Extinction Machine

Chapter Eighty-five

VanMeer Castle

Near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Sunday, October 20, 12:18 p.m.

“Are you sure he’s dead?” asked Howard.

“Turn on the news and you tell me,” said Tull. He was shouting, still partially deafened from the blast.

“Where are you?”

“Aldo and I are driving, getting away from the blast zone.”

Howard closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine that blast. The TV would only show the aftereffects and he wished he could have actually seen it. Heard it. Been pushed around by it. His loins twitched at the thought of a blast like that. The blast, and all that it accomplished.

“Field Team Nine is still hunting Ledger and the Flynn woman,” said Tull. “Last report said that they’ve taken some heavy losses but they haven’t yet confirmed a kill.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Howard. “There’s enough firepower at Turkey Point to do the job. In the meantime, get out of Baltimore and come here.”

“There?”

“Yes, I think you deserve to be with Mr. Bones and me when we make our big announcement.”

“When?”

“Come now. We’ll make the call first thing in the morning.”

Howard disconnected the call.

“That was Tull?”

“Yes. Deacon is dead.”

Mr. Bones smiled. “You’re joking.”

“Let’s turn on the news and find out.”

They did and the big plasma screen on the wall showed them an aerial view of a blast crater gouged out of the warehouse district in Baltimore. A cargo ship lay on its side in the brown water and other warehouses were blazing. Firefighters aimed dozens of streams of high-pressure water at the buildings, trying to save some. Others, more fully involved, were left to burn. Of the DMS Warehouse, nothing at all remained. Not a stick, not an unbroken stone.

The banner beneath the image read, in huge red letters, TERROR STRIKES BALTIMORE.

“How appropriate,” said Howard. “Not terrorism. Terror.”

But Mr. Bones did not answer. He stared slack jawed at the devastation.

“Oh my God…,” he breathed.

“Tull used ten of the miniature Truman Engines.”

“All of that?” breathed Mr. Bones aghast. “Just ten of the little ones?”

“Yes,” said Howard, “and I can’t imagine anything more wonderful or more perfectly timed.”

“But … but … the air show has been canceled. How does this…?”

Howard dug a cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Mr. Bones.

“I think it’s time we made some phone calls.”