The man tried to nod, slicing his neck in the process. “Oui . . . yes.”
“Then you’re going to help us.” Frank turned to Tucker and gave him a thumbnail account of the conversation. “The bastard has a MOAB buried somewhere at the mine. The bomb’s set to explode in—” He checked his watch. “Fifteen more minutes. We need to be at least a mile away from here before then.”
Tucker pointed to the tech. “Deactivate it.”
The tech stammered, “I . . . I can’t. It’s not controlled from here.”
“De Coster has his finger on the button,” Frank explained.
“What about Monk and the others? They’re still in the jungle, directly in the blast zone.”
Frank nudged the tech with his bayonet. “Turn off the jammer. You should be able to do that from here.”
He gulped and gave a small nod. Sweat ran down his face. He had to know the only threat was not Frank’s gun, but also the timer ticking ever downward. They all needed to get out of here.
The tech returned to his console and swept through windows on his monitor. A final tap, and a big red button turned green. “Done.”
Frank looked to Tucker for confirmation.
Tucker stepped back and firmed his goggles in place. His gaze shifted high as if he were staring off to nowhere. His mouth opened in shock at whatever he saw, viewed through Kane’s camera. This was confirmed with his next words, radioed out to the others.
“Monk, what the hell are you doing in town?”
11:45 P.M.
Monk heard the panic in Tucker’s voice.
He could understand why.
He leaned by a greasy window in the abandoned barracks. Charlotte stood guard with him, one hand resting atop Kane’s head. Jameson sat well away from the window, with his splinted arm cradled to his chest. The man rocked in place, his eyes glassy with pain and terror.
Outside, four bodies lay strewn along the street, lit by the sheen of their own lights. They were members of the patrol that had nearly caught Monk’s team in the jungle earlier. He had spied their approach through the deserted corner of the mine. They had spread out with flashlights affixed to their rifles. They kicked in door after door, searching each shack.
Then the sky had fallen upon them. It looked like shredded bits of shadow raining out of the clouds. It took several breaths for Monk to even recognize them as bats. They appeared drawn by the patrol’s lights. The panicked gunfire only exasperated matters. Monk hadn’t expected the bats to be more than a nuisance, but he took their arrival as a blessing. He prayed for the swarm to batter the patrol out of the area.
Then the screaming had started.
One of the soldiers had run past the window, a bat clinging to his cheek. Another was latched to his wrist. He fell only steps away from their door. His body flopped and writhed in plain agony. He clawed at his face and throat. When he finally lay still—which took considerable time—his neck and the side of his face were blistered with boils, torn by his clawing.
Out on the deserted streets now, bats had settled all around the barracks: under eaves, scrabbling along rooftops, scaling walls. A few still winged through the air. The scraping of their claws on the tin roof overhead set his teeth on edge. Most eerie of all was the winking glow that flowed through the bats, as if they were silently communicating to one another.
“Stay put,” Tucker radioed. “We’ll come to you. With the local jamming down, I can follow Kane’s homing beacon. Just be ready to go. We need to be out of here in fifteen.”
Monk was happy for the extraction, especially considering the circumstances, but he didn’t understand the urgency. “Why fifteen?”
Tucker’s answer set his heart to thudding harder. “There’s a massive bomb set to detonate at midnight.”
Monk closed his eyes.
Of course there is. Because poisonous bats aren’t enough.
But Tucker wasn’t done with the bad news. “The blast radius could extend a mile out from ground zero.”
Monk shook his head. “No way we can clear that in time.”
“We’re gonna try.”
Monk stared at the horde outside. “How?”
“Just be ready.”
11:47 P.M.
Tucker paced the small communication nest as he signed off with Monk. He turned to Frank. “Any luck?”
Frank still guarded over the tech with his rifle. In his other hand, he clutched Tucker’s sat-phone, trying to reach Ndaye at the helicopter. “Still nothing but dead air. I can’t get any connection.”
Tucker glared at the tech, wanting to blame him, but he suspected the small local tower on the roof only locked down radio communication across the mine itself. De Coster must have a whole network of more sophisticated blockers dampening longer-range communication.
Tucker stepped toward the array of radios. “You were able to connect to De Coster before. Employing some jam-breaking code, I’m guessing.”
“Yes, but I don’t have it. I swear. It’s on a drive that only Captain Draper carries.”
Tucker grimaced, remembering the thumb drive the bastard had given the tech. He glanced to the window, knowing there was no time to commandeer it. The helicopter had begun to roar out in the square, readying for liftoff.
“We can’t wait any longer,” Tucker decided.
“What do we do?”
“We’re getting out of here.”
Frank frowned. They both knew Ndaye could not fly here in time to evacuate them. The eco-guard would only get himself blown up, too. The intent of the failed call had been to alert the world of Nolan De Coster’s involvement, to get Sigma command focused on the man. But neither was happening now.
Which means we’re on our own.
Tucker turned to the tech. “I saw trucks patrolling earlier. Where’s your motor pool? Your garage?”
The soldier stood and pointed out the window to a neighboring building. “In the basement.”
“Keys?”
“Kept in the vehicles.”
Tucker waved to Frank and pointed to the tech. “Shoot him and c’mon.”
The man stumbled back into his console, lifting his palms.
Frank leveled his weapon. “Or do you want to live?”
“Anything. What? Tell me.”
Tucker had approved this plan already. Neither he nor Frank wanted to leave without giving the mine workers a fighting chance to escape.
Frank jabbed the bayonet at the tech’s chest. “The siren earlier. It sounded a lockdown, yes?”
The man nodded vigorously.
“There must be another that signals an evacuation,” Frank said.
“Yes, in case of an emergency.”
“I think this situation counts.” Tucker pointed to the communication array. “Sound it or die.”
The tech whipped around and popped open a protective case over a toggle. He flipped it. An alarm immediately rose from above their heads and spread outward, growing into a deafening klaxon roar.
Tucker could only hope that as many workers as possible would flee, chancing the bats to reach the jungle. Otherwise, it was certain death to stay. Everyone in the room also knew that. The tech’s eyes were huge with terror—more so when the helicopter rose from the square, likely driven off by the alarm. Draper must’ve suspected something was amiss when the siren blew and had ordered his team to flee.
Tucker sneered at the tech. “Your ride’s leaving, bub. Looks like we’re all in the same boat now.” He pushed Frank toward the door. “Let’s go.”
The two turned and fled out of the radio room.
Confident of his own internal clock, Tucker still double-checked his diver’s watch. Eleven minutes to go.
“We’re cutting this close,” Frank said, grinning hard at him. “Just like the old days.”
“Old. As in the past. Where they belong.”
They rushed down the steps and out the front door. The square was deserted and windswept by the departed helicopter. Even the bats had mostly gone, maybe in pursuit of the gunship.