From the Learjet’s doorway Franklin listened to his heart pounding in his chest and worried over the distant flames that lit the sky. A million voices screaming for help. Is Cynthia’s still among them?
He checked his wristwatch. 1:00 A.M. and we’re no closer to getting in. He turned to his bag, dug out his portable radio and handed it to Andréa. It took her several minutes to tune in a faint and staticky station:
“Pack clothing, blankets, sleeping bags. Medicines, shaving kits and cosmetics; infant formula and diapers. Remember to bring your checkbook, credit cards, cash and important papers. A portable radio. A flashlight and batteries may be useful. Remain calm. You have ample time to leave.”
Like Hell they do, Franklin thought. What about Cyn?
“Ignore rumors. Stay tuned to this local Emergency Alert Station for further instructions — ”
The voice suddenly changed.
“ . . . then at this moment, President Wall, the Cabinet, all locatable members of Congress are being transported to an undisclosed location?”
“That’s what we understand, Brian. Goal number one is to protect the government.”
“All right, then, Art. The question everybody is asking: Who the hell did it?”
“The FBI, CIA and the NSA are right on top of this thing. There are a lot of countries out there who hate us: Iran for one, North Korea for another. Syria. Even certain factions inside China and Saudi Arabia — though the U.S. does a lot of business with both of them. India and Pakistan have the bomb, but experts feel their involvement is unlikely. We supply each of them with thousands of tons of food and financial aid every year. If — ”
They don’t know anything!
Franklin stepped outside into the cold and shivered. He couldn’t listen to any more of it. With each passing moment, he could feel his sister’s life slipping away.
Cynthia!
He looked east, watched the unnatural glow while his frustration boiled over. New York’s right there!
He’d never really understood fear before. Now he did. Being helpless to head off the vast unknown.
Then he watched tonight’s chance of getting into the city go from bad to a whole lot worse: An old green jeep with white stars on its doors roared through the airport gate, followed by a cloth-covered transport truck.
The military had arrived.
Orders were shouted. Twenty soldiers disembarked from the back of the green fabric-covered transport. They began to erect huge tents.
Franklin understood the military mind. Order and control. Things that will prevent us from going to look for Cynthia!
But Everon’s got us a way in! All we need is clearance!
His eyes were drawn back to the distant glow. He stretched out a hand.
She could be dying!
He couldn’t think.
Franklin walked behind the jet, along the frozen grass by the taxiway, tying back his dark hair with a spare piece of climbing cord fished from his pocket.
He sat down forcefully on the cold ground, lay back, put his hands behind his head and pulled his legs up.
Into a crunch. One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
He began breathing harder, rising faster. Down-up, his stomach nothing but a series of tight ripples, feeling his breath burst from his mouth in the cold night air.
He watched another of the Red Cross helicopters womp in overhead from the city. Imagined riding inside, going back into the city with it.
Twenty-four . . . twenty-five. He started over.
One . . . two . . . Franklin’s thick dark hair came loose now, flowing about his neck. The same helicopter returned from somewhere behind him. Landing. A fuel truck roared up beneath its blades.
A few minutes — fuel up, restart, take off for the city again. How do they know who has clearance and who doesn’t?
He rose and pulled down his leather jacket, heart speeding. He ran along the fence, past the unmanned security booth, through the airport gate. Along the chain-link fence, in the direction he’d seen the helicopter return from.
When he reached the corner, he saw a sign inside the fence near the runway’s end. A notice to pilots:
Hospital Below Flight Path
Climb To 1500 Feet
Follow 040 Degrees Immediately After Liftoff
The streets were littered with abandoned cars. A car drove past. And again there was only starlight.
Another chopper in from the city whirred loudly overhead. He ran, following the concrete sidewalk after it.
High on the hill, it slid overtop a large square building and disappeared.
What’s he looking at now? The radio trickle chargers. Their small cube power supplies were black blobs of melted plastic. From the moment he walked in the room, the chief controller Sue felt bad for the incredible-looking green-eyed man.
He’d given up his own radio and now he’d fixed their backup generator. Despite the horrible circumstances, he appeared to be controlling his anger, doing whatever he could figure out to do. Like if he can just fix enough stuff we’ll let him go into the city.
The city’s glow lit the side of his face, luminesced his eyes. Two years ago, Sue and her three girlfriends had flown down to Puerto Rico. The water off the beach had been that exact same shade of startling green. So what if he was a foot taller than her own five-two.
“Hey, electronic genius,” she smiled at him, “think you can do anything with our scopes?”
She stood watching his blond hair, the way the muscular California surfer build flowed beneath the tan leather jacket. The feel of him moving around the cabinet mounted in the wall. Are his hands shaking? He’s pretty upset about not being able to get into the city but doesn’t know what to do about it.
Well, neither do I! She honestly didn’t really think he should go in there anyway.
He walked rapidly over and offered a quick firm hand. “Everon.”
“Sue.” She felt an electric tingle zip up her arm, down into her belly, almost glad he didn’t smile. It might have killed her.
His eyes quickly surveyed the dead radar system. One of the guys had been pulling out square green circuit boards the size of serving platters, strewn them all over the floor — each a melted mess of chips and electronic parts. The way his hands sorted through a nearby stack of replacements, they looked like the wrong ones.
“Doubtful, Sue.”
He knelt on the floor — lay down on his back and opened the access hatch. Movements rapid and sure, he stuck his head inside the console.
He has to know women see him as beautiful, she thought, but there’s a rough edge there too. The faintly glowing blond stubble, a one-day beard maybe. Lightly tanned skin, green-blue eyes shining in the starlight.
She hurried her eyes away when she realized she was staring at his crotch. Shit! I’m being ridiculous — like a schoolgirl! I’m a supervisor, for fuck’s sake! In the middle of a disaster!
“Fried beyond repair!” his voice echoed out of the console. “Not unless you have a lot more spare parts than what I see around here. The radar pulled in even more of the bomb’s pulse than the radio system.”
“How could that happen?”
“I heard about a high-altitude A-bomb test in the Pacific once. Took out a telephone system in Hawaii a thousand miles away. Engineers use high-frequency alternating current models to calculate numbers for lightning strikes. Nobody knows how to model the electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear bomb . . . ” She tried to listen but almost didn’t care what he was saying. As long as he was talking to her.
As he rose from the floor, his green-blue eyes locked onto hers. With a quick look to see if Marsh was still busy across the room, he asked softly, “Do you think you could do something for me?”
She gulped. “What’s that?”
“Think you can get my brother and me authorized as one of those EMS teams? We’ve got our own helicopter.”
“Are you crazy? The things you’ll find in there — fire and thick, black smoke. The smell of death every way you turn. Radiation, buildings in pieces. No way to get through to anywhere. I don’t think you should go!”
“Our sister’s in there.”
She stared at him.
“They say the bomb went off on the south end of the island — ”
“That’s what that — ” She glanced at Marsh. “That’s what Colonel Marsh told us — ”
“Cynthia and Steve and their baby live pretty far north,” Everon replied hopefully.
She smiled grimly. Took a deep breath. “I can try. I know a couple of the EMS guys.”
While he waited with growing agitation, she radioed the team just landing.
“That’s being handled over at the Med Center,” the reply came back. “Our personnel’s already set.”
She felt a certain relief they weren’t willing to give up open seats either — they were reserved for rescue victims. The blond man — Everon — watched the EMS flight lift off.
“What the hell? Franklin?” he gaped through the big tower windows. “Where’s he going?” Everon watched his younger brother down below, running toward the airport entrance.
Things were falling apart. Like some horrible pain in the middle of his back he couldn’t reach. No military clearance — helicopter just waiting for Cyn, Steve, Melissa. Now Franklin goes off somewhere?
Then a voice called over his radio in controller Sue’s hand, “Six-Six-Six-Kilo-India, authorized for military rescue.”
Everon’s eyes widened as he watched the red four-place chopper he’d rented lift off and bank for the city, two men in Army fatigues in its front seats.“Goddammit!” His fists closed and opened. “They’re taking our way in!”
Knuckles pressed against the cold observation glass, he leaned his forehead against it. He stretched out his fingertips at the distant flames. So close! Cynthia! He didn’t know what to do. He could reach out and touch — It was so frustrating, he felt like screaming!
He frowned, pressing his right cheek against the big window. “What’s that?” he pointed down on an angle through the glass, toward the low U-shaped building near the far end of the runway. “That building, with all the old aircraft.”
“Oh, the museum?” she answered.
Around its side he could see wings and tails. He couldn’t have made it out before, but the airport lights were up now — casting shadows from old fighter jets, a bi-plane.
“Is that an old Coast Guard chopper down there?”
“That thing?” Sue snorted. “That’s Sam’s pet. I think it was in a movie last year. It’s just for display. I don’t think it runs.”
“How long’s it been there?”
“I don’t know. A few years, I guess.”
“Who’s Sam?”
“Sam Gunn. He owns the museum.”
“Thanks!” Everon called over his shoulder. He went through the door to the stairs on a run.
