The image on the screen went black, and Hayden spoke again. “Fifty of their men entered the Sears Tower, including their man Titan. Half of them locked down the lobby, and shut down the elevators. The other half went up with Titan and took hostages on the Skydeck. Somewhere in the middle, they dropped off a bunch of explosives. When the clock strikes one, the tower comes down. Hickory, dickory, dock.” Hayden looked over at McCann and raised his eyebrows. “That sound about right to you, Colonel?”
McCann stood again. “To be more specific, we know there are five thermobaric explosive devices positioned on the sixty-eighth floor of the tower. They are triggered by remote so the Red Moon can improvise on the fly if they need to detonate early. When those bombs go off, the structural integrity of the tower will be compromised, and the weight of the floors above should do the rest. The damage and loss of human life would be nothing short of catastrophic, which is why we’re going to stop it from happening. Major Ellison, take them through our plan.”
Chapter 21
Ellison stood, clearing his throat to address the room. “At precisely 1200 hours we will launch Operation Wind Gust and begin our assault on the Sears Tower. Blue Team, led by Captain Sawyer, will breach the tower on the ground floor through the Wacker Drive and Franklin Street entrances. They will overwhelm and suppress the hostiles there in a matter of seconds.
“At the same time, Red Team, led by myself, along with Talon, Gauntlet, and G-Force, will insert from a Blackhawk by fast-roping onto the roof of the tower. We will take the service stairs down five floors of empty space to the Skydeck located on floor 103. Once there, Gauntlet and G-Force will neutralize the terrorists while Red Team secures the hostages and evacuates to the roof. Talon will then engage and neutralize the target designated as Titan.”
“And where am I in all this?” Nyx rolled her eyes. “Playing cheerleader down on the street?”
Ellison’s shoulders tensed, but before he could speak, Colonel McCann fielded the question. “Not even close, Nyx. You’re actually the lynchpin to this whole operation. Go ahead and tell her, Major.”
“At 1200 hours, as we breach the tower, Nyx will teleport herself and an explosive ordnance disposal team directly to the 68th floor. Once there, she will neutralize any hostiles while EOD disposes of the bombs.”
Jeremy’s head reeled. Using words like “engage” and “neutralize” made everything sound so clean—but Jeremy knew the truth, and the truth was far from clean. The truth was ugly. They were being asked to fight and kill fifty heavily armed, highly trained men. The truth was that one of those men was an indestructible giant monster, and at any time the terrorists could detonate the tower and kill them all. So even if it looked like the good guys were winning, they were still going to lose. The truth was, the whole idea was insane.
“This is crazy.” Nyx laughed—hard. “You said those bombs were on remote, right? EOD isn’t going to get close to them. The first sign of trouble and we’re already dead.”
Colonel McCann rose to his feet. “We believe that EOD has a reasonable chance for success, otherwise we wouldn’t send them in. Under the circumstances, a reasonable chance sounds pretty good to me. Now this is the best plan we’ve got in the time we have left. If there are any other questions, let’s clear them up now.”
Agent Hayden slowly raised his hand. “Just the same question I’ve had since this whole mess started.”
McCann looked down at the man, and his jaw tightened. “We know your reservations, Agent Hayden—”
“Then maybe you can tell me why you’re rushing them into something they’re clearly not ready for? You’re going to cost us everything.”
Ellison answered before McCann could open his mouth, as if he was waiting for the chance to speak. “Agent Hayden, we have our orders. Why don’t you show some faith in the team you’ve assembled?”
Hayden smirked. “Oh, I have faith, Major. I know exactly how this is going to play out.”
And then it was all too much for Jeremy. He stood up, pushing his chair back from the table, and there was silence.
Jeremy shook his head. “I’m not doing this.”
“What’s that?” Colonel McCann barked across the table.
Jeremy looked down at his feet. He could feel the eyes staring at him and the anger seething in the room; he repeated. “I’m not doing this. It’s a suicide mission, and I’m not going. I’m out. I’m done.”
Jeremy turned his back on the table and walked toward his room.
McCann’s voice shouted after him. “G-Force, get back here!”
Ellison answered, just as loud, “Let him go! We don’t need him, Colonel.”
Then McCann roared again from the table, “G-Force!”
Jeremy’s door slid shut behind him, and the voices were gone, lost in the other room. He sat down on his bed, and lowered his head into his hands. He knew before he ever spoke what their reactions were going to be—he knew there would be anger—and he tried to brace himself against it—to convince himself it didn’t matter. But it didn’t work. Even so, he had given them his answer. He was done now—almost.
Jeremy heard his door slide open. He heard the tap of high-heeled footsteps in his room, and then he heard the door slide closed again. He was ready for this too.
He spoke without looking up. “I told you I was done. I meant it.”
There was no answer. Jeremy looked up. Just as he expected, Lara stood in his room. Whether she was sent in or if she came on her own accord, it didn’t matter. Jeremy knew she would be standing here eventually, telling him why he couldn’t leave. He tried to brace himself again, but as he looked up at Lara, there was no anger in her face—nothing like he felt from the others. No disappointment. In Lara it was something else—a sadness. She still didn’t speak.
Jeremy stood up from the bed. “I know I can’t stay here. I get that. I can go back to Philly—take my chances there.”
Lara stepped forward, her eyes wandering over the room. “Their plan can’t work without you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, well, it can’t work with me either. The whole thing’s a suicide, and I don’t want to die in Chicago.”
Lara stepped behind the desk chair and reached for the Penn State hoodie draped over the back of it. She picked it up, unfolded the sweatshirt to see the logo, and then she wrapped it in half again. She lifted it up to her face to smell the cotton, the same way Jeremy had done a thousand times before. He wanted to say something—wanted to explain…
“Lara, listen—”
“You’re afraid.” Lara lowered the sweatshirt from her face, but she still held it tight in both of her hands.
Jeremy realized what she was doing. “That doesn’t work on me, remember? I’m spiked.”
“It’ll work for this.”
“Then you’re wrong.” Jeremy shook his head. “I’m not scared.”
“No. You’re right, it’s…it’s not fear.” Lara looked down at the sweatshirt again; she was concentrating. “It’s something else. It feels like fear, but it’s closer to guilt…guilt and your father.”
“You need to go.”
“Oh my god, that’s it.” Lara laughed silently to herself. “You’re scared you’re going to disappoint your dad. You’re going to walk away from all of this—from all of us—”
“You don’t know me, Lara. I don’t care what feelings you pull out of a sweatshirt. And you sure as hell don’t know my dad.”
“I know he’s dead!”
The words filled the empty space, soaking up the air between them until there was nothing left to breathe. Jeremy sat back down on the bed and folded his hands.
Lara tried to answer, “Jeremy, I—”
“No.” Jeremy’s voice was halting. “You’re right. He’s gone. And everything he was as a person—that’s gone too. All except me. I’m all of my dad that’s left in this world, and I’m all my mom has left, and you’re asking me to throw that away on strangers. And I can’t. I’m not that selfish.”<
br />
Lara smiled, but it was hollow and sad; she laid the sweatshirt down over the back of his chair and ran her hands across the top, smoothing out the creases. “You keep risking your life to help other people. You did it with the bus, and then again in the mall, and even standing up for Nyx with Ellison. It’s called compassion, Jeremy, and it’s pure. Most people don’t come close to feeling something like that their whole lives, but it’s in you. It’s who you are.”
Lara looked away. For a second she seemed lost, searching to find the right words. “If you want to bottle up what you’re feeling and hide who you are for the sake of your parents, I can’t stop you, but risking your life to save some stranger—that’s not selfish.”
Jeremy didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Lara turned away and walked out of the room, and he still sat on the bed, frozen.
She was right. He knew she was right. He’d spent his whole life trying to meet the standards set by his parents, hiding his thoughts and feelings—hiding himself away under a thousand layers of their expectations. And now—now when it finally mattered—Jeremy knew there might not be enough of him left underneath. He kept that person bottled up for too long, and he suffocated—there was no room to breathe.
The door opened, and Jeremy stepped out into the Rec Room. Everyone else was still gathered around the conference table. They had been talking, five or six voices all going at once, but when his door opened, the whole room fell silent. They were all watching him now—waiting.
Jeremy walked to the table, and when he spoke, his voice sounded thin. “When a bomb explodes, it’s really just expanding. Am I right?”
Silence.
“So what if we put the bomb in a bottle? What if we stop it from expanding?”
Across the table, John Langer clapped his hands together and then started wagging his finger at Jeremy, laughing. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, it would have to be one hell of bottle. We’re talking upwards of plus twenty—easy. And it would have to be big too—probably cover the whole floor of the building—but yeah… I mean, if you could actually do something like that, I think it could work.”
Then, suddenly, Langer remembered where he was and whom he was talking to, and the excitement in his voice fell away. “I mean, I think that plan could possibly work, sir. I guess.”
Colonel McCann glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Langer before glaring back at Jeremy. “I thought you quit. You want to explain what the hell you’re talking about?”
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy stood rigid, facing the colonel. “I’m talking about giving us a chance.”
Chapter 22
The Blackhawk helicopter flew low over Lake Michigan, its rotors beating air down on the water sending waves and whitecaps off in choppy circles. Jeremy stared out the open cargo door, watching the broken water race away under the Blackhawk’s shadow. The roar of the engine filled the empty space in the helicopter’s cabin, making it hard to think. Jeremy’s leg bounced up and down. He still couldn’t believe he was here—that he had allowed Lara to maneuver him here. Then again, he hadn’t put up much of a fight.
Jeremy closed his eyes and tried again to focus. It didn’t work. The pounding of the rotor blades beat inside his head. He told himself that he knew what he had to do. They had gone over the new plan a dozen times back at Fort Blaney, Ellison talking them through each step along the way. They reviewed it again in the convoy from Blaney to the airfield, and then twice more on the flight to Chicago. Still, Jeremy tried to repeat it again in his head.
Step one, travel by Blackhawk helicopter to the insertion point. Check.
Step two—and then it was all gone. He couldn’t remember—couldn’t concentrate—not with the incessant noise flooding his senses. Jeremy opened his eyes.
He sat on the right side of the Blackhawk next to the door. Two soldiers in gray camouflage, each one armed with an M-4, sat beside him. Across the cabin, facing him, there were two more soldiers and Major Ellison. Ellison wore the same gray camo as the other soldiers, his M-4 rifle pointed down between his knees, and he was staring back at Jeremy.
A voice crackled over the receiver in Jeremy’s ear. “Major, we’re approaching the last waypoint now. Are we green?”
Ellison touched the contact mic on his throat. “Roger that. We are green. I repeat, we are green.”
Ellison raised his rifle to his chest, pulled back the charging handle, and let go, letting the bolt snap shut. He pushed the contact mic back against his throat. “All teams, weapons check.”
Jeremy remembered this part from Ellison’s briefing. Weapons check meant they were one minute out. He looked down at his empty hands and shook his head. Jeremy had wanted a gun too. He asked Ellison before they left for a handgun, or a knife, or anything. Ellison said he wasn’t trained for those weapons and walked away. He didn’t even look Jeremy in the eye when he said it—it was like he wanted him to fail.
Jeremy closed his fists. He wondered what his dad would say about jumping into a building filled with terrorists and explosives. The word “stupid” suddenly came to mind.
The Blackhawk banked hard to the right, and Jeremy looked out the open door. Lake Michigan was gone now. Instead, he could see the white sides of buildings whip by as the helicopter traced over the Chicago River.
Ellison pressed the contact mic against his throat. “G-Force, your altimeter alert is set for the seventieth floor. You need to stop at the sixty-eighth. We only have one shot at this.”
Jeremy forced a smile. “Too easy, Major.”
“We’ll see about that.”
The Blackhawk turned suddenly back to the left, following the bend in the river, and then it started to climb, fast. Jeremy felt his stomach fall away at the sudden change in altitude.
Ellison leaned forward again. “You look scared, G-Force.”
This time Jeremy didn’t answer.
The Blackhawk leveled out, and Jeremy’s stomach settled back in its proper place. He looked down through the open door. They were hovering in place 100 feet above the Sears Tower.
The pilot’s voice broke loud over the radio, “Go, go, go! Now, now, now!
Jeremy turned to the open door and stepped out, falling in a wash of air.
Then, for a second, there was real fear—a genuine panic as the roof of the tower rushed up to meet him—but Jeremy was only afraid for the second. Then the feeling turned to anticipation and adrenaline. He wanted this. He chose this. He hit the center of the tower feet first, and the roof gave way like eggshells under a hammer. He kept falling. He crashed against the floor below and broke through again. Then again. And again.
Jeremy was in free-fall now through the middle of the tower. He didn’t feel anything underneath of him, and he didn’t slow down. If the roof was like eggshell, the floors underneath were something even less—more like tissue paper.
A siren blast sounded in Jeremy’s ear. He was two floors away from his target. Another crash. Now only one. Jeremy reached up over his head, grabbing at the air above him. He needed to slow down—more than that, he needed to stop. Now! Another crash. Jeremy strained his fingers out—reaching—and then it all changed. Suddenly, he was floating—hanging in mid-air like a day old balloon. There was no weight. No speed. Then Jeremy took a breath, and the moment passed. He fell again, but this time he landed on the floor and stayed.
It all happened so fast—the falling and the adrenaline—that it was hard for Jeremy to focus. He looked down at his feet. He was standing on a pile of shattered debris, the remains of the floors he’d fallen through to get here. He looked up. A cloud of fine white dust still wafted down through the gaping hole above him, coating his shoulders and his hair. Jeremy coughed and blinked his eyes against the cloud. Was he even on the right floor?
“Don’t move!” a voice suddenly screamed behind him.
Jeremy turned, slowly, raising his hands. The man standing in front of him was dressed all in black, with a heavy black beard. He held an AK-47 tucked against his shoulder, and a sheen
of sweat was on his face.
“Don’t move,” the man repeated, his voice lower now, but still like iron.
Jeremy looked past him. A red, blinking light from over the man’s shoulder caught his attention. Jeremy leaned his head to the side for a better look. The flashing light was some kind of indicator. It was coming from the front of a black box bolted onto the drywall. Jeremy could also see a strand of red wire snaking out of the side of the box and connected to a small antenna fixed to the top. Then he knew exactly what it was, and what it was for.
Jeremy lowered his hands.
The man screamed again, “Don’t move!”
And then Jeremy was out of time.
*****
Nyx flashed into the tower, and for a second, she felt sick. It was like her stomach had twisted over and all her blood had rushed into her head. She hated the feeling after a jump, but this time it was more intense than usual. It had to be the distance. Long distance jumps were always the worst.
She cursed under her breath. She should have been ready for the nausea, but she wasn't. She could feel herself sway, unsteady as her stomach flipped again. She tightened her grip on Gauntlet's forearm, holding herself up—trying not to retch.
She had jumped Gauntlet into the tower too, but if he was suffering from nausea like she was, Nyx couldn't tell. He stood beside her in his crimson armor like a rock—unmoving, unshaken. Nyx tried to take a deep breath and settle herself. After all, if Gauntlet could do it, so could she.
The scene unfolding before them was one of pure chaos. A dozen men dressed in black, each armed with a rifle or submachine gun, were shouting to one another, pointing, and then shouting again. They were shuffling around a gaping hole left in the floor and staring up at another hole torn through the ceiling.
The terrorists weren't alone. Nyx could see another group of people huddled to her left, kneeling on the floor with their hands folded behind their heads and their feet crossed at the ankles. They all had their heads bowed, looking down at the floor. She could see that some of them were shaking—most were crying.
ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1) Page 21