He had expected massive bay doors designed to slide open when the missile launched. Instead, there was an enormous hatch, built to withstand a nuclear strike, that had been sealed by the government when the site was decommissioned. So much for opening the top to gain access.
“No vehicles anywhere in the vicinity,” he said to Flint. “According to the flight plan, the chopper dropped Brinkley off and returned to base. Assuming he prepared in advance, he might not need supplies for a while.”
The silo had its own air, water, plumbing, and power from an attached generator, but whoever was there would need food eventually. Rations could have been stockpiled long ago, and the people inside could live underground for years without having to surface. A miserable existence, but feasible.
They had risked a couple of drone flyovers in the past fifteen minutes to get a closer look and were able to make out the remnants of rotor wash from a helicopter in the dusty ground, but not much more.
Flint went back to studying the schematic of the underground facility they had obtained from records of the sale.
According to the listing, as well as archived information Johnson had unearthed, Brinkley had purchased a Titan II nuclear missile complex about half an hour south of Tucson. The government had decommissioned all Titan sites and sold off many of them over the years. Most were in disrepair after decades of neglect, but Brinkley had the funds to renovate and repurpose this one.
They had reviewed the photographs and blueprints. The place had been designed to withstand a nuclear attack. The only weakness was the ventilation system, which offered the possibility of literally smoking them out, but Wu had dismissed that idea out of hand. The chance of casualties or other unintended consequences was too great.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He slid it out and put it to his ear. “Wu here.”
Patel sounded frantic. “Are you watching the game right now?”
Patel had given him a laptop with a secure connection to the dark web so he and the others could monitor the situation in case anything changed before their arrival. He had slipped the computer into his duffel after they landed and had been about to have a last look at the game before they arrived at the site.
“Checking it now,” he said, propping it open on his knees while Flint craned his neck to peer at the screen.
Wu thought he’d nailed everything down. He had even dared to hope they might get to Vega and Toro in time. Now he stared at the laptop in disbelief.
When Flint swore, the others gradually left their seats to cluster around him and watch Ares, Deimos, and Phobos all perish in a gunfight with Athena and the Minotaur. Wu registered the appreciative comments from the HRT members around him as Vega drew two of her adversaries into a cross fire before finishing the Colonel with a shot only an expert marksman could manage.
He watched Athena drop to her knees to cradle the Minotaur’s head as he drew his last shuddering breaths, amazed at both her tactical prowess and her compassion. The screen reverted to the main page. Show over.
“Everyone else is dead.” He heard the hollowness in his own voice as he spoke. “It’s down to her now.”
He hadn’t been surprised Vega won the so-called game, but he’d hoped it would last long enough for them to get inside the silo. He had no idea when the competition had actually ended, and the bus wouldn’t get to the site for another ten minutes. As with all the other videos, the feed had been edited. Were they already too late?
“No way is Brinkley going to let her go,” Flint said.
Wu pushed the thought from his mind. Negative thinking brought negative results. He would deal with what they found when they got there. This new development meant they might catch Brinkley leaving—or that he might have already gone.
“Check the satellite feeds,” he said to Patel, who was still on the phone. “And send up another drone.”
When he disconnected, Special Agent Jamar Benton, Hostage Rescue Team leader for the JTTF, turned in his seat to face Wu. “We’ve turned on the jammers,” he said.
Benton had brought lots of toys, including frequency jammers designed to prevent Brinkley from detecting their approach using surveillance cameras or perimeter alarms.
“He’s bound to suspect something’s up,” Wu said, “if he’s monitoring his equipment and it all suddenly goes haywire at the same time.”
Benton lifted both burly arms, palms up. “Better to suspect than to know for sure. Also, he won’t know exactly what we’re bringing to his door.”
He agreed with the logic but kept coming back to his chief objective. “What do you have that can get us inside the silo?”
Benton rubbed a palm over his bald scalp. “Det cord, breaching tool, and C-4 if we get desperate.”
Flint frowned. “Our only real hope is that there’s a cipher lock on the door. That thing is built to withstand a direct nuclear strike.”
Benton jerked his chin toward the front of the bus. “Gizmo is ready to go.”
When they had discussed the problem earlier while studying schematics of the silo, Benton had assured them their main breacher, nicknamed Gizmo, had never failed at getting through a door. He had electronic equipment that could decode and open a blast-proof bank vault and had done so last year when hostages were locked inside.
Wu kept his reservations to himself. Even if they managed to get in, the process would be slow, giving Brinkley time to arm booby traps and other surprises for them. Like Vega, they would all be heading into his world, a space he had renovated to include deadly obstacles at every turn. Benton and his team were outstanding at what they did, but none of them had dealt with anything like this.
“We’re five minutes out,” the driver announced.
Wu had been waiting for the last possible minute to bring up a deviation from the agreed-upon plan. “Assuming we get in,” he said to Benton, “I’m coming with.”
“No, sir,” Benton said without hesitation.
He outranked Benton, but the HRT leader had tactical control over the operation. Anticipating the response, Wu had prepared his argument in advance.
“I was on the HRT in the Atlanta field office,” he began. “I know what to do . . . and I’ll make entry with—”
“You haven’t trained with us,” Benton cut in. “And it’s been years since you kicked down a door.”
“Riding a bicycle,” Wu said. “Put me in the middle of the line.”
“Not just no,” Benton said. “But hell no.” He paused. “Sir.”
Flint spoke up. “How about if the SAC and I come in after you start clearing the place? We won’t go anywhere your team hasn’t secured. I’ve done it with ESU, and there’s never been a problem.”
The NYPD’s Emergency Service Unit was analogous to the FBI’s HRT and often trained together. It was a smart argument on Flint’s part because Benton would be familiar with and respectful of his PD counterparts.
Wu hadn’t expected Flint to elbow his way in, but if the price of admission included the detective, he was happy to pay it. Both men looked at Benton expectantly.
“You two only come into areas we have advised you are clear,” he said, pointing at each of them in turn. “Got it?”
They both nodded their agreement.
Wu dropped his voice and leaned in close to Flint. “I wasn’t expecting you to go in with the team.”
Flint raised a sardonic brow. “You aren’t the only one who wants Vega back.”
CHAPTER 55
Dani crept forward in total darkness, right hand gripping her pistol, left hand in front of her, fingers splayed wide. After she had blinded Nemesis by shooting out the overhead camera, he had taken an eye for an eye, cutting the lights to deprive her of sight.
The only interruption in the profound blackness surrounding her as she inched along was the barely perceptible glow of tiny red lights in the ceiling. She had considered shooting them all out but opted to save her ammo for immediate threats. She had performed a thorough check of the weapons she’d confiscated and counted twenty-one rounds between the four pistols. There were no extra magazines. With no expectation of finding more, what she had would have to see her through.
She slid one booted foot ahead of her without lifting the sole from the floor, shifted her weight, then dragged her back foot forward until her feet were together. The technique made for slow, halting progress, but it was the only way to be sure she wouldn’t trip on something and fall headlong into a deadly trap or injure herself. Time had lost all meaning, and it felt like hours had passed since her last communication with Nemesis.
The silence held its own form of torment. What was he planning? The game had ended, but he wasn’t finished with her yet.