“I don’t know, Nicholas. But we’ll find out.”
Mills said from the body bag, “Children, I know all. Let me out and I’ll even tell you.”
“Hey, it looks clear ahead, no more police cars,” Mike said. “Open him up, Nicholas, see what Mr. Brain has to say.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
T-MINUS 16 HOURS
Lyon–Mont Verdun Air Base (Base Aérienne 942) is located to the northwest of Lyon. It is a center for air defense operations transferred to the site from the now-deactivated headquarters of the French Air Force at Taverny Air Base—BA921 near Paris, with an underground alternate strategic command center hardened against chemical and nuclear attack.
—Wikipedia
Mont Verdun Air Base
Lyon, France
The rolling hills of Lyon were Irish green from so much rain. And the vineyards, they stretched on either side of the road, as far as the eye could see.
“How far?” Mike asked their driver.
“Twenty minutes. You three look like leftovers. Take a nap, I’ll wake you up when we get to Mont Verdun.”
Within moments, all three were asleep.
It seemed like only a second had passed when their driver called out, “Nearly there.”
Mills stirred and yawned. “What’s the countdown?”
Mike turned, said, “We’re about sixteen hours out from the eclipse.”
“I’m thinking we should probably scramble some jets for world leaders, just in case.”
Mike’s eyebrows went up. “You want them in the air?”
“Hey, Air Force One is hardened against an EMP.”
Mike said, “Seriously, guys, if we start putting world leaders in secure bunkers or in their jets, everyone will know something bad is up and the panic will ripple across the world, causing as much damage as the EMP, if not more. Our only choice is to stop this before it goes off.”
Mills said, “You know, depending on how high above the Earth it is when it detonates, a nuclear EMP wouldn’t necessarily burn the Earth or cause great mushroom clouds of fallout.”
Mike said, “I thought you were going to tell us something we didn’t know. Well, not that I expected it. No, but as we’ve discussed, it could shut down all the communication signals from the satellites near the explosion, which would cascade through the cellular and radio signals. Anything using electricity to generate power would be disabled. If it’s high enough, it’s going to affect global communications satellites; low enough, and there will be an impact to Earth itself.”
Mills nodded. “True. People could die from the initial blast depending on its strength and position in orbit—as you’ve said, the closer to Earth, the worse the situation would be. Without communications, fresh water, food distribution, any way to get news—”
“Anarchy, within three days.”
“Yes,” Mills said, “and complete chaos. But here’s the bigger issue. Where it goes off. You realize the lunar eclipse is at its apex tonight over Nepal, right?”
Both Nicholas and Mike stared at him.
“I was holding back, now I’ll give you the good stuff. Say Patel has her blast go off above Nepal. Say, thirty kilometers up. A HEMP—high-altitude EMP—in that area of space would knock out the electrical grids in China, India, southwest Russia, all of the countries that end in ‘-stan,’ and most of the Middle East. Now, a few of these countries are probably hardened against such an attack. I am not one for looking on the dark side of things, but if Russia or China think the U.S. has set off an EMP designed to knock them back to the Middle Ages, they might not take it so well. Because not only would it take out the electronics in that fourteen-hundred-square-kilometer area on Earth, it would also annihilate any satellites in its path.
“Now, were I a feisty country, forever in the shadow of the U.S., and I’m hit by an EMP, I would be mighty pissed off. I might even decide to shoot off an EMP of my own in retaliation, this one above Montana, and the next thing you know, we’re all up the creek. This is bigger than a single explosion. This is the beginnings of World War Three—a nuclear nightmare scenario. The thing is, no one’s been testing the effects of HEMPs on Earth. This is just what we know because of the science. And it’s the best-case scenario.”
Mike was shaking her head. “I get that Patel is pissed at NASA for kicking her out of the astronaut program, but why does she want to cause catastrophic damage? Why does she hate the world?”
Mills shook his head. “I hope we get to her in time to ask.”
They heard the deafening whoosh of the planes before they saw them—four French air force jets were flying low and close, skimming the trees.
Shortly, they pulled up in front of a guardhouse similar to those she’d seen at the entrance to every military installation she’d ever been on. The soldiers were dressed in camouflage fatigues, small black berets cocked on their heads. They carried automatic weapons with an ease born of long handling.
The SUV was directed to the tarmac, and parked next to a small hangar. The driver got out and disappeared. Mills opened the door and stepped out, rubbed his jaw. “I can’t wait to get rid of this thing. I don’t want anyone to mistake me for Khaleed Al-Asaad ever again. I sure hope there’s a razor and some water on the plane. Everyone ready for some fun? There’s our transport. This is the CIA, folks. Isn’t Mr. Grace amazing?”
Mike looked to the four jets parked on the tarmac, and her face split into a wide smile. “Oh, you’re kidding. We get to fly in those?”
The four jets were big, no, massive gray ghosts with tons of armament. She couldn’t believe it. Always, since her earliest childhood, Mike had wanted to ride in one of these babies, pull big G’s.
They were escorted inside the hangar. Their driver was standing next to a card table set up with a laptop and a T1 line. Nicholas was relieved. Relying on Wi-Fi was too dangerous, and being hardwired into the base’s communications system would make life much easier.
He secured a line to Adam, whose face popped up on the computer. He had dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m ready and waiting to trace Patel’s phone. I don’t know if this is going to work, Nicholas. If Patel doesn’t have the GPS turned on, it’s going to be hard to locate the signal.”
“We only have one chance at this. You found the facility in Sri Lanka for us. Do you believe she’s there?”
“Well, yes. It’s off-grid, it’s private, and it’s cost her a lot of money over the years. I’d put our chances at 50 percent. Maybe 75 percent.”
“We’re looking for a squawk, a link, anything that might show this phone on the grid for even the barest hint of a moment. If we can confirm she’s anywhere near there, I’m comfortable heading to Sri Lanka immediately.”
They could hear Adam talking on the other line, then he came back. “Here’s the number to track. Alys is going to make the call in five minutes. She’ll keep it simple. She doesn’t know there’s a problem outside of the headquarters being attacked. She won’t be able to warn Patel about anything.”
Nicholas glanced at his watch. They were running out of time. He said, “Here goes nothing,” and typed in Nevaeh’s sat phone number. He launched his tracking protocol and waited.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Nicholas listened to the one-sided call with one ear, typing frantically, searching, searching. The program he’d written could examine five square miles at a time for a satellite phone signature, regardless of the GPS signal. But five square miles at a time to cover a twenty-five-thousand-square-mile country was going to take a while.
He decided to narrow down the search to the main routes leading from Colombo to the coordinates Adam had for Aquarius. With a smaller grid, the program began to run faster.
A small pinprick of light came online, then faded just as quickly.
“There!”
The map overlay came back on-screen.
Mike said, “Adam, did you see it? Was that her sat phone?”
“I am seeing it,
and I’m running it now. Yes, that was her phone. It registered when the call dropped. Damn, Nicholas, that’s a pretty cool program.”
“Where are they exactly?”
“They’re outside of Colombo, in the mountains. It’s right where Aquarius is supposed to be.”
Nicholas said, “Confirmation enough for me. Let’s go.”
“More than enough,” Mills said, and pumped his fist. “This Adam obviously belongs in the CIA.”
Nicholas said, “Yeah, right. Hold on. Adam, you taped the conversation she had, yes? I want to be one hundred percent sure she isn’t using some sort of fake GPS system to send people off the trail. Run the protocol again, and this time, back-trace it to France and lay in voice recognition, see if we can tap in from the other end. Let’s make sure it was Patel, and she’s really in Sri Lanka.”
Typing, whistling, then Adam said, “It’s for real. The voice profiles match up, and I was able to get a specific locale for the sat phone, down to a hundred yards.”
“Good job. We’ll be in touch.”
Nicholas tossed the headphones down, uploaded a program into the computer, then ejected the thumb drive. The program launched and erased the computer’s hard drive. Not necessarily polite, but there was no sense leaving tracks behind. They wouldn’t know it, but the next time someone tried to power up this machine, they’d find absolutely nothing. He wasn’t willing to give the CIA his brainchildren.
Mike was nearly dancing with excitement. “Can we go now? Right now? Hey, where’s Mills?”
Mills came out of the hangar, yelling at the top of his lungs at Nicholas, “Did you erase that computer?”
“What? No idea what you’re talking about, mate.”
“Bugger off, you British bastard.”
Nicholas laughed. “Okay, Vinny, are we on, or what?”
Mills said, “Oh yeah, we’re on. But you pull a trick like that again and you’ll be left behind.”
Nicholas only grinned at him.
Outside the hangar, the pilots were milling about their jets, relaxed, wearing jumpsuits that made them look like bugs, strange arms and legs sticking out. One came over to them. “Madame, messieurs, I am Captain Rousseau. We have received orders to bring you to Sri Lanka. I understand you are in something of a ruée—ah, yes, you are in a rush. These are F2 Rafales. These are the fastest planes we have. Eighty-five hundred kilometers from here to Sri Lanka, we are going to have you there in a little less than four hours. We will have to refuel on the way, of course.”
Mike said, “Four hours is good. But landing will cost us time.”
“Oh, we will not have to make a landing. You see the arm right there?” He pointed at a long, thin pole that stuck out of the right side of each plane near the clear glass hood. “We will refuel in the air. It will require very little time. We will do it two times. There is one issue. The winds are going to be pretty rough, flying into a typhoon is not gentle.” A sly grin moved across the captain’s face. “I hope you did not eat any breakfast, did you?”
Mike grinned back. “As a matter of fact, nope. I’m starving, too.”
“Good. Let us get you ready to fly. The things you need are inside the hangar.”
“Let’s do it.”
They did all the necessary prep, got dressed in their flight suits, briefed on their flight plan and mission. Nicholas was shaking his head at her. “Imagine, you wanting to fly heavy G’s.”
“Oh, yeah. This part I’m going to love.”
He tweaked her ponytail. “Keep your wits about you, Dame Michaela. Don’t have too much fun.”
They each climbed the ladder and wedged themselves into the tiny, hard second seat of their jets.
Mike was riding with Captain Rousseau. Nicholas would be in the second jet. She gave him a crazed grin and a thumbs-up.
Mills was in the lead jet. A fourth jet was geared up, and would be flying with them. As what, a guard? Or to try to save them if one of them got shot down?
Rousseau did a series of checks in French with his pilots, then spoke to Mike, his voice strong and clear across the comms in her ear attached to her helmet.
“Are you ready, Madame Agent ma’am?”
“You better believe it. I’ve wanted to ride in an F-14 for years, but they’re retired now. This baby? She’s beautiful.”
He laughed, gave her an interested look, very French, and she smiled back at him. “We will see how you feel when we are pulling five G’s. Do not forget the bags tucked by your right knee. The weather near the landing site is deteriorating, and we will be feeling every bump. There is no shame to feel sick. Most people do the first time.”
Mike was rubbing her hands together. She didn’t care if she barfed in Technicolor into her own shoe. This was going to be a blast. “Let’s go!”
As they started to roll toward the runway, Nicholas came across her comms.
“Mike, you okay?”
“Never better.”
“Bloody hell, you’re still altogether too excited.” She heard the smile in his voice, knew he was excited, too. The best part was they’d be in Sri Lanka with hours to spare to look for Patel and Aquarius. And the Holy Grail. For Emilie.
She said into her comms, “Adam sent me some files. I’m going to put on my earbuds and listen to more recent private tapes Byrne transcribed of her boss in her deprivation chamber. Hopefully I’ll find out who was in the chamber with her, who she was talking to. I’ll also go through her personnel folder, see if I can find any clues to why she’s doing this.”
There was the roar of the engines, then a downright whoop of joy as the jet roared into the sky.
Nicholas said, “I daresay my pilot is a nutter.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
T-MINUS 16 HOURS
Aquarius Observatory
Sri Lanka
The incessant ringing of her sat phone woke her. Nevaeh rolled over to pick it up, annoyed since she’d made it clear all were to remain silent. A surprise, it was Alys.
She turned on the sat phone and ran the scrambling program. When she was certain she was secure, she said, “Yes, Alys? What is it?”
“I have the most wonderful news. Monsieur Broussard has been found alive. It is on the television.”
“What?” Nevaeh’s heart hammered in her throat. How was this possible? Jean-Pierre Broussard was dead, dead and gone, she’d even paid that terrorist to go against Al-Asaad to kill Broussard at Galactus.
Kiera said, “What is it?” and Nevaeh shook her head and held up a finger. She said to Alys, “They found The Griffon? I thought it had sunk.”
“It did, it went down completely, but Monsieur Broussard and most of his crew were able to get to lifeboats, and were rescued. Is this not the most wonderful news? I knew you would want to know right away.”
No, it was not wonderful frigging news. What had happened? How had he escaped?
But she said aloud, “Yes, of course it is. Where is he?”
“He is here, in Lyon, at the hospital.”
“Jean-Pierre is in Lyon? But how is this possible? I thought The Griffon was somewhere near Malaysia. What was he doing in Lyon? At headquarters?”
Kiera stiffened next to her, then frantically began tapping on her phone.
“I do not know the whole story, Dr. Patel. I only know he was saved, and escorted back by his close protection team. There was a break-in at Galactus, terrorists, shooting. An explosion. They are saying the terrorist known as Khaleed Al-Asaad is responsible. Many people are dead, though not our people. They were all safe, at home, as you wished. You were right to close headquarters. But why would terrorists attack Galactus?”
“It is an excellent question, Alys. We shall have to work with the authorities on an answer.”
“Dr. Patel, as soon as I heard, I knew I needed to call you. Monsieur Broussard is in surgery and Claudette won’t disclose anything else to me. What should I do? The media wants a comment from the company.”
“I will speak to Claudette mys
elf. Put me through.”
Kiera put a warning hand on Nevaeh’s thigh, said quietly, “We don’t know what’s happening. They might be tracing this call.”
Nevaeh waved her hand at the high canopy of trees out the bedroom window. “We are safe. No one can find us here. And I scrambled the call, as always.”
Broussard’s secretary came on the line. “Dr. Patel? Where are you?”
“I’m at the spaceport, of course, handling the next launch. Is it true what Alys said? Jean-Pierre lives?”
Claudette’s voice was cool. “Really? You’re at the spaceport?”
“Yes, I took the Quints jet here as planned.”
“We need you back at headquarters, Dr. Patel, immediately.”
“You didn’t answer me, Claudette. Is Mr. Broussard alive or not? Alys said the media is reporting he’s in Lyon, in the hospital.”
Another small pause. “Yes, he is alive.”
Nevaeh tried to sound as delighted as possible. “It is wonderful news. I’ve been worried sick.”
“When can you return, Dr. Patel?”
“As soon as possible. Our pilots are not here. Please send the plane for me, Claudette. With luck, I will be home by nightfall. And Claudette, thank you for calling Alys and having her contact me. Now, a statement must be coordinated. The release should say—”
“Mr. Broussard has already drafted the statement for me, Dr. Patel.”
Why hadn’t he called her himself? Well, he was in surgery, but why did he pick Claudette?
“Very good. Again, I will try to be back to Lyon by this evening. You can coordinate anything else through Alys until my return.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She clicked off. Alys came back on the line.
Alys said, “Do you have any instructions for me? Headquarters is a disaster, someone will have to coordinate a cleanup and renovation.”
“Feel free to start discussing a solution with Claudette. In the meantime, I am going to call the hospital and see if I can speak to Jean-Pierre. I will be in touch.”
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