Extinction Machine

Chapter Seventy

Over Maryland airspace

Sunday, October 20, 11:31 a.m.

There was a soft tone in Top’s ear and he tapped his earbud.

“Go for Sergeant Rock,” he said, using his combat call sign.

“It’s Bug. I just intercepted a call from the Coast Guard. They got an emergency call from someone claiming to be Captain Ledger. Sounds legit.”

“Tell me.”

Bug replayed the message.

“Who’s rolling on this?” demanded Top.

“Coast Guard has a boat inbound and a helo in the air. The helo reports smoke rising from the direction of the Turkey Point Lighthouse. They’re eighteen minutes out. The Deacon wants to know your ETA.”

“Instruments say we’re about to hit the outer edge of the jam zone,” said Top.

The pilot tapped Top’s shoulder and pointed toward the northeast. A column of gray smoke curled up above the trees at the edge of the bay. Bunny leaned between Top and the pilot.

“Jesus, is that the lighthouse?”

“Wait,” said Bug, “what did he—”

And they crossed into the jam zone. The pilot tried everything he could to reestablish contact.

“Sorry, Top,” he said, “but nobody’s talking to nobody in here.”

Top felt his stomach turn from cold slush to hard ice. He pulled out the plastic-covered map and tapped a spot half a kilometer from the lighthouse. “Put us down right here, then go to this spot. Drop us, then haul ass outside the jam zone and call for serious backup. Next time I look up all I want to see is gunships. Copy?”

“Hooah,” said the pilot. “What about Captain Ledger?”

He tapped a second point three klicks inland. “Sweep by this LZ every half hour. We’ll find the captain and come to you.”

Then Top turned in his seat and yelled in his leather-throated sergeant’s voice.

“Echo Team—saddle up! Time to bring the pain.”