The Edge of Armageddon

by David Leadbeater

  An RPG screamed through the air, impacting with a chopper and exploding. The bird lost control, metal ripping away in all directions, fire engulfing the black shell, and fell without power towards the ferry’s top deck.

  Toward the running SPEAR team.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  Drake heard the change in the helicopter’s engine note and knew, without checking, that the machine was hurtling toward them. If that wasn’t enough the extending predatorial shadow spreading across the deck drilled it home.

  Run or die.

  He crashed shoulder first into an outer door, ripping the whole framework away from the hinges and falling into the area beyond. Bodies dived after him, rolling, sprawling, scrambling and jostling. The chopper came down hard, rotors shearing off and metal shell disintegrating. Everything from fragments to arm-length spears chopped at the air, slicing it apart. The ferry swayed and groaned, water churning to left and right.

  A fireball shot up toward the other choppers who took immediate evasive action, pure luck preventing them from colliding. Streamers of fire licked around the top deck too, starting new conflagrations, and charring paintwork and metal pillars, melting paint. A rotor bent as it smashed against a stanchion to Drake’s right, bouncing to the floor with all momentum abruptly halted. Other flying missiles smashed windows and pierced framework, one terrible barb passing straight through the side of the boat and heading out to sea. Drake felt a lick of flame as the heat passed over him, looked under his shoulder and saw the entire team prone, Smyth even lying on top of Lauren. The explosion passed and they stared to rise, and then Gator took events to the level of utter madness.

  Lunacy.

  The next RPG came up through the boat itself, streaking out of the missile launcher and shattering decks as it flew. The explosion occurred as it breached their deck, sending more gouts of fire and deadly debris their way. Drake groaned as splinters drove into his scalp and shoulder, relieved that the pain showed him he was still alive. Taking one moment to breathe, he checked out the new environment ahead.

  A jagged hole had been blown through the deck. Heaps of timber lay all around. Smoke and fire streamed through the once-enclosed middle-upper-deck.

  “Way’s clear,” he said.

  “Only to you!” Lauren almost screamed.

  “Then stay,” Kenzie spat as she pulled at Dahl’s shoulder. “You all right, Torst?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Put me down.”

  Drake set off at half pace, more wary than he could remember being in his entire life. The group behind him bunched together, knowing exactly where he was headed. At the last moment, as he’d expected, Dahl appeared right at his shoulder.

  “We doing it, pal?”

  “Damn fucking right we are.”

  And down they leapt, through the new hole, feet first and eyes searching for enemies. They hit the lower deck hard, rolling, unmolested, and came up with guns leveled.

  “Clear!” Drake cried.

  Boots struck the hard deck at their backs.

  Kenzie came last, and Drake saw, first—that she had removed her heavyweight inner jacket and, second—that she had wrapped it around the base of a three-foot long, splintered part of the chopper’s rotor. Her face was smug when she turned it upon the Swede.

  “Now,” she said, “I have my weapon.”

  “Gods help us.”

  They stormed the vessel as one, taking the fight to Ramses and Gator. The ferry gained speed with every moment that passed. Liberty Island grew too, larger and larger on the skyline.

  “Doesn’t the maniac realize he won’t reach the statue?” Kinimaka panted.

  “Don’t say it,” Hayden snapped back. “Do not say it.”

  “Oh, yeah I get it.”

  “They won’t sink this ferry,” Dahl assured them. “The bay’s not deep enough to absorb a . . . well, you know what.”

  On the next deck down they finally found their quarry. Gator guarded the door whilst Ramses piloted the ferry. In the mold of his already-revealed partiality to madness the bombmaker let loose the RPG he’d prepared for just such a moment. Drake couldn’t help but gasp and shout for everyone to take cover, and then the missile was streaking up the center of the ferry at head height, a trail of smoke pluming behind and propelled by Gator’s manic laughter.

  “You like thaaaat? You catch iiiit? We already dieeee!”

  Drake looked up and found Gator almost on top of him, running in the wake of the missile, carrying his rocket launcher with him. The missile itself sped through the ferry and exited the back end, exploding in mid-air. Gator swung the rocket launcher at Drake’s head.

  The Yorkshireman ducked as Ramses finally turned, one hand resting nonchalantly on the wheel.

  “You are already too late,” he said.

  Drake struck up at Gator’s stomach, but the man danced back, still wielding his cumbersome weapon. To be fair it held the team back for an extra moment. Nobody wanted to get planted by such a meaty stick, but the inside of the ferry was a large space and gave Dahl and the others plenty of maneuverability. Gator snarled and swung around and then ran straight to Ramses, the terrorist prince now holding a semi-automatic. Drake noted the pack strapped to Gator’s back.

  “You only delay the inevitable,” Ramses intoned.

  Spraying the inside of the ferry with one hand, he amended the course a little with the other, targeting Liberty Island.

  “You were never bothered about living?” Drake said, from behind a stanchion. “The bazaar? The castle? The elaborate plan to escape? What the hell was all that?”

  “Ah, the bazaar was simply a—how do you say—‘clearout’ sale? A disposal of all my worldly goods. The castle—a goodbye and means to an end. You did take me straight to New York, after all. And the escape plan—yes a little elaborate I’ll grant you that. But do you see now? You’re already too late. The clock is ticking.”

  Drake didn’t know exactly what Ramses meant but the implication was clear. Stepping out from cover, he sprayed the wheelhouse with bullets and ran in the wake of them, his team at his side. No more talking; this was his endgame. Ramses staggered back, blood fountaining from his shoulder. Gator screamed as rounds entered his body. Glass covered both terrorists in a jagged spray.

  Drake smashed the door and then slipped, bouncing off the framework and skidding to an abrupt halt, cursing his luck. Dahl leapt over him, Kenzie at his side. The two entered the wheelhouse and raised weapons to kill. Ramses met them with all the force of a seven-foot-tall, muscle-bound madman, grinning like a feral, rabid dog; he barged and tried to fling them about.

  Dahl was having none of it, standing up to the brute strength and absorbing all blows. Kenzie danced around them both, striking at Ramses’ flanks like she would a dangerous wolf. The radical prince pummeled the Swede. A shoulder barge made Dahl shudder. Immensely powerful hands gripped the Swede’s throat and began to squeeze. Bringing his own arms up, Dahl half-broke the hold and then took one himself; both men swaying and clutching until neither could breathe. Ramses swung Dahl around and slammed his back against a wall, but the Swede’s only reaction was to crack a wider smile.

  Kenzie leaped into the air, raising an elbow that she brought down with crushing strength, right onto Ramses’ leaking bullet wound. Never expecting one blow to end such a struggle, she then followed up with a punch to the man’s throat even as he screamed, causing his eyes to bulge.

  Then Ramses, staggering, covered in blood, pulled away, retching. Dahl let him go, sensing the end. The terrorist’s eyes latched onto the Swede’s and there was no sign of defeat in them.

  “I will take this moment as one of victory,” he croaked. “And crush the heart of capitalism.”

  He reached out as if to touch Gator.

  Dahl fired in reaction. A round slammed into Ramses’ stomach, knocking him back.

  Gator leapt and fell towards Ramses.

  The terrorist prince managed to catch hold of the backpack strapped to Gator’s fal
ling back, his outstretched hand gripping an exposed blue wire as they both collapsed.

  Kenzie shot forward, targeting the arm that held the wire with the only weapon she kept close, the best weapon she had—the crude katana. Her blade chopped down swiftly, severing Ramses’ arm at the shoulder, wrenching a look of intense surprise from the terrorist.

  The arm hit the floor at the same time as Gator, but the fingers still grasped the now exposed end of the blue wire.

  “Failsafe,” Ramses coughed. “You were right to attack me in such a way. The clock wasn’t ticking. But . . .” A spasm wracked him, blood leaking fast from abdomen, arm and left shoulder.

  “It . . . is . . . now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Drake scrambled across the floor, rolling Gator onto his stomach as the madman giggled into the bloody deck. Dahl dropped beside him, pain, horror and foreboding written all over his face. The strap was buckled down, but Drake had it open in a moment and then eased the metal casing clear of the rough material.

  The countdown timer faced them, its flashing red numbers as menacing and terrible as the blood that spread across the floor beneath their knees.

  “Forty minutes,” Hayden spoke first, her voice hushed. “Don’t play with it, Drake. Defuse that thing right now.”

  Drake was already turning the bomb as he had the last. Kinimaka handed him an opened utility knife, which he took to the screws, moving carefully, wary of the plethora of booby traps a bombmaker like Gator could put into play. When he had the device clear of the mad terrorist he glanced up at Alicia.

  “Say no more,” she said, grabbed the man under the arms and dragged him away. For this kind of killer there would be no mercy.

  With a steady hand, he removed the bomb’s front plate. Folded blue wires came with it, stretching alarmingly.

  “It’s not a fucking pipe bomb,” Dahl whispered. “Be careful.”

  Drake paused to stare at his friend. “Do you want to do this?”

  “And be responsible for setting it off? Not really. No.”

  Drake chewed on his lower lip, hyper aware of all the factors involved. The flashing countdown was an ever present reminder of how little time they had left.

  Hayden called Moore. Kinimaka called the bomb squad. Someone else called NEST. All angles were covered as Drake took a look at the device, and information rapidly flooded in.

  “Pull the wires again,” Dahl suggested.

  “Too risky.”

  “I’m guessing there’s no motion sensor this time judging by the way Gator was running around.”

  “Correct. And we can’t re-employ your sledgehammer idea.”

  “Collapsing circuit?”

  “That’s the issue. They already used something new—a failsafe wire. And this bastard is the real thing. If I tamper with this it could go off.”

  Gator made unearthly noises from the other room as Alicia worked. It wasn’t long before she stuck her head through the shattered door. “He says the bomb does have an anti-tamper switch.” She shrugged. “But then I guess he would.”

  “No time,” Dahl said. “There’s no bloody time for that.”

  Drake glanced at the timer. Already they were down to thirty five minutes. He rocked back on his haunches. “Shit, we can’t risk it. How long ‘til the bomb squad get here?”

  “Five minutes tops,” Kinimaka said as choppers pounded down onto the ferry’s decks wherever they could. Others hovered just above as first responders jumped. “But what if they can’t defuse it?”

  “How about throwing it into the bay?” Lauren suggested.

  “Nice idea, but it’s too shallow,” Hayden had already asked Moore. “Contaminated water would saturate the city.”

  Drake rocked back and forth, contemplating madness, and then caught Dahl’s eyes. The same idea was in the Swede’s, he knew. Through the locked gaze they communicated directly and easily.

  We can do it. It’s the only way.

  We’d be blind. Outcome unknown. Once started, there’s no going back. We’d be taking a one-way trip.

  So what the hell are you waiting for? Mount up, motherfucker.

  Drake responded to the challenge in Dahl’s eyes and straightened. Taking a deep breath he strapped on his rifle, holstered his guns and pulled the nuke free of the backpack. Hayden stared at him with wide eyes, a perceptive frown on her face.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You know exactly what we’re doing.”

  “The safe distances might not add up. For you, I mean.”

  “Then they won’t.” Drake shrugged. “But we all know there’s only one way to save this city.”

  Drake hefted the nuke and Dahl led the way. Alicia stopped him for one more precious moment.

  “You’re leaving after just one kiss? Do not let this be the shortest relationship of my life.”

  “I’m surprise you haven’t had shorter.”

  “I’m purposely discounting the guy I decided I liked, shagged, then got bored of in about eight minutes.”

  “Oh, good. Then I’ll see you in a few.”

  Alicia held him with her eyes alone, holding the rest of her body absolutely still. “Come back soon.”

  Hayden pushed between Drake and Dahl, talking fast, relaying information from Moore and keeping her eyes out for first responders who might be able to help.

  “They’re saying the bomb has a payload of five to eight kilotons. Taking into account its bulk, weight and the speed at which it will sink . . .” She paused. “The safe depth is eighteen hundred feet . . .”

  Drake listened, but headed up the nearest stairs toward the top deck. “We need the fastest chopper you’ve got,” he told the approaching pilot. “No fucking about. No whining. Just hand us the goddamn keys.”

  “We don’t—”

  Hayden interrupted. “Yeah, eighteen hundred feet to neutralize all that radiation according to NEST command. Shit, you’ll need to be eighty miles offshore.”

  Drake felt the bomb’s metal casing slip a little through the sweat that coated his fingers. “In thirty minutes? Ain’t gonna happen. What else you got?”

  Hayden blanched. “Nothing, Drake. They got nothing.”

  “That sledgehammer’s starting to look good now,” Dahl commented.

  Drake noticed Alicia shoot past, heading out onto the top deck and looking out to sea. What was she searching for out there?

  A pilot approached, Bluetooth device flashing at the base of his helmet. “We got the fastest goddamn chopper in the Army,” he drawled. “Bell SuperCobra. Two hundred miles per hour if you push her.”

  Drake turned to Hayden. “Will that work?”

  “I think so.” She did a few mental arithmetic calculations in her head. “Wait, that can’t be right.”

  Drake clung onto the nuke, the red numbers still flashing, Dahl at his side. “Come on!”

  “Eighty miles,” she said, running. “Yes, you can do it. But that’ll leave you only . . . three minutes to get the hell out of there. You won’t escape the blast zone!”

  Drake approached the SuperCobra without slowing, eyes taking in the sleek gray shape, turret mounts, three barrel cannons, rocket pods and Hellfire missile launchers.

  “That’ll do,” he said.

  “Drake,” Hayden stopped him. “Even if you do drop the nuke safely the blast will destroy you.”

  “Then stop wasting our time,” the Yorkshireman said. “Unless you or Moore or any of the other bods in your head know of another way?”

  Hayden listened to the data, advice and intelligence Moore was constantly passing on. Drake felt the ferry bobbing on the rolling waters, saw the skyline of Manhattan in the near distance, even made out the ant-like scurrying of people already returning to their lives. Military vessels, speedboats and choppers sat all around, manned by many who would give their lives to save this day.

  But it came down to just two.

  Drake and Dahl climbed aboard the SuperCobra, receiving a cras
h course in its operation from the exiting pilot.

  “Godspeed,” he said, departing. “And good luck.”

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  Drake passed the nuke to Dahl, a little smile on his face. “Figured you’d want to do the honors, mate.”

  The Swede hefted the bomb and climbed into the rear of the chopper. “I’m not sure I can trust you to drive in a straight line.”

  “It’s not a car. And I do believe we already established I can drive better than you.”

  “Why’s that? I don’t remember it that way.”

  “I’m English. You ain’t.”

  “And what exactly does nationality have to do with it?” Dahl slipped into a seat.

  “Pedigree,” Drake said. “Stewart. Hamilton. Hunt. Button. Hill. And more. The closest Sweden came to winning F1 was when Finland came first.”

  Dahl laughed, buckling in and setting the black metal casing along his lap, pulling the door closed. “Don’t talk so loud, Drake. The bomb might be equipped with a ‘bollocks’ sensor.”

  “Then we’re already fucked.”

  Hauling on the cyclic stick he lifted the chopper clear of the ferry after checking that the skies above were clear. Sunlight flashed behind and caught the city’s million reflective surfaces, giving him a little reminder of why they were doing this. Upturned faces stared with respect from the deck below, many of them his friends and family, his team mates. Kenzie and Mai stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces expressionless, but it was the Israeli who ultimately made him smile.

  She tapped her watch and mouthed: Get a fuckin’ move on.

  Alicia was nowhere to be seen, nor Beau. Drake sent the military chopper swooping low over the waves and on a straight course across the Atlantic. Winds crisscrossed their path and sunlight glimmered atop every rolling swell. Horizons hung suspended to all sides, vaults of light blue sky competing with the awe-inspiring vastness of the seas. The epic skyline at their back fell away as the minutes and seconds ticked slowly toward zero.