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“Hey? You the guys took that Russian boomer out?” Alex heard the chopper pilot ask in his headphones.
“Yep,” Stoke replied. “That would be us.”
“Christ on a bicycle,” the pilot said. “How the hell’d you do that?”
“We, uh, used explosives,” Stoke replied, and there was no further mike chatter.
The SeaKing was flying at fifty feet, and the tang of sea air and the roar of the wind in the open doors made Hawke forget he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. His entire body was thrumming like a wire.
Vicky was safe. With a lot of help from some very brave men, he’d made good on his promise to her father.
The Navy chopper was headed west where the sleek black outline of Nighthawke was waiting on the horizon. Behind him, on the rapidly disappearing hump of the island, towers of fire and black smoke were rising from one end of Telaraсa to the other.
There were other fires along the coast, Hawke saw, rebel strongholds under attack from the deadly Black Aces.
Now, in the soft glow of the cabin lights, Alex watched her sleeping.
“Alex?” Vicky struggled to open her eyes. Her lips were parched and bruised and Alex applied a cool washcloth.
“Shhh,” Alex said. “Go to sleep, darling. It’s all right now.”
“But there’s something—”
“There’s nothing. Just sleep. We’ll have you in your own bed soon.”
“No, something I need to tell—important. Please?”
She was straining to rise from the pillow, gripping Alex’s arm fiercely. “You’ve got to know this, Alex. Please,” she whispered in a dry, hoarse voice.
“What is it, darling? What could be so important?”
“The guards. Every day. Didn’t know I was listening, see? But I did. I did, Alex.”
“It doesn’t matter now, darling. It’s over.”
“No! It does matter. I heard … I heard … something.”
“What did you hear, Vicky?” Alex whispered, leaning down so that he could put his ear near her lips.
“They—they were laughing,” she said, nearly strangling on the words. “They were laughing about a bomb they had—kill Americans.”
“Bomb?” Alex said, his attention now riveted to Vicky’s trembling lips.
It had to be Guantanamo. The biological weapon Conch had told him about sitting in Kittyhawke’s cockpit on the JFK flight deck. Hadn’t they found that thing yet? Since the F-14s had attacked he assumed … no, that only meant the women and children had been evacuated from the base. The bomb could still be on the base and—Christ, how long did they have before the thing went off?
“A bomb, Alex,” Vicky whispered. “They said it was hidden where the Americans would never find—find out. Until too late.”
Alex looked at his watch. It was 0520 in the morning. If he remembered correctly, that meant they had about forty minutes until the thing detonated.
“Where, darling, where did they put the bomb?” Alex could feel his heart trying desperately to get out of his chest.
“A bear,” Vicky said in her small, strangled voice.
“Bear?” Alex was sure he’d misunderstood.
“A teddy bear. Not a real bear. That’s why … why they were all laughing,” Vicky managed. Alex lifted her head and gave her a small sip of water.
“Thank you,” she said. “They thought it was so fu
58
“Joe Nettles,” squawked the harsh voice on the Nighthawke’s radio. “And this better be the most important fucking call you ever made, mister.”
“Alexander Hawke here, Admiral. No time to explain who I am. Just ask Admiral Howell or Secretary de los Reyes, but first, just listen.”
“Mister, I got a bomb going off here in ’bout half an hour. Talk.”
“I have just rescued a hostage from the Cubans. She has important information regarding that bomb.”
“Go ahead, son, spit it out for chrissakes!”
“According to Cuban guards she overheard during captivity, you have an extremely lethal biological weapon hidden inside a toy bear.”
“What?”
“An American sailor, name sounds like Gopher or Gomez, inserted the weapon inside a teddy bear and gave it to an officer’s child as a gift.”
A split second of silence was followed by an explosion from the speaker.
“Holy Mother of God!” Nettles screamed. “That stupid asshole who blew himself up! Gomez! Christ! He gave my daughter a big white teddy bear for her birthday! My own goddamn daughter!”
“Sir, I hope this is helpful. I know you—”
“Son, I appreciate the call. My wife, Gi
“Certainly, sir,” Alex said, but the co
Aboard the Ke
Howell, who was on the JFK’s bridge monitoring the takeoffs and landing of nine separate squadrons flying sorties over Cuba, picked it up, knowing who it was.
“Find it yet, Joe?” Howell said.
“Do you know somebody named Alex Hawke?”
“Hell yes, I know him. British billionaire. Ex-Royal Navy. Works for us a lot. Tracked down the boomer the Cubans bought, and definitely on the good-guy side.”
“In that case, I’ve got some bad news, George. The bio-weapon is no longer here at Gitmo. It’s aboard Big John.”
“What did you say?”
“Hawke has a rescued hostage aboard his vessel who says the bomb’s inside a teddy bear given to an officer’s child by somebody named Gomez.”
“Gomez? Sounds familiar—wasn’t he that guy in your minefield couple of days ago?”
“Yeah, same guy. Three weeks ago, the same dickhead gave my daughter Cindy a big white bear for her fourth birthday. It’s gotta be the one, George!”
“Jesus Christ, Joe!”
“Yeah. Cindy takes that goddamn bear everywhere. She’s got it with her now. That bear is somewhere aboard your flagship, partner.”
“How much time have we got, Joe?”
“According to the official Cuban deadline, you’ve got twenty-nine minutes and sixteen seconds. George, goddammit, go find my little girl.”
“God almighty. Okay, I’m on it.”
Admiral Howell hung up and turned to the JFK’s CO, Captain Thomas Mooney. “Sound general quarters, Captain. We’ve got a Level Five biological threat somewhere onboard this ship. Came aboard with the evacuees at Gitmo. I’ve got CDC memos stating that it’s probably a highly lethal new bacteria strain, weapons grade, with a delivery system capable of wiping out everyone at Gitmo.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That bomb is somewhere on this ship. It is hidden inside a toy bear belonging to Gitmo CO Joe Nettles’s daughter. I want that goddamn thing found and neutralized. We have less than half an hour.”
Within five minutes, Captain Mooney’s most trusted aide, Lieutenant Arie L. Kopelman, was sent directly to the converted wardroom where, among others, the Gitmo commander’s wife and daughter were housed. He went to C deck, found their room, and opened the door. The sound of snoring filled the room. Everyone was still fast asleep. He looked at his watch. Twenty-two minutes.
Shouldn’t be a problem.
He entered the darkened cabin, a wardroom where some twenty-five to thirty women and children were currently berthed and, since he had no description of who he was looking for, simply rapped his fist on the bulkhead.
“Mrs. Nettles?” Kopelman said. “Mrs. Joseph Nettles? Would you and your daughter please step out into the companionway? Sorry to disturb you.”