Wild Fire

by Nelson DeMille

  When he got to the part of the Wild Fire plan about nuking the Aswan High Dam, he became animated, threw his arms into the air, and said, “Billions of gallons of water. The entire Lake Nasser and the Nile will sweep away Egypt and deposit sixty million bodies in the Mediterranean.”

  Jeez. Bain. Tell me you’re not nuts.

  As riveting as this was, I did notice two things: one, Madox had his Colt .45 stuck in the inside pocket of his blue blazer, and two, Luther was looking a little concerned, as though this were all new to him. In fact, he lit a cigarette, which you’re not supposed to do on-duty. Especially if it means leaving your rifle dangling by its sling over your shoulder while you screw around with your cigarettes and lighter.

  Meanwhile, the room was getting smoky, and I was going to point out that secondhand smoke was not healthy for any of us, but then Bain would point out that neither Kate nor I should be thinking long-range.

  The countdown clock read 7:28.

  A phone rang somewhere in the room, and it was actually Madox’s cell phone, which he pulled out of his pocket. He said, “Madox,” then he listened and confirmed, “Project Green is go,” followed by, “Kaiser Wilhelm,” who must be in on this, or more likely that was a code word that meant everything was fine, and he—Madox—was not under duress.

  Madox listened again, then responded, “Good.” He glanced at the countdown clock and said into his cell phone, “About five or six minutes, give or take, then the two minutes for the lock-in. Yes. That’s good. What are they having for dinner?” He listened, laughed, and said, “I may be saving you all from a fate worse than death. Okay. Good. Thanks, Paul.” He added, “God bless us all.” He hung up and told me, “You’ll appreciate this, John. The president and his guests are having French cuisine—poached truite saumonée with sauce relevée for dinner. So, where was I?”

  I said, “Excuse me, Bain. I must not have been paying attention, but—”

  “Oh, sorry. That was Paul Dunn. The special assistant to the president on matters of national security.” He explained, “They’re having a small, intimate dinner at the White House tonight. This is good because the president and first lady can be quickly evacuated from Washington. Along with Paul.”

  “Is the food that bad?”

  Madox laughed and said, “You actually are funny.” He put the cell phone back in his pocket. “FYI, I have a cell antenna down here, and my relay tower is again activated, but unfortunately for my non-paying customers in the vicinity, the system is now voice scrambled.” He asked me, “Where was I?”

  “Sixty million bodies floating down the Nile.”

  “Right. The biggest single loss of life in the history of the world. Plus, don’t forget another hundred million or more of our Muslim friends incinerated in a hundred more nuclear explosions.”

  I still wasn’t quite following this. I understood what Wild Fire was—which sounded a little extreme as a retaliation for a terrorist nuke going off in America—but who was I to judge? What I didn’t understand was how Madox, by nuking four Islamic cities, was going to trigger Wild Fire . . . then I got it. It wasn’t four Islamic cities. It was two American cities. The cities where the nukes were right now—LA and San Francisco. Holy shit. I looked at Kate, who I could see was white as a ghost.

  Madox grabbed a remote clicker from his console and turned on the three flat screen televisions.

  The first one brightened, and I could see a news studio, and a weather lady was pointing at a national weather map. Madox said, “Washington,” then he hit the Mute button as the sound came up.

  The second screen showed another news studio and some guy was giving a sports roundup. Madox noted, “San Francisco,” then muted that TV as well.

  The third screen showed two news anchors yakking it up with a daytime skyline behind them, and it took me a few seconds to recognize it as downtown Los Angeles. Madox listened for a few seconds, then looked at his watch. “Okay, it’s seven fifty-six here, so on the Left Coast, it’s four fifty-six P.M.” He looked at his countdown clock that read 4:48, :47, :46, :45—.

  He said, “So, we have five or six minutes for the last letter—D—to reach the receivers. Then, two minutes for lock-in.” He paused. “GOD.”

  I cleared my throat and said to him, “Are you . . . ? I mean, are you . . . ?”

  “Spit it out, John.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  I didn’t reply, and neither did Kate.

  He sat back in his swivel chair, crossed his legs, and lit yet another cigarette. “Project Green. That’s the name of my plan to trigger Wild Fire. Get it? Four suitcase nukes—two in LA, two in San Francisco.” He added, “They cost me ten million bucks, plus maintenance.”

  Madox glanced back at the countdown clock. “They’ll all blow in less than six minutes.” He turned toward us and said, “Then, the Wild Fire retaliatory response kicks in, and we blow those Islamic sons of bitches off the face of the Earth for what they did to Los Angeles and San Francisco—” He stopped abruptly, as though something just dawned on him, then said, “I forgot. I’m blowing up San Francisco and Los Angeles.” He laughed.

  Holy shit. I said to him, “Bain, for God’s sake, you can’t—”

  “John, shut up. You sound like Harry now. And while you’re shutting your mouth, think about how beautiful this is. Project Green. Wild Fire. Why green? Because . . .” He looked at the flat screens. “See that ribbon running across the bottom on the LA channel? What’s that say? Alert Level Orange. Do you know what it’s going to say in the very near future? Green. Permanent Green. Get it? You’ll never again be wanded at an airport . . . well, actually, you’ll never again be at an airport. But think of all our fellow Americans who are inconvenienced at the airport.”

  He rambled on a bit, and I looked at the news shows from LA and San Francisco, hoping I’d see some indication that some dangerous plot had been uncovered in those cities. But the anchors were starting to wrap it up. I hoped—prayed, actually—that both pilots and co-pilots in both cities had been found. But the chances of all four of those guys being found by now, along with the suitcase nukes, were not good.

  I said to Madox, “Bain, the government will know it was you and not the terrorists who—”

  “John, even if they did figure it out, it would be too late. Wild Fire is hardwired and on a hair trigger.”

  “Bain, they’ll be here looking for you—”

  “You know what? I don’t give a shit as long as I know that the world of Islam is lying in nuclear ruin. I don’t mind being a martyr for my country, my faith—”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re going to murder millions of Americans, millions of innocent Muslims—”

  “John, shut the fuck up.” He glanced quickly at Carl and Luther, then said to me, “The ends justify the means.”

  “No, they do not—”

  He raised his voice. “They do! This is a whole New World we’re talking about. Are you too stupid to understand—?”

  “I have to pee.”

  Madox looked at Kate. “What?”

  “I have to pee. Please, I can’t hold it in. I don’t want to . . . to wet myself here—”

  Madox seemed annoyed, thought a moment, then said, “Well, I don’t want you wetting yourself here either, considering the lousy job the air-purification people did.” He instructed Carl, “Watch her.”

  Carl ordered Kate, “Down on all fours. Turn around.”

  Kate did as she was told, then Carl said, “Over there.”

  I lost sight of her, but I heard Carl move across the floor, and then I heard a door opening behind me.

  Madox watched what was happening, as did Luther, who again took out his cigarettes.

  Carl said to Kate, “Go ahead. I’m not closing the door.”

  The moment had arrived. Carl was watching Kate with his back to me, and Madox was dividing his attention between his countdown clock, which no
w read 3:26, his security monitors, which still showed no problems, and his flat screen TVs, where news shows were still wrapping up their hours.

  Luther was fixated on the open bathroom door.

  I turned my head and looked behind me. Carl was standing at the door with his shotgun at his hip, pointed at Kate, whom I could see standing in front of the toilet bowl, unbuttoning her jeans, then unzipping her fly.

  I don’t know what Carl thought he was going to see, but he was about to see something else.

  Madox said, “John, you don’t need to watch your wife peeing. Turn this way.”

  I turned away from what was going to be a very bright light, held my breath, and shut my eyes. I was prepared for it, but when it happened, I almost peed my pants myself.

  There was a deafening explosion that filled the room as if the noise were solid. Simultaneously, the room was lit with a blinding light, which I could actually see through my closed eyelids, and I heard Carl screaming in pain.

  I was flat on the floor now, with my BearBanger in my hand, but the room was full of smoke, so I couldn’t see Madox or Luther, and I hoped they couldn’t see me. I’d already decided that Luther presented the biggest threat with his M16, so I pointed the BearBanger at where I could see movement near the door and fired.

  Another huge explosion filled the room as the flare shot out of the BearBanger like a red laser beam and exploded on the wall—or on Luther.

  It didn’t matter if I hit him or not because by now everyone was half blind, deaf, and definitely fucked up.

  I spun around and lunged across the floor where I saw Carl lying on his back. I reached around for his shotgun but couldn’t find it.

  Then Kate shouted something, but I couldn’t hear her.

  I looked at her and saw she already had the shotgun.

  There were small fires on the carpet from the BearBanger flares, and I also noticed a couch blazing.

  I caught a glimpse of Carl’s face—or what used to be his face—then I got into a crouch and charged at Madox, whom I could now see on the floor near his swivel chair, moving around, obviously disoriented, but nowhere near out of action. I took too long a stride for the shackle chain, and I fell forward, then scrambled on my hands and knees toward him.

  Before I could get to Madox, Luther stood and brought his rifle up to his shoulder and was about to fill me with holes when a shotgun blast filled the room, and Luther seemed to defy gravity as he lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall.

  Before he dropped, Kate fired a second time, and Luther’s lower jaw disappeared.

  I again lunged at Madox, who was now on one knee, facing me with his Colt .45 in his hand.

  He started to raise his gun, and Kate shouted, “Freeze! Freeze! Drop it! Drop it or you’re dead!”

  There was this long moment while Bain Madox considered his options. Kate helped him decide by blowing a hole in the ceiling above his head. Before the plaster even hit him, he dropped his gun.

  Time sort of hung there for a while, with Madox and I both on our knees facing each other from about five feet away. Kate was standing about ten feet away, the shotgun pointing at Madox’s head.

  The room smelled of burned explosives, and a blue smoke hung in the air. My eyesight was returning, but black specks danced around wherever I looked. As for my hearing, I’d heard the shotgun blasts, but they’d sounded far away, and if there was any other noise in the room, I couldn’t detect it.

  I stood slowly and got my footing, then grabbed Madox’s .45 off the carpet and went over to Luther, who was sitting against the wall near the door. He was not dead but would wish he was if he survived without a lower jaw. Kate’s first shot had shredded his arm, but his rifle was still hanging by its sling across his chest, so I pulled it away from him and set the selector switch from full automatic to safety, then I slung the rifle over my shoulder.

  Kate had motioned Madox onto the rug, where he was lying with his face buried in the thick, blue plush carpet, which I could tell him firsthand was not comfortable.

  I glanced at the countdown clock and saw we had two full minutes before 00:00.

  I needed to do this by the book, to be sure there was no one left who presented a danger to Kate or me. So I went over to Carl, who was still alive, and who also had some parts of his face where they didn’t belong.

  I started to frisk him, but amazingly, he sat up, like Frankenstein on the laboratory table, and I backed off.

  I watched him get to his feet. Clearly he was blind—not temporarily blinded, but, judging from the burns around his eyes, permanently blind. Nevertheless, he put his hand inside his jacket and brought out a Colt .45 automatic.

  I was going to say, “Drop it!” but then he’d know where to fire, so with time running out, I made a difficult decision and put a .45 bullet through his forehead.

  He was too big to be lifted off his feet, and he fell backward, like a huge tree toppling.

  Kate said, “Fifty-eight seconds.”

  I walked over to Madox, who was staring at Carl’s body, and asked him, “How do I stop this?”

  He turned his head toward me and replied, “Fuck you.”

  “Do you have anything intelligent to say? Come on, Bain. Help me. How do I stop this?”

  “You can’t. And why do you want to? John, think about this.”

  I have to be honest and admit that I had been thinking about it. I mean, God help me, but I did think about letting it happen.

  Kate called out, “Forty seconds.”

  I got my head back on straight and remembered what Madox had said about the ELF signal, and I seemed to recall something about a continuous signal, and a lock-in period, so I thought that if I stopped the ELF wave, right here at the transmitter, the receivers wouldn’t or couldn’t lock in and send a signal to the nuclear detonators. Electronics is not one of my strong points, but destruction is, and there was nothing to lose, except two cities, so I stepped back and told Kate to do the same.

  The countdown clock read :15 seconds, but I recalled from Bain that the ELF wave and the decoding could be a minute or two faster or slower in reaching the receivers, and for all I knew, the two-minute lock-in time was already running—or finished.

  I glanced at the three flat screen TVs, but there was nothing unusual happening in San Francisco, Los Angeles, or Washington.

  Kate said, “John.”

  I looked where she was staring and saw that the countdown clock read 00:00, and the black LED box was now flashing “GOD—GOD—GOD.”

  I raised the Colt .45 and pointed it at the ELF transmitter.

  Madox had gotten up and was on his knees now, in front of the transmitter, as though he were protecting it. He held his hands up and shouted, “John! Don’t do it! Let it happen. I beg you. Save the world. Save America—”

  I fired three rounds over Madox’s head into the transmitter, and three more into the rest of the electronic console, just to be sure. Then Kate blasted the last two shotgun rounds into the smoking electronics.

  The lights, dials, and instruments blinked off, and the big metal console smoked and sparked. The word “GOD” blinked out.

  Madox had turned his head and was looking at the dying ELF transmitter, then he turned to me, then Kate, then back to me, and said in almost a whisper, “You ruined everything. You could have let it happen. Why are you so stupid?”

  I had a few good replies for him about duty, honor, and country, and also about “If I’m so stupid, why do I have your gun?” but I got right to the point and said, “This is for Harry Muller,” and fired my last bullet into his brain.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  We found the key in Carl’s pocket and removed our shackles. We also found his Colt .45 on the floor, and Kate stuck it in her waistband.

  Kate and I stood side by side in the smoky room, as mute as the three televisions that we were watching. My heart, and I'm sure hers, was thumping.

  After a few minutes of commercials—with no urgent bulletins or screens
going black in LA or San Francisco—I said to Kate, “I guess everything is okay.”

  She nodded.

  I asked her, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine . . . I’m just . . . stunned.”

  I let a few minutes go by, then said to her, “You did a good job.”

  “Good? I did a fucking excellent job.”

  “Excellent job.” I asked, “Hey, where did you hide the BearBanger?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Right.”

  After another minute of silence, she asked me, “Do you believe this? Do you believe what Madox was going to do?”

  I looked at the electronic console and said, “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  She didn’t respond for a second, then said, “John . . . for a minute there . . . I thought you were . . . wavering a little.”

  I thought about that. “Honestly?”

  “Don’t answer.”

  But I had to say something, so I said, “It’s going to happen anyway.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  I tried a joke. “Why don’t we stay down here for a few years?”

  She didn’t reply.

  I glanced at Bain Madox, who was still in a kneeling position, but now with his head thrown back, resting on the edge of his electronic console table. Those gray hawk eyes were wide open, as unblinking and emotionless as ever. And, except for the red hole in the middle of his forehead, I could hardly tell he was dead, which was creepy.

  Kate saw me staring at him. “You did what you had to do.”

  Which we both knew was not true. I did what I wanted to do.

  I looked away from Madox and watched the six security monitors, but I didn’t see anyone, except for a shadow moving around in the gatehouse, and I guessed that was Derek. Then I saw a Jeep pass in front of the generator house.

  I said to Kate, “They’re still out there, and no one has arrived from state police headquarters.”

  She nodded. “So, we’ll stay here awhile.”

  I really didn’t feel like hanging around this room much longer with two stiffs on the floor, and a smoldering carpet and couch, plus the smell of burnt electronics.