unhappy with me," Westlake said. "They probably sent him. Too bad they won't have any time to reflect on their mistake."
I don't like the sound of that,
Nick thought. He moved closer. The muzzle of the .45 was pointed straight at him. Nick had never noticed how large a Model 1911 looked from the wrong end.
"That's far enough, Carter." Nick stopped moving and kept his hands where Westlake could see them.
"Why are you doing this, General? If you launch those missiles, millions of people will die. You'll be vilified as a mass murderer."
Where are Selena and Ronnie?
Nick thought.
Now that he was closer, Nick could see that Westlake was unstable.
The shrink would have a word for it
, Nick thought.
Whatever it is, it's not good
.
Westlake was unshaven. He had the hand with the switch pressed against his chest, as if he needed to hold it steady. His cheek twitched. The hand with the gun trembled. It was almost imperceptible. It wasn't enough to spoil his aim. His eyes had a strange gleam, an unnatural wetness.
A voice in his mind said
He's going to do it
.
Up until that moment, he'd held out the hope that Westlake could be made to change his mind. Looking at him, Nick knew it wasn't going to happen. Westlake already had the look of a walking dead man, someone who had nothing left to lose.
Keep him talking,
the voice in his head said
.
"Why did you start all this?" Nick said.
"You really have to ask? The world thinks we're a laughing stock. Congress is a collection of self-serving fools who can't see past the next election and the money they need to keep their job. We've gotten weak. America needs a strong leader, someone who backs up policy with action, someone who won't tolerate dissent."
"It's a democracy, General. Dissent is part of how we got to be a nation."
"We're not a democracy, Carter. We never were. We're a republic, like Rome once was. In more ways than one. Like Rome, the system has become corrupted, dysfunctional. It must be transformed. Prometheus is the instrument of transformation."
He's completely nuts,
Nick thought.
Behind Westlake, Nick saw Selena. She moved with a graceful slowness, like a cat pacing toward a mouse, one step at a time. If she could clamp down on the switch before he knew she was there, maybe they could stop this. Maybe Ronnie could shut down the transmitter before Westlake released the switch.
Maybe.
Ronnie stood in the doorway of the back bedroom. He saw the computer and transmitter on a table next to the back wall. The radio was about the size of a desk top printer. It was painted olive drab. The face bristled with black knobs and white calibrating marks. There was a rectangular window in the center with a digital readout. The readout glowed in the darkened room with black numbers dialed to Armageddon against an orange background. A black cable ran from the back of the radio and up through the ceiling.
Must be the antenna,
he thought.
All he had to do was turn it off. Or disconnect the antenna. Ronnie went into the room. He couldn't see how to shut the radio down. There were a lot of switches and no time to figure it out. He looked for a plug. The unit was hardwired into the wall.
A black coaxial cable for the antenna ended at a screw-on connection on the back of the transmitter. Something had been gnawing on the cable. Bare copper and torn white insulation showed through the black sheathing.
Mice have been at this,
Ronnie thought
.
He reached down and tried to unscrew the antenna connection. It was tight. He felt it begin to turn.
Out front, Nick saw Selena move. Westlake sensed her step. He smiled at Nick.
"Don't do it!" Nick shouted.
Westlake took his thumb off the switch.
Ronnie pulled the cable away as the knurled fitting of the antenna came free. A bright arc of electricity jumped from the transmitter to the cable and crackled around the spots where the insulation was eaten through. It felt like grabbing a hot poker. Blue, electric light danced over the transmitter and around Ronnie's hand as he grasped the cable. His muscles spasmed and he went down on the floor. Flame started where the antenna cable was fastened to the wall.
Unaware of what was happening in the cabin, Westlake laughed. It had the sound of insanity in it. "Too late, Carter."
Selena brought the edge of her palm down hard down on Westlake's collar bone. He dropped the switch. The big .45 went off. The slug slammed Nick in his armor and knocked him down. Selena hit Westlake in the neck with a vicious swipe of her elbow. He crumpled to the porch. She kicked him in the head, kicked the Colt off the porch and ran to Nick, gasping on his back.
"Nick."
"S'all right." He struggled for breath. "Good armor."
"Nick, he used the switch."
"I know."
Nick's breath was coming back. Getting hit by a .45 was a new experience. The front of his armor was flattened, the plate dented.
Nick sat up. "Where's Ronnie?"
"Inside."
Selena helped him to his feet. Westlake lay unconscious.
"You kill him?" Nick asked.
"No. We'll let someone else do that."
"We were too late," Nick said. "Selena, damn it, we were too late." His voice was resigned.
"I smell smoke," she said. As she said it, a cloud of black smoke roiled out of the open front door. Nick got to his feet. It was hard to breathe. He felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. They looked at each other. Ronnie hadn't come out of the cabin.
They ran inside. Flickering, orange light lit the back room. Smoke poured through the doorway. Inside the room, Ronnie lay on the floor, dazed by the electric shock. The room was burning. Flames clawed at the wooden ceiling.
Nick coughed, every cough a stab of pain from his injured ribs. His eyes stung from the acrid smoke. They dragged Ronnie out of the room and outside. They kept going until they were away from the cabin.
The fire spread through the building. Westlake still lay on the wooden porch. The flames reached the front room and pushed out through the broken window. A red spot appeared on the roof as the fire broke through. Even though they were many yards away the heat felt intense, like standing near a blast furnace.
"Westlake," Selena said. "We should get him."
She started toward the cabin. Nick grasped her arm and held her back. "Too late," he said.
The fire roared over the porch. General Westlake stirred. His clothes smoldered and burst into flame. He screamed, a horrible sound, unlike anything Nick had ever heard. He knew it would echo in his mind for the rest of his life.
Westlake got to his hands and knees and tried to stand, surrounded by flames. Then he fell back on the burning planks and stopped moving. The dry wood of the porch turned into an inferno. A faint odor of roasting flesh mixed with the smell of the fire.
"Jesus," Nick said.
Ronnie was conscious. "Burned my hand," he said. A vivid, red wound crossed his palm where he'd grasped the antenna cable.
"I'd better call Harker and tell her we couldn't stop him," Nick said.
He punched in her code. She answered on the first ring.
"Yes, Nick."
"Director, Westlake is dead but he fired those missiles."
"What do you mean? Everyone has been monitoring Prometheus. There hasn't been any change. The Pentagon can read system status, but they still can't get control. It's just sitting up there in orbit."
"But Westlake pushed the button. I saw him do it. The bastard was smiling."
"Then the signal didn't go through. The missiles didn't launch."
"Harker says the missiles didn't launch," Nick said to the others.
"Mice," Ronnie said.
"What?"
"Mice. Mice chewed up the antenna."
"Mice? The world got saved by mice?"
Ronnie coughed and nodded.
"Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?" Selena said.
"I'll never set a mousetrap again," Nick said.
CHAPTER 63
Two days had passed since Westlake's death. Everyone except Lamont was in Elizabeth's office to mark the end of the mission. Lamont was in the ICU at Bethesda, with visitors restricted. His absence hung over them. Stephanie opened a bottle of champagne and filled the glasses.
"This has been a hard one," Selena said.
"They're all hard," Ronnie said. He had a soda in his hand instead of instead of alcohol.
Nick picked up the champagne and refilled his glass. "Westlake said his colleagues were unhappy. Someone sent that sniper after him."
"Westlake had backing from some powerful people," Elizabeth said. "We don't know who all of them are. If Westlake hadn't died, we would have interrogated him. Someone didn't want anyone else to know who was behind this. I think whoever it was wanted Westlake out of the way."
"It would explain why the sniper was there," Nick said.
"Lousy shot, though," Ronnie said.
"He rushed it. We were on the porch, he didn't know what was going on. Maybe he thought we were there to help Westlake. So he took the shot."
"The question is, who are they?" Nick said.
"The FBI is making a lot of arrests," Elizabeth said. "We may find out. What's interesting is that the plotters are from all over the political spectrum. There's no common political ideology."
"If people like that have an ideology, it's one of power and greed. Everything else is a smokescreen," Nick said. "Politics is just a tool to help them advance their agenda."
There was one of those pauses that comes when no one has anything to say. Nick broke the silence.
"I want to propose a toast," he said. They all looked at him. "Arkady Korov." Nick held his glass up. "An enemy who became a friend. He'll be missed."
"Arkady Korov," the others echoed. They drank.
Selena looked at Nick. He nodded.
"We have something to tell you," Selena said. She took a deep breath. "Nick and I are getting married."
No one said anything for several heartbeats. Ronnie's face was unreadable. Stephanie's mouth dropped open.
Then Elizabeth stood. "Selena, that's wonderful. Congratulations, both of you." She went to Selena and hugged her.
"When's the wedding?" Stephanie said.
"We haven't set a date," Selena said. "Sometime soon if nothing comes up."
Elizabeth thought
something always comes up
.
But she didn't say it.
Acknowledgements
My Wife and First Reader, Gayle. She always has excellent comments and sees things in the story I don't think of. She also puts up with my mood swings while I'm writing, no easy task.
Many thanks to Cathy Nobles, Valerie Miller, Gloria Lakritz, Penny Nichols and Kathleen Orescan for wading through an earlier version and giving me their constructive feedback. It makes for a better story.
Special thanks to Emma Sweeney. Her excellent editorial comments have made this a much better story.
Another awesome cover from Neil Jackson. I love what he does with layer upon layer of subtle images and color. Thanks, Neil.
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