by Ahern, Jerry
Great clouds of noxious-smelling vapors issued from the hatchway, Rourke and Rubenstein and Prokopiev running for the chopper on the heels of the Elite corpsmen. “Lift off!” Prokopiev was ordering.
The gunship started to rise, John Rourke at its base, Paul clambering aboard, Rourke and Prokopiev boarding together.
The gunship slipped left across the mountaintop and started , to climb. I
i
John Rourke crouched beside Maria Leuden. Han Lu Chen’s head was in her lap. Michael’s arm was around her shoulders. The missile.
Out of the hatchway it came, hesitating against the gray sky, then rising, so enormous that it seemed impossible, like some optical illusion.
But rising.
“Did you do it?” Prokopiev asked beside Rourke.
Paul answered. “If we aren’t vaporized in—”
“Three and a half minutes,” John Rourke supplied, looking at his watch. “Or, if the center of the mountain doesn’t seem to collapse. If neither one happens, we did it.”
The gunship, per Prokopiev’s orders, hung back about a mile distant from the mountain of the Second Chinese City.
Wind and cold whipped at them, but John Rourke didn’t think any of them cared.
John Rourke’s eyes flickered between the mountain, visible through the open door in the fuselage, and the mountain.
If it worked, the meltdown would be halted and the process reversed.
If it worked, the missile’s trajectory had been altered enough so it would not re-enter, but arc back miles above the atmospheric shield and go off harmlessly into space.
If.
The face of his Rolex.The mountain.
No gray-white streak passed between them an instant before blindingly brilliant light and oblivion.
And the center of the mountain did not collapse.
John Rourke stood up. He slid the fuselage door closed.
“Now what?” Rourke asked Prokopiev.
“I shall drop you wherever you wish within reason and then face a court martial.” Prokopiev smiled, extending his right hand.
John Rourke took Prokopiev’s offered hand.
His thoughts were filled with concern for Natalia, that her mind would be restored, with concerns for his family, that someday they would find peace. And, as he clasped Prokopiev’s hand, this Russian who might be shot for his humanity despite his position as head of the Elite Corps, John Rourke also considered the concepts of hope and honor.