“Where’s the chopper?” he bellowed, ignoring the bone-numbing cold. “I ordered a chopper to be here!”
“General!” His American aide hurried forward, both hands clamping his hat to his head. “The chopper pilot won’t fly in this storm. He says we have to wait.”
“Nein!” A flood of curses flew from Kord’s mouth, and the aide stepped back, his face going pale. Kord flashed him a look of disdain, then lowered his head and strode toward the hangar.
Slamming through the door, he marched toward a knot of men huddled around an electric heater.
“Who is the chopper pilot?” Kord demanded, spitting the words.
A tall, lanky man in a pilot’s jumpsuit peeled himself off a stool, then paused deliberately to sip from the steaming Styrofoam cup in his hand. “I guess that’d be me,” he finally answered, his voice flat.
Kord turned to face the man directly. “You will get your chopper and fly me to the SAGE base,” he said, bridled anger in his voice. “We will leave now. It is 11:35, and I have no time for argument.”
The pilot’s jaw clenched as he rejected Kord’s order. “I’m not flying in this weather. The wind is gusting and unpredictable; it’s too dangerous.”
“I command you!”
The pilot flushed to the roots of his brown hair, but he did not move. “I’m not yours to command. I’m a Canadian, and I’ll have nothing to do with your cursed Community.”
Kord choked on his own fury, then turned to the snipers who had come with him. “You are qualified to fly; I checked your records. Which of you will handle the chopper?”
Violence bubbled beneath the surface of Kord’s skin as the two looked stupidly at each other. “Fools! You!” He pointed to the smaller of the two. “You will pilot the helicopter.” He looked at the other sniper. “You will ride with us. And we will reach Daniel Prentice in time.”
“General—” The first man stepped forward as if he would protest, but Kord pulled the Glock 17 from his coat and brandished it before both men’s startled faces.
“I will accept no debate. Now, to the chopper, both of you.” He looked at his aide, whose face had gone blank with shock. “You will wait here until we return.”
The aide nodded and backed away, probably afraid Kord would change his mind and take him with them. Nothing would stop Kord now. He moved back out into the snow-chilled wind, his heart pounding in anticipation.
In less than fifteen minutes, he and Daniel Prentice would meet face-to-face on neutral territory. And this time, Kord would walk away the victor.
THIRTY-EIGHT
11:59 P.M., Friday, December 31, 1999
DANIEL POSITIONED LAUREN NEXT TO THE CABIN WALL WITH THE MICROPHONE in her hand, double-checked his battery power, and picked up the small video camera. Though his fingers were red and numb from cold, a thread of perspiration trickled between his shoulder blades. His heart pounded in a crazy and erratic rhythm, but his mind was sharp, focused to an ice pick’s point.
With the wind howling over the frozen wasteland outside, it was hard to imagine a festive party in New York, so Daniel tried to establish the proper mood. “Romulus is in Times Square right now, Lauren,” he whispered, squinting at her through the camera viewfinder. “He’s watching that sparkling ball as it comes down the pole, and the crowd is chanting the countdown. In a moment they’ll be cheering him, and that’s when we’ll break in to tell the truth.”
A lantern burned in a corner of the room, and in its golden light Daniel saw Lauren moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue, then insinuate her free hand into Tasha’s fur. Grateful for the attention, the dog looked up and seemed to smile at her mistress.
“Okay.” Daniel looked at his watch. “It’s midnight.” They both caught their breath—they had agreed to wait thirty seconds to let the tumult of celebration die down—and when the second hand of Daniel’s watch swept past the six, he lifted his arm and brought it down in a decisive stroke.
Bright artificial light flooded the cabin. Lauren’s eyes narrowed for an instant, then the professional spokeswoman in her took charge. “Good evening, all who love freedom.” Because she knew every word was important, Lauren had rehearsed her speech on the long drive, but Daniel felt as though he were hearing it for the first time.
“I am Lauren Mitchell Prentice, executive assistant to President Stedman, and I have an urgent message for you. The man you know as Adrian Romulus is not the charismatic world leader he pretends to be. He is a murderer, a charlatan, and a base criminal. He is responsible not only for the death of First Lady Victoria Stedman, but also for the poisoning of the president, the deaths of Brad and Christine Hunter, and the perpetuation of the Morning Star Trust hoax. There are no world terrorists, my friends, there are no nuclear devices planted in New York, Tokyo, London, or Paris. Adrian Romulus is merely trying to subjugate the world through fear so he may rise to power as a world dictator.”
Lauren’s eyes glittered with intensity, and Daniel doubted that anyone in the world could watch and not believe her. “If you find this hard to accept,” she went on, her voice calm and eminently reasonable, “search the ancient biblical manuscripts or any Bible you might happen to have in the house. The prophets of old predicted that a world dictator would come, that he would unite the globe in one government, one currency, and one religion. But any who follow this dictator will lose their lives and their souls, so I beg you tonight, I plead with you, do not believe Adrian Romulus. Do not accept his mark, which will be revealed in time. Do not—”
A sharp and bitter wind rushed through the cabin as the door suddenly swung open. Daniel lifted his head from the camera and leaned forward to see what had happened, then icy fear twisted around his heart.
General Herrick’s tall and lean form filled the doorway. A briefcase hung from one hand, and a dark rope dangled from the other.
Smiling, Herrick tossed the rope toward Daniel’s feet. It took Daniel a full ten seconds to realize what it meant, then his eyes met Lauren’s.
The cord on the floor was no rope at all. It was the wire leading from the cabin to the satellite dish . . . and it had been disconnected.
Kord stared at them for thirty seconds in full, satisfying silence. Lauren Mitchell’s countenance fell at the sight of the severed wire, and Prentice’s eyes blazed with indignant fury. But Kord had won.
“So delighted to see you again,Mr. Prentice.” He lowered his briefcase to the plank floor of the pitiful shack, then crossed his hands at his waist and lifted a brow in Prentice’s direction. “Are you ready to come with me? Or shall I kill you here and spare the Community a wearisome trial?”
Prentice shut off the camcorder and the video light, and in the sudden gloom shadows rippled over him like water over a sunken rock. He showed no more expression than a rock, either, as he sank to the floor and rested his arms upon his bent knees.
“Let Lauren go,” his voice was curiously flat, “and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
Kord leaned against the doorframe and glanced outside. The chopper had landed at the SAGE base, so it was out of sight, but the snipers had walked with Kord as he followed the wire. They were hidden now behind two pine trees, ready to pick off whoever came out of the cabin.
“I’d be happy to let her go.” He paused, and pulled the Glock from his pocket as casually as if he’d been reaching for a business card. “But you and I, Mr. Prentice, have a personal account to settle.” He glanced up and gave Prentice a conspiratorial wink. “You have insulted my master and my honor. I cannot let you leave this place alive.”
Prentice shrugged, then looked to the woman—his wife, Kord reminded himself.
“Daniel—” she began.
“Take Tasha and go,” Prentice interrupted. He looked at her with something very fragile in his eyes. “Remember what you said at our wedding . . . and have faith.”
She shook her head, obviously confused, but Prentice waved her away. She stood, about to rush to her husband’s side, but Kord shove
d his gun into the empty space between them. “I wouldn’t want to take on the two of you,” he said, shrugging. “I could shoot one of you with no trouble, but I’m too old to wrestle the other to the ground.” He softened his voice. “So please. Don’t make me choose between you. Do as he said, Miss Mitchell. Take the dog and go.”
Wrapping the dog’s leash around her arm, the woman took one step toward the doorway, then paused and glanced back at Prentice with a world of longing and sorrow in her eyes. Kord sighed impatiently, then brought his arm to her back and pushed her out into the storm.
When she had gone, he pulled the door shut and stepped into the center of the room. Prentice had not moved but sat motionless, staring at the briefcase in waiting silence.
“What’s that?” Prentice finally asked, though there was little sincere interest in his voice.
Kord gave Prentice the smile he used to freeze men’s blood. “It’s a suitcase bomb, Mr. Prentice. Rather like the one you designed for the Morning Star Trust.”
“I never—”
“Of course you didn’t. But when the Canadian police find your body here—if they find your body here—they’ll also discover whatever’s left of this little device. And while it’s not equipped with a nuclear warhead— you’re not worth that kind of firepower—the two triggering devices are exact replicas of the so-called ‘suitcase nukes’ that will be discovered—and safely recovered—tomorrow.” Kord smiled in the calm strength of knowledge. “Beijing, Tokyo, Baghdad, Toronto, and New York—those cities will praise Adrian Romulus’s name when his Community forces enter the land and roust the terrorists from their positions.”
“But most of those aren’t even EU countries,” Prentice pointed out, a pained expression on his face. “You can’t enter them.”
“We will, because we will have intelligence that tells us where the bombs are located. And, in gratitude, those countries will join our global community. Romulus will usher in an era of peace and safety, while warmongers like you, Mr. Prentice, will fall prey to an untimely end.”
Prentice gave him a quick, denying glance. “Not everyone will believe your lies.”
“Oh? And why not?”Kord glanced around the small space, then caught sight of a bag on the floor. A book protruded from the unzipped opening, and he bent forward to pick it up. “The Holy Bible?.” He tilted his head, then tossed the Bible onto the floor. “Christianity is the opiate of the masses, Mr. Prentice. Hasn’t history taught us that lesson? It is the panacea of fools, a delusion for the weak-minded. The new millennium will call for a new religion, a belief system in which man overcomes these fanciful notions about invisible spirits and supernatural powers.”
Prentice was beaten; he did not reply. Kord leaned against the wall as a smile crept to his lips. “It was a valiant effort, Mr. Prentice. A good training exercise, in fact. You tested virtually every element of our new systems.” “How’d you find us?”
“Voiceprint technology. Our surveillance satellite, the ‘big ear’ as it is so quaintly known, picked your voiceprint out of the worldwide net traffic when you called your mother’s neighbor. We tracked the call, then looked at a map. I realized almost instantly what you were planning.”
Prentice grunted softly, then looked at the floor. “Did any of our transmission get through?”
The corner of Kord’s mouth twisted with exasperation. “Perhaps—it really doesn’t matter. We found your little hookup within minutes after landing the chopper, then it was a simple matter of following the wire to this place.” He felt himself smile. “Rather like tracking Hansel and Gretel, I think. But now it is time for the fairy tale to end.”
He gripped the Glock with both hands, then gazed at Daniel Prentice over his extended arms. “I’m going to kill you, Mr. Prentice, and then destroy this little shack. So where would you like your bullet? Back of the skull or in the forehead?”
Shivering in the cold, Lauren stumbled toward the truck and moved her lips in soundless prayer. Dear God, please help him. Show him a way. Work a miracle, deliver him. If you could deliver the prophet from the lion’s den, deliver my Daniel from this evil one. . . .
Daniel’s words echoed like a broken record in her brain, but she could find no sense in them. “Remember what you said at our wedding . . . and have faith.”What did she say at the wedding? She had been so caught up in the unexpected turn of events, so bewildered and shaken by the confrontation with Romulus at the White House, all she could think was that she loved Daniel and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him . . . no matter how short that life might be.
The wind howled around her, a biting blast that knifed her lungs and tingled the exposed skin of her hands and face. She hesitated, blinded by the blowing whiteness, but Tasha pulled her inexorably forward. Choking on fear, sorrow, and tears, Lauren followed, hoping that Tasha had the sense to move toward the truck or some other shelter. Perhaps Daniel could overpower Herrick; perhaps he would emerge the victor. Then he’d find her, and they could find some place to live together in peace. Oh, God, please!
A sharp and brittle report cracked through the howling wind, and Lauren froze, recognizing the sound of gunfire. Daniel! She turned toward the cabin, ready to run back, but then another gunshot tore a hole in the snowy earth at her feet.
Someone was shooting at her.
Instinctively, Lauren jerked on the dog’s leash and ran in the opposite direction, then dove behind a copse of pines and evergreen shrubs.
Daniel glared up at Herrick with eyes bright with fury. “Rifle fire?” His breath burned in his throat. “You said you’d let her go!”
“I can’t.” Herrick jerked the gun impatiently. “Now turn around. It’s late, and I’m expected at a party in New York.”
Daniel lifted his hands, his thoughts racing dangerously. Lauren’s words came back to him again: Faith is not an intelligent understanding and calculated risk. It is a deliberate commitment to a person, even if I can see no earthly chance of success.
Daniel could see no earthly chance of success now. No escape, no hope, no possible way out. Unless God provided one.
He almost laughed aloud. The Belgian bookbinder had said that God would hold him tight if Daniel trusted him with his life, but Daniel hadn’t expected to put God to the test so quickly.
Heavenly Father, can’t we discuss this? Even as Daniel formed the thought, he realized the answer. Faith wasn’t debating or reasoning or deducing. It was accepting, with the full knowledge that God knew best.
In the next moment, he would live or die. Whatever God wanted.
“I never wanted to die sitting down,” Daniel said, slowly rising to his feet. His mouth curved in a mirthless smile. “Truth is, I never wanted to die. But it seems I can see no earthly chance of escape.”
His smile broadened, his spirit lifted. By heaven above, this was thrilling!
The change in Daniel’s countenance seemed to confuse the general; his lips pursed in suspicion and he waved the gun dramatically. “Sit or turn, now! I will shoot!”
Almost gleefully, Daniel waved his hands above his head. “Go ahead.”
Herrick’s finger moved in the trigger hasp. The Glock clicked, a bullet shifted in the magazine . . . and yet the gun did not fire.
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. The general glanced at his gun with a half-frightened look, and in that instant Daniel leapt forward, his hands reaching for the weapon. Herrick pulled the trigger again, and the sound of gunfire roared through the cabin, but Daniel stood beside the gun now, his hands upon the general’s arm, the German’s breath in his face. Together they rolled across the rough wooden floor, then Daniel felt the gun’s cold metal against his hand. He gripped it and flung it away, then felt something hit him in the face, setting off a shower of lights that rained behind his eyes like a kid’s Fourth of July sparkler.
Herrick might be an old man, but he could still throw a punch. Daniel shook his head to clear it, then reached out and caught hold of the struggling gene
ral’s coat. “Not so fast!” he yelled. Herrick turned, then a sharp elbow slammed into Daniel’s throat, cutting off his voice in a gurgle. He gulped down a tide of rising nausea, then tasted blood in his mouth.
Forcing his eyes open, he saw Herrick on his hands and knees, crawling for the gun. Reaching forward, Daniel caught the back of Herrick’s coat and pulled with all his might, climbing over the man until he brought his elbow down at the base of the general’s neck.
The man folded gently and crumpled into a heap. Daniel fell backward against the wall and gasped for breath. The room flickered in the sputtering lantern light, and Daniel’s nerve endings snapped at each other, bringing pain to bones and muscles he had never felt before. He leaned against the wall until his vision cleared, then his brain blazed with the memory of rifle shots outside.
Herrick wasn’t alone.
Carefully, he pulled himself up and reached over Herrick for the pistol, then snapped open the magazine. Loaded and ready to fire.
Daniel slammed the magazine back into the Glock, then pulled the door open and stepped out into the whirling white world.
Miles away, Amelia Prentice clenched her hands tighter and leaned her elbows on the edge of her mattress. Tears slipped from beneath her eyelids as her spirit groaned within her.
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed, resisting the nauseating sinking of despair. “I don’t know where Daniel is or what he’s doing now, but strengthen him, Father! Please, place your angels around him, shield him from the evil one!”
Biting her lip until it throbbed like her pulse, she lowered her forehead to the bed and let her tears water the rumpled sheets. The Spirit would have to pray for her now; she had no more words. She had turned on the television to watch Times Square like Daniel told her to, and right after the sparkling ball dropped, the celebrating crowd had disappeared, replaced by a grainy image of Lauren with a microphone. With the same poise and control she had always exhibited in the White House, Lauren had introduced herself and explained that Adrian Romulus was a murderer and a fraud. She had accused him of killing the first lady and the Hunters, and stressed that there were no nuclear devices planted in New York. Then suddenly the partying crowds were back, hugging, kissing, the sound of cheering evolving from an indiscriminate roar to the sound of Adrian Romulus’s name.
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