Web of Fire Bind-up (55 page)

‘No, Mr President. We have confirmation from five separate units. This is no error, sir. It's the real thing. The Vice President is already on his way to the Presidential Command Bunker.'

The President replaced the receiver and screwed his eyes shut for a few moments in an effort to dampen the fires that burned inside his head.
I must be coming down with a fever
he thought.
Bad timing
.

Defence Secretary Dan Steele interpreted the President's expression as a possible sign of indecision and decided to try to move things along.

‘The computer link is fully operational, Mr President. You'll be able to see the status of the incoming missiles for yourself. You might want to check it, sir. It's on the desk.'

The President glared at him. ‘I know where it is, Dan,' he said.

Steele cleared his throat awkwardly as his Commander-in-Chief snapped open the lid of the laptop and stared at the screen.

‘I can't see anything,' he said. He'd been through this scenario countless times as part of his induction to the top job, and the training had left him in no doubt that – in the event of an enemy attack – the computer screen would be blinking with red dots charting the progress of the missiles. But this time the screen was blank.

‘There's nothing there,' he said. ‘Look – come and see for yourself.'

His aides quickly gathered around the desk and began pointing at the screen.

‘But, Mr President sir,' insisted Defence Secretary Steele. ‘There's dozens of them. What are we going to do?'

The President gasped and closed his eyes as something erupted in his brain, an explosion of red heat that burned into his mind. He was falling through bright tunnels that swirled and pulsated all around him; then his eyes were open again and he was looking at the screen and the screen was covered in red dots.

‘How can this be possible?' he breathed. ‘China
and
North Korea?'

‘We think they must be operating together,' said Steele. ‘It's the only explanation.'

‘Get me the hotline,' said the President, his voice shaking. ‘Now.'

‘We are unable to establish a connection at this time, Mr President,' said General Miller nervously. Miller had recently been promoted to Head of Internal Security and was beginning to wish someone else had got the job.

‘What the
hell
do you mean?' snapped the President.

‘We've tried everything,' replied Miller. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘All right,' said the President grimly. ‘Get me the Briefcase.'

The Briefcase was the name for the Mobile Command Centre which was never more than ten metres away from the President at any time. Special Agent Griffin was one of the three agents on duty who knew the combination of the case and he had never dreamed that the day would come when he would actually have to open it. His hands trembling, he placed it on the desk, punched in the numbers and snapped open the catches.

The President lifted the lid and took a key from his pocket.

‘Give me the other one,' he said.

Griffin took the second activation key from his jacket and placed it into a slot in the briefcase. He waited until the President had inserted his own key and then twisted it a quarter turn to the right. The screen lit up dark blue. Across it in red were the words:

CONTROLLED ACCESS FINGERPRINT IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED

The President placed his thumb on a small glass panel and as a white light began to flicker the words on the screen changed again.

READING …VERIFIED … CONFIRMED ENTER SECONDARY VERIFICATION: RETINAL SCAN

Leaning forward, the President placed his left eye above the panel and the light flickered again.

READING …VERIFIED … CONFIRMED ENTER ACCESS CODES 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

The room was silent except for the tapping of the President's finger on the number keys. Then with a beep, a new screen appeared.

ALERT STATUS MISSILE STATUS LAUNCH ORDERS ABORT

Running his tongue over dry lips, the President scrolled the cursor down to LAUNCH ORDERS and then paused to look up at the grim faces surrounding him.

‘Gentlemen,' he said. ‘May God be with us.'

Then he pressed ‘ENTER'.

As Sam followed Skipper's hornet low across the lawn towards the leaded, rectangular windows he saw what appeared to be a layer of smoke drifting from the roof of the White House.

‘Hey, Skipper,' he said into the intercom. ‘Looks like there might be a fire on the roof.'

Suddenly Skipper's hornet pulled up hard and went vertical, shooting up into the sky at great speed.

‘Stay with me, Sam!' she shouted and Sam pulled the joystick back as hard as he could, slamming back into his seat as the wings roared and he rocketed after her.

‘What's going on?' he shouted, keeping his eyes fixed on the orange and black body of Skipper's hornet as it powered upwards in front of him.

‘That's no fire, Sam,' replied Skipper as she levelled out above the White House and began to circle. ‘Take another look.'

Sam looked down and the first thing he noticed was that the smoke was curling down from the roof and spreading out across the lawn. The second thing he noticed was that the smoke wasn't actually smoke at all, but a huge swarm of flies.

‘Hell's teeth!' exclaimed Sam as he recognised the hideous insects. ‘Robber flies. Hundreds of 'em.' Noticing that one group of flies had formed into a writhing mass on the lawn he pressed the zoom facility on his display screen and was immediately confronted with a close-up showing the flies wrapping themselves around one of the hornets. By sheer weight of numbers they had managed to smother it and bring it crashing to the ground.

‘They've got one of Brindle's crew,' said Skipper. ‘Damn it! They must have been expecting us.'

Sam watched as groups of flies began to systematically pick off the other hornets, clustering around them in bundles and forcing them out of the sky. Sam heard the helpless cries of hornet pilots echoing across the airwaves as Brindle's voice screamed at them to take evasive action.

‘They're killing us down there, Skipper,' shouted Sam. ‘What are we going to do?'

‘Get on my wing,' said Skipper.

‘What?' asked Sam, unable to tear his gaze away from the frightening scenes unfolding on the White House lawn below.

‘Get on to my wing,' repeated Skipper. ‘I've got an idea.'

Sam pulled back on the throttle, gradually increasing his speed until he was flying right next to Skipper's
hornet. Glancing through the side screen he could see Skipper giving him the thumbs up. She was so close he felt he could almost reach out and touch her.

‘OK, Sam, here's what we're going to do. In a moment I want you to fly underneath me and keep your engine speed steady.'

Sam frowned. ‘What for?'

‘Trust me, OK?'

Sam pushed the joystick forward slightly and felt the nose tilt. The hornet dropped several metres and he carefully moved the stick sideways, easing the aircraft beneath Skipper's. There was a slight bump as the other insect's legs brushed the top of his cockpit and then he was directly below it. He could hear the other hornet's wings humming just above his own and he chewed his lip anxiously. The tiniest mistake could mean a mid-air collision that would probably kill them both.

‘That's good, Sam. Right, brace yourself – I'm coming in.'

There followed a noise like the bristles of a giant scrubbing brush banging against a window and six thick, black legs suddenly clamped themselves around the outside of Sam's hornet. It began to sway violently from side to side and Sam wrestled frantically with the controls.

‘Skipper!' he yelled. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Cut your engines, Sam!' Skipper yelled back. ‘Now!'

Sam twisted the ignition off and the hornet began to lose height rapidly. Above him, the engines of Skipper's
hornet rose to a howl, straining to take the weight of his aircraft as they levelled out once more.

‘Skipper!' shouted Sam angrily at the intercom. ‘What's going on?'

‘I'm not going to lie to you, Sam,' said Skipper, her voice sounding strained. ‘What I'm going to ask you to do next is extremely dangerous. If I could do it myself I would, but I need to keep us both flying. If you don't want to do it, I'll understand. But I think it may be our only chance.'

Sam felt fear and adrenalin pump through his veins. If Skipper thought it was dangerous then there was a strong possibility it could kill him. But then this whole operation was life-threatening. And if they failed, billions would die.

He remembered what Firebrand had said:

Keep the faith.

‘Go ahead, Skipper,' he said. ‘Whatever it is, I'll do it.'

‘OK,' came the reply. ‘Keep your COMs headset on and climb into the back of the hornet. You'll find some wooden crates which you'll need to open.'

Sam clambered between the seats and made his way over to a small stack of crates. Prising the lid off the nearest one he found that it was full of a grey putty-like substance.

‘What's this stuff?' he asked into his headset microphone.

‘High explosive,' replied Skipper. ‘Courtesy of Mump, remember? Now I need you to make six little balls of it. About the size of your fist.'

Sam dug his fingers into the explosive and found that it was pliable, like plasticine. Working quickly, he used the palms of his hands to roll up six balls which he stuffed into the pockets of his flying jacket.

‘OK. Now what?'

‘See the little blue box on the floor over to the right? Take out six of the radio detonators.'

Sam knelt down and opened the smaller box. Inside were rows of black, pencil-sized sticks. Each one had a metallic red tag attached to the end and a small, three-way switch numbered 1 to 3. He counted out six detonators and put them into his pocket with the explosives.

‘These aren't going to go off are they?' he asked nervously.

‘I certainly hope so,' said Skipper. ‘But not yet. They're perfectly safe until you pull the tags off. But make sure all the switches are in position one.'

Sam hurriedly retrieved the detonators from his pocket to check that they all still had their tags and that the switches were set on 1. Satisfied that they were all intact, he put them back in his pocket.

‘All right, Sam. Have you got your CRB?'

‘Got it.'

‘Right, this is the tricky part. I need you to climb on top of your hornet and attach the explosives to the middle segments of my hornet's legs. One lump and one detonator per leg.'

Sam swallowed nervously and felt his heart beat faster. What was she planning?

‘I'm on my way,' he said.

Unclipping a small silver torch-like object from his belt, he pointed it at the roof of the hornet and pressed the button on the side. There was a blue flash and as the wind roared through the hole that suddenly appeared, Sam could see the orange underbelly of Skipper's hornet a metre or so above his head.

Climbing on the boxes, Sam placed his hands on either side of the hole and pulled himself into the howling gale that swept between the two hornets. Screwing up his eyes, he grabbed at the middle leg of Skipper's hornet and wedged the first lump of explosive into a small gap in the knee joint. Then he pushed a detonator into its soft centre and pulled out the red tag which flew off into the wind. A red light began to wink on the side of the detonator, indicating that it was now armed.

One down
, thought Sam as he shakily lowered himself flat against his own hornet once more.

One down and five to go.

All eyes were on the Briefcase.

There was a heady, dream-like quality about the room now, a feeling of inevitability as the realisation dawned on everyone present that the last minutes of their lives were ticking away. The world in general was about to change for ever. Their own worlds in particular were about to be obliterated.

They stood and stared at the screen in hypnotic silence, transfixed by the flashing words which read:

ENTER LAUNCH CODES 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

‘Done it,' said Sam, collapsing back into his seat. Breathing heavily, he stared down at the White House lawn, its elegant fountains foaming above neat, symmetrical ponds far below him. His legs and arms had suddenly turned to jelly.

‘Fantastic work, Sam,' said Skipper. ‘Now it's my turn. I'd strap yourself in if I were you.'

Sam quickly snapped his buckle together, pulled the strap tight and winced.

‘Be gentle with me,' he said.

There was a roar from Skipper's engines, the horizon slid upwards and then they were plummeting down towards the cloud of robber flies that drifted like black smoke across the White House lawn. As they approached, Sam saw the swarm part in the middle, curl at the edges and rise up to meet them.

‘They're coming straight at us,' he said.

‘I know,' said Skipper calmly, maintaining a straight course. ‘That's the idea.'

Seconds later they entered the swarm and the screen went black. Sam heard the thud-thud-thud of robber flies slamming into the top of Skipper's hornet and the moan of the engines as they strained beneath the extra weight. Then the sound of the engines stopped altogether and his body felt weightless as the hornet dropped from the sky like a stone.

‘Skipper!' he cried, but there was no reply.

Struggling against the constraints of his safety harness, Sam reached desperately for the ignition key. If he could only start his engines again, maybe he could somehow stop them from crashing…

Then, in a roar of wind, something thudded hard into the seat next to him and a hand grabbed his arm.

‘Not yet, Sam. Give it a few seconds.'

As the wind swirled through the hole she had made, Skipper pulled a small black box from her pocket and threw it into his lap. Stunned, Sam picked it up and saw a little red light blinking on the top. A small dial was set to 1 and in the centre of it was a red button.