Hot Ice (49 page)

" '
Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, holding in his hand the key to the bottomless pit and a great chain,' "
Morales quoted. "
Revelation 20:1
."

Right
, Hunt thought with an inward chuckle.
Your angel is defiantly holding the key
. "See those men loading the crates into the railcars behind you?" Hunt motioned over Morales's shoulder. The tango didn't turn to look. But the sound of boxes being loaded was unmistakable. They were making good headway. Better yet, if this device they'd found on Mrs. Morales helped them navigate through sheer rock face.

"The carts," Hunt pointed out unnecessarily, "are almost full." Dressed in Level Four hazmat gear, Navarro's team were loading the biochemicals and toxins first.

"The train, as
you
might observe," Morales pointed out genially, "is facing a rock wall thirty feet thick."

"There you go, underestimating T-FLAC again." Hunt pointed the remote-control device, depressed several buttons until he found the right one, and smiled as the entire wall slowly, inexorably, slid aside to reveal the tracks down the tunnel.

Morales spun to look at Hunt, a mask of horror on his face. "How is this possible? From where did you obtain that device?"

Hunt held it up. "This? Your lovely wife Maria had it in her pocket when they found her." He jerked his head. "And take a gander to your right—those are your people being led away in the custody of
my
people. Check and mate. Game over."

There was a double beep in his ear. "A second countdown has just been activated. Same time," Daklin snarled, "different tune." The line went dead.

Well, fuck.

Without warning, the floor started shaking. A few seconds later a mechanical, grinding sound joined the hellacious noise of thousands of neatly piled wooden crates crashing to the cement floor. The shattered crates spewed their contents: weapons, ammunition, and machine parts, all of which rolled beneath the feet of the men still fighting.

Morales's smile widened.

"What have you done, you sick fuck?" Hunt snarled over the noise, wrapping his hand around Morales's throat.

"The top of my little mountain is opening for the launch." Morales's eyes gleamed brilliantly as his excitement and anticipation rose feverishly. He was oblivious to the manic activity around him. To the smoke. To the small fires burning about his warehouse. To the men piling his crates near the railcars. To dozens of men still locked in mortal combat.

"
Here is a call for the endurance of the saints, those who keep the commandments of God and holdfast to the faith of Jesus
," Morales shouted over the din. "
And I heard a voice from heaven saying, 'Write this: Blessed are the dead who from now on die in the
—' "

Hunt grabbed Morales by his hair and jerked his head back. Light glinted on the blade of the Ka-bar as he pressed it to Morales's carotid. "How do we deactivate the second launch sequence?" He sliced a little deeper. Blood stained Morales's shirt collar. "
Now
."

"It cannot be turned off," the head of
Mano del Dios
said complacently. Pleased with himself, and unfazed by the cold steel at his throat, he smiled again. "There is a fail-safe system in place. Nothing can stop the launch. God's command shall prevail. '
For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.'

2 Corinthians 4:17-18."

A double beep in Hunt's ear. "Daklin?"

"Need Taylor ASAP," Asher Daklin said tightly. "There's another fucking keypad behind the control panel."

Hunt released Morales. His heart thudded with dread. Jesus. So close. "Bring Taylor ASAP to the south entrance. She's in the room on the northeast quadrant," he snapped into the lip mic, talking directly to his team. "All of you. Stay with her. Haul ass.
Now
. Go, go, go."

He gave José Morales a cold look. "Will you tell us how to deactivate the missile?"

" '
Discipline yourself, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil growls around, looking for someone to devour.'

1 Peter 5
—"

Hunt pulled out his H&K and pushed it under the man's chin. "What is the deactivation code?"

"I am not afraid to die."

"Too bad." Hunt pulled the trigger. As Morales slumped to the floor, Hunt glanced at Viljoen, standing nearby, his own weapon drawn. "I just hate fucking unresolved issues, don't you?"

Chapter Fifty-four

Taylor crouched in front of the missile. Behind her, Hunt, Asher Daklin, Bishop, and Francis Fisk waited. Her heart pounded like a drum inside her chest. She shook out her hands to get rid of some of the nerves and drew in a slow, deep breath.

Some of the guys had come to get her in Morales's secret room. She'd been hit on the head and had just regained consciousness a few minutes before they burst in and practically dragged her here.

She was damn sure, pretty sure, almost certain, that Savage had been the one to hit her. It didn't make sense, and she didn't have time to try to figure it out. Savage had saved her from being shot by the Black Rose terrorist… hadn't she?

Her head throbbed where she'd been struck. When she'd come to, the blonde terrorist was dead. Savage was unconscious and bleeding beside her, a big knot on the back of her head…
and somebody's
blood on her.

None of which mattered right at this moment.

Concentrate
, she told herself firmly.

By some miracle, someone had brought her tools from where she'd left them so many hours ago outside the wind tunnel. That was the only good thing about this situation. Everything else pretty much sucked.

The area surrounding the base of the missile was a tight fit, a circular cavern carved out specifically for the base and armature of the metal monstrosity. With five of them in there, it was hot, it was crowded, it was tense.

Taylor could block out all
that
. It was the other occupants of the claustrophobic space that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle and her mouth go bone dry.

The rough rock floor was awash with snakes.

They were
small
snakes, Daklin had pointed out mildly when she first saw them and shrieked like a girl. Yeah, sure they were little. But there were
thousands
of them. Black snakes, green snakes, and yellow snakes.

Live, venomous, creepy-crawly
snakes
.

One slithered over her instep. She shuddered, then froze. "Ah, geez—"

"Got it." Bishop reached between her knees from behind, plucking the yellow serpent off her foot. He tossed it aside. "I told you I'd keep them off of you. And," he muttered under his breath, "I'm hoping St. John didn't see where I just had my arm."

Hunt had assured her that the flicking tongues couldn't pass through the LockOut fabric. She almost believed him.

"Focus, people," Daklin said softly directly behind her. "I changed the trajectory in accordance with coded RF pulses." He was talking to Hunt, who was behind her. "We bypassed two out of the four circuits, receiving and decoding, steering control. I didn't give a shit about the transmitting, command, and fail-safe detonation controls—"

"North Atlantic?"

More soft murmuring and mumbo jumbo behind her.

"It's a CDL2009," Taylor said, more to herself than the men watching her. There was only enough room for one person to be directly in front of the panel. She was point man, or rather, woman.

She tried to forget that three feet away from her nose was the slick white metal skin of the missile. She tried hard to forget that if she didn't open this keypad and get to whatever Daklin needed inside—

Seventeen minutes. That's all she—they—had.

Seventeen minutes.

Now it was up to her.

The keypad was six by eight inches and centered in a dark gray titanium door approximately one foot square in a shallow indentation in the side of the missile. Bits of what Daklin had defused and discarded were scattered on the floor with the snakes.

"Give me your earpiece," she said to anyone. "Hurry."

"Don't freak," Fisk said softly, laying his headset on her left shoulder. "This is the
cord
, not a you-know-what."

Taylor was grateful for the heads-up. She quickly twisted the tiny earpiece open, then used the amp inside to press directly against the keypad, sticking the other end into her ear. "With me, Francis?"

He'd enter the numbers into his wrist PDA as she heard them and called them out. "There's nobody I trust more to do this than you, Taylor. I have your back."

She went to work, listening for the sound of the tumblers falling into place as she danced her fingers across the pad.

At this point she didn't even notice how fast the men around her were plucking the snakes off her. She was a hundred percent focused. She frowned. This wasn't that hard. The tumblers clicked away. She listened, rearranged the order, and was done.

"How much time do we have left?" she asked, memorizing the last number.

"Don't worry about it," Hunt said, directly behind her.

"Are we in?" Daklin demanded, incredulous, as she tossed the earpiece aside.

"Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard." Taylor shifted, ready to move aside so Daklin could take her place. She punched in the numbers in the correct sequence, then waited for the door to pop.

It didn't pop—it
exploded
open, releasing a spray of fine white powder directly into her face.

Blinded by whatever had hit her, Taylor screamed as somebody grabbed her from behind, pulling her back onto the floor.

"Keep your mouth and eyes
shut
!" Hunt shouted. "
Shut, goddamn it
. Get me something to irrigate with…" His voice faded as he spoke—yelled—at someone. Then it grew loud again as he crouched over her. "Keep everything closed." He blew across her face. Blew again. And again.

"Anth—" Somebody started to say and was cut off.

"Here's a rag, use it to—"

"No. I don't want to risk rubbing it into her skin. Good girl, keep your pretty eyes and mouth closed for a bit, all right, darling?"

Me, floor
—
snakes
! she wanted to point out. The puff in the face had startled her, but it had been more air than substance, and it smelled a lot like baby talcum powder. She tried to sit up, to figure out what she was doing lying down, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. Hunt seemed very tall as he loomed over her. One minute he was standing, the next, without appearing to have moved, he was crouched down beside her. She liked that about him. He moved so—She frowned.

Hunt said, "Lie still," in a commanding voice.

She lay still. The LockOut was skintight. Hunt wouldn't allow a snake to get inside her clothing.

"Navarro?" Hunt said, and then, "Jesus, fuck, then where the bloody hell
is
he? Tell him to rendezvous, south entrance…
Now
, goddamn it! Taylor's been hit with… I don't know. Yeah. Fine. Less than minutes."