Nighthawk

by Clive Cussler

Kurt was hoping that, too. There was no way to know until they got there, but having lived near several air bases during his time in the Air Force, Kurt knew how far the roar of military jet engines carried. “Unless they launched while we were in those rapids, I think we’d have heard a supersonic bomber taking off; I’m sure they’ll need full afterburners to do it.”

  A droning sound rolling across the plateau stopped the conversation. Both Kurt and Joe slowed down to listen.

  “Turboprop,” Joe said, turning until he was facing the sound. The droning grew louder and picked up an odd resonance as a second engine came online.

  “They may have switched planes,” Kurt said.

  The hike turned into a dead sprint, and with the sound of the turboprop to hone in on, they never wavered. They were still rushing toward the edge of the airstrip when the small plane clawed its way into the night sky, banked to the northeast and flew off into the dark.

  “If we get to the Air-Crane,” Joe said, “we can use the radios. And get them back before they get too high.”

  Both men kept running. They arrived at the outskirts of the airstrip, breathing hard and dropping down beside a pine tree for cover.

  The Air-Crane was visible across the field, lying on its side and smoking. “The radios probably still work,” Joe said. “But the antennas might be sheared off.”

  Kurt pointed to a second outline in the gloom, darker than dark, sinister in shape. Blackjack 2 was still there, with the Nighthawk perched on top.

  “They wouldn’t have bothered placing it so carefully if they were going to leave it behind.”

  57

  Paul drove as fast as he dared in the Jeep Cherokee. Considering the cargo he was hauling, the type of road and the utter darkness of the moonless night, he was being positively reckless at forty miles per hour.

  Sitting beside him, dividing her attention between the portable apocalypse machine they were carrying and the map, Gamay seemed to want him to go faster. “I can only hope Emma is being as careful as we are,” she said. “For a variety of reasons.”

  Paul had seen the map earlier. He knew it was a race they couldn’t win. “We’ll never catch her. The last forty miles into Cajamarca are paved and relatively flat. Once she hits that section, we’ll be left in the dust.”

  “Maybe we can flag down another car or truck,” Gamay suggested. “If we’re lucky, they might have a radio or a phone.”

  “It would have to be a satellite phone up here,” Paul said. “But maybe as we get closer to town.” He glanced over at the map. “Coming in from the south, she still has to drive through most of the city before she gets to the airport. That might give us some—”

  A shout from Gamay cut him off. “Paul, look out!”

  Paul looked up. A man’s body lay in the road, crumpled and broken. Paul hit the brakes, veered around it and brought the vehicle safely to a halt. The body was behind them now, but what loomed ahead was even more surprising. A vehicle tipped over on its side, its front end dangling over the edge of the cliff and held up by the Y-shaped trunk of a tree.

  Paul put the transmission in park and grabbed the door handle. As he swung it open, he felt Gamay’s hand on his.

  “We’re not on some backcountry road, Paul,” she said. “We don’t have time for this.”

  There was cold reason in her voice, but only because she hadn’t realized what Paul had already ascertained. “It’s Emma.”

  Gamay’s eyes lit up. She looked at the stricken vehicle and nodded.

  Paul and Gamay jumped out of the Cherokee, rushing toward the overturned Toyota. The front end was out over the cliff, jammed into the gnarled trunk of the tree. The back end was up in the air, and the entire vehicle was pointing downward as if it were ready to slide off the edge.

  The engine was ticking and pinging, while fluids dripped everywhere. The entire balancing act looked so precarious that Paul’s first instinct was not to touch anything.

  “Emma!” he called out. “Are you in there?”

  “Hello?!” a female voice replied from inside the vehicle.

  “Emma, this is Paul,” he shouted, easing around the side. The angle of the vehicle and the condition of the ledge made it impossible to get at the front end. “Gamay and I are here. We’re going to get you out of there.”

  “Forget about me,” Emma said, her voice suddenly firm. “Just get the containment unit out. Pull it out through the back. It’s a miracle it hasn’t gone off-line already. But trust me, I’m staring into the abyss, and if we fall into this canyon, it’s all over.”

  Paul moved around to the back end of the SUV and pulled the hatchback open. The door moved slowly and awkwardly, and even that small shift had consequences. The vehicle rocked forward and then back before settling.

  “There’s a small problem with that plan,” Paul said, studying the situation. “If we remove the containment unit, the center of gravity will move forward, and unless that tree is a lot stronger than it looks, the whole thing will go over with you inside.”

  “I know that,” Emma said. “I’ve been sitting here for a long time thinking about it. But there’s no other choice. There’s no other way. Every time I’ve tried to move, we’ve slid farther down. Please, just get that thing out of here before we go.”

  Emma might have been willing to throw away her life, but Paul wasn’t so quick to give up. “All we need is more weight on the back end,” he said. “I weigh at least as much as the containment unit and twice as much as you. If I climb on the back bumper . . .”

  “The problem is the tree,” Emma said. “It’s already splitting down the middle; the extra weight might snap it and send us down. Just get that damned thing out of there and let me go.”

  “We can pull it back,” Gamay said. “We could use the bungee cords that are holding down our containment unit and the jumper cables we found in the back of the Cherokee.”

  “It’s not going to be enough to pull a five-thousand-pound vehicle uphill,” Paul said. “But it could be enough to keep it from sliding down.”

  “Someone will still have to get in there to disconnect the ropes they used to tie their unit down,” Gamay replied.

  “Someone’s already in there,” Paul said. “She can loosen everything on her way out.”

  Inside the Toyota, Emma listened as Paul explained the plan. It required her to climb over the seats, unhook the nylon rope she’d used to secure the dangerous cargo and wrap the rope around the containment unit several times. Then crawl out the back hatch with the ends of the rope in her hands.

  It sounded plausible. And it saved her a trip she didn’t want to take. “I can do that,” she said.

  The light around her changed as Gamay moved the Cherokee into position. She held still while Paul laced the jumper cables and the bungee cords through parts of the overturned vehicle and then did the same on the front bumper of the Jeep.

  She felt the Land Cruiser rock back to a flatter angle as the Jeep inched backward and pulled everything taut.

  She looked back through the vehicle. Paul was standing there, shrouded in the light.

  “You’re up,” he said.

  Despite a primal urge to get out of the doomed vehicle, Emma simultaneously found herself afraid to move a single muscle. For half an hour, she’d been sitting there listening to creaks and groans coming from both the tree and the Land Cruiser. Sitting still had been her only defense; a part of her didn’t want to give that up.

  She took a deep breath, steeled herself to do what she had to do and nodded to Paul. “Here goes.”

  She twisted around to face backward. The vehicle rocked ever so slightly.

  She found a spot for her feet, pushed off and shinned into the back.

  The Toyota shifted again, not rocking but sliding.

  Emma heard the sound of wood splitting and felt her heart pounding. Through the back ha
tch she saw Paul grasping onto the bumper and pulling as if it were a tug-of-war.

  The movement slowed and then stopped and the only sound was the trickle of pebbles and sand sliding out from underneath the SUV and falling down the slope.

  “It’s okay,” Paul said. “We’ve got it. Keep moving.”

  She inched forward and eased around the side of the containment unit. “Now for the ropes.”

  Disconnecting the ropes was fairly easy. And once they were untied, Emma was able to loop them around the containment unit and the attached fuel cell. One loop, two and then a third. That was all the excess length they had.

  She pulled it tight, tested the weight and looked up toward Gamay and Paul. “Ready?”

  “Whenever you are,” Paul replied.

  Emma took a deep breath. To get to the back hatch, she had to use her legs. She edged around the unit, put her feet on the back of the passenger seat and pushed.

  The force caused the seat back to fold forward.

  Emma slid. The containment unit slid. The Land Cruiser tilted downward at a steeper angle and she heard the tree splitting down the middle. She grabbed the seat belt to keep from falling out through the gap and crawled upward once again.

  “Hurry!” Gamay shouted.

  Emma moved as fast as she could.

  The Toyota began to slide forward. Two of the bungee cords snapped.

  Emma was climbing at a fifty-degree angle now, each move worsened the slide. As she neared the top, Paul let go of the bumper and reached in with his long arms. She tried to hand him the ropes, but instead of grabbing them, he clamped his hands around her wrists and pulled her out.

  She hit the ground just as the tree split in half.

  She turned to see the Toyota sliding off the edge and into the dark. She set her feet and pulled on the ropes with all her might.

  As the back end of the Toyota vanished, the containment unit popped free and landed on the edge of the dirt road. With Paul and Gamay’s help, she pulled it safely onto level ground.

  A resounding crunch followed far below as the Land Cruiser hit a small ledge and tumbled farther down.

  The three of them sat there with the ropes clutched tight in their hands like the exhausted winners of an epic tug-of-war.

  Only now did it dawn on Emma that Gamay hadn’t been with them earlier. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to rescue the boys,” Gamay said.

  No less confused, Emma crawled to the side of the containment unit to check the readings one more time. Even after the latest bump, everything remained in the green. “Let’s just get this thing on a plane and get it back to the States.”

  “Not,” Paul said, “until after we remove the bomb.”

  58

  Kurt stared at the runway from the edge of the tree line. He could barely believe their luck. Blackjack 2 was still on the ground, though a pinprick of light moving back and forth suggested it wouldn’t remain for long.

  “Flashlight,” Joe said. “Probably the copilot doing a last-minute inspection before takeoff.”

  Without warning, one of the bomber’s turbines came to life with an electric whine. The sound blossomed into a throaty roar, and a wave of blue fire appeared behind the bomber.

  Then twin sets of landing and taxi lights came on. The four blindingly bright beams lit a wide swath of ground up ahead and directly in front of the plane.

  “We need to stop that plane from taking off,” Kurt said.

  “We can get to the plane easy enough,” Joe replied. “But then what?”

  “We reason with them,” Kurt said. “Explain Urco’s plan and point out the danger they face.”

  “And if they ignore us?”

  Kurt pulled out the brick of Semtex. “Then we reinforce our argument Teddy Roosevelt style. Let’s go.”

  They stepped out of the tree line, moving cautiously at first and then picking up the pace as the second of the bomber’s four engines came to life. The pilot on the ground could be seen hastening his final inspection and then rushing toward the nose gear and the ladder that led up into the plane.

  “We’re about to miss our flight,” Joe said. He rushed ahead as the copilot vanished up into the aircraft’s belly.

  Kurt sprinted to keep up, but he’d exhausted so much energy, his muscles would not respond.

  The ladder began to retract. Joe jumped onto it and the ladder groaned with the weight.

  Kurt rushed up seconds later, leapt and caught the bottom rung.

  “Add ladder climbing to your Ironman,” Joe shouted over the roar of the engines.

  Arm over arm, Kurt pulled himself upward until finally he could get a knee on the bottom rung. As soon as he did, the plane lurched forward and began to move.

  The movement caused Kurt’s knee to slip and he was back to dangling by his arms. Behind him, two of the four engines were screaming in full voice. Their square intakes loomed like mouths ready to devour him, should he fall.

  “Come on,” Joe said. “Stop playing around.”

  Kurt pulled himself up, got his knee on the bottom rung and moved higher. As soon as Joe could reach him, he leaned out and grabbed Kurt by the shoulders, yanked him upward and into the plane.

  With their weight off of the ladder, it finished retracting and the hatch shut and sealed behind it.

  They were in the dark as the bomber turned back into the wind, then the remaining engines came to life and the plane began to roll.

  Finally, the floor shifted beneath them, the nose came up and the monstrous bomber, with its wings swept wide, soared up into the air.

  “We really have to work on your foot speed,” Joe shouted.

  “My speed?” Kurt yelled back. “I was counting on you holding the door for me.”

  The ladder well was dark except for a dim light coming from the inner hatch up above. It was glowing an ominous red.

  Joe tested the hatch and shook his head. “It’s locked from the other side.”

  59

  The rest of the trip to Cajamarca was uneventful. Along the way, Paul and Gamay explained to Emma what she’d missed. It was a roller coaster of emotion. Hearing that Kurt was alive sent her spirits soaring.

  In the end, all that mattered was finding a way to stop the bombs from detonating. Meeting up with NSA agents Hurns and Rodriguez at the airport was the first step.

  “We have additional fuel cells on the aircraft,” Hurns said. “Is there any chance the containment units themselves have been tampered with?”

  Emma shook her head. “The entire unit is sealed. Any tampering or attempt to hide something inside would have caused the mixed-state matter to react. That’s why Urco chose to rig up the replica fuel cells.”

  “Then all we have to do is switch them out and dispose of the bombs.”

  “Except that we need the bombs,” Emma replied. “The Chinese have been airborne for hours. And barring some incredible stroke of luck, the Russians are flying by now as well. Based on what Urco told Kurt, the bombs are rigged to detonate when the planes descend. The only chance they have is if we figure out what type of detonator they’ve been connected to, how and why it will go off and, more importantly, how to disarm them.”

  “Not likely to find a bomb disposal expert in Cajamarca,” Hurns noted.

  “I know,” Emma said. “But we can pipe one in. All we need is a 4K video feed and a high-speed Internet connection. And someone can guide us through step by step.”

  “Where are you going to find that at this hour?”

  Paul spoke up. “We know a place,” he said, “where the caffeine never stops and the Internet is strong.”

  After switching the fuel cells at the airport and watching the NSA Gulfstream take off, Paul, Gamay and Emma drove into town. Calls had been made, cooperation arranged and the buildings around the Internet café evacuat
ed.

  They’d set up shop in the back of the café, under the lights where they could stream the 4K video feed back to Washington, D.C., and the NUMA headquarters building. Their only safety devices were a twelve-gauge shotgun and a cast-iron pot the café used to cook soup.

  In front of a camera, Emma took the fuel cell apart. Her audience watched from the NUMA conference room, where Rudi, Hiram, Priya and a bomb disposal expert named Collin Kane, who stared at one of the high-definition displays and told them what to do next.

  “Connect that gray wire to the metal leg of the table,” Kane said. “Make sure the unit is grounded. You don’t want a static spark.”

  Emma moved cautiously, doing as she was told.

  Paul and Gamay were outside, a hundred yards away, watching on a video feed. If Emma blew herself up, they would use what they’d seen and take the next bomb apart—hopefully, learning from her mistake.

  “Where do I start?”

  “You’re going to have to reach in and see if you can free the explosives from the case or if they’re attached.”

  She grounded herself by touching the leg of the table and then reached in and put her hand on the Semtex. She pulled it slowly from the inside of the unit, stopping halfway out. “It’s hooked to a pair of wires.”

  “Do not remove them,” Kane warned. “Most likely, they’re instant arm-and-detonate wires designed to prevent what we’re trying to do.”

  She found there was enough length to pull the explosives out and set them on the table without disconnecting the trailing wires.

  “What next?”

  “Using a sharp knife, cut away as much of the Semtex as possible without touching the wires. Take each section you remove and separate it from the rest. When you’ve cut it down as far as possible, we’ll test the detonator.”

  Emma took a sharp knife and did as instructed. It felt like she was cutting into an apple.

  She took the sections to the far side of the room.