Black Sun

Danielle’s mind whirled, desperately searching for a method of escape. It seemed impossible. The four younger Russians stood near the exit, weapons aimed at the floor, but ready and eyeing her and the other prisoners. Ivan continued to pace. She could sense his patience growing shorter.

He pounded the floorboards, slow and ponderous.

He crouched in front of her. “You know how this is going to end,” he said. “I will kill everyone and kill you last. Spare them. Tell me where the boy is.”

She looked down toward the floor, avoiding eye contact with him and hoping to disguise the fact that her emotions had gotten the best of her. But the position caused the tears to stream across her face. She watched the drops fall and splatter on the simple wooden floor.

She closed her eyes, tight. And when she opened them, there were no more tears left to come. The fight had returned to her.

She met his gaze.

“I know who you are, Ivan Saravich,” she said. “And so do the people I work for. We take care of our own. A man from your era should know what that means.”

“‘A man from my era,’” he laughed. “Yes, once we were professionals. Now we are just roaches scavenging for what we can get.”

“If you harm me,” she said, “or any of these men and women, my people will hunt you down. You know that. So shoot me if you want, but dig your own grave while you’re at it.”

Danielle thought she saw a flicker of concern cross Ivan’s weather-beaten face, but then a sickening laugh bubbled up from deep in his being. He took another drink, then offered her the bottle, but she refused it.

“Mine was dug long ago,” he whispered.

For just an instant he looked sad, remorseful. And in that moment she recognized him: the round face, the flat bridge of his nose, and the sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

“I know you,” she said.

He stood and raised the Makarov slowly, as if it were heavy in his drunken hand.

“You knew my brother,” he corrected. “The man who kidnapped Yuri.”

“He was trying to save him,” she said.

“Yes,” Saravich said, as if it were some hated admission. “And he failed.”

Turning, Saravich centered the gun on the back of Father Domingo’s head.

“No,” Danielle pleaded.

“I’m afraid it’s time,” he said.

“May God forgive you,” Father Domingo said.

“We can only hope,” Ivan replied. He flicked the gun to the right and fired two quick shots. Two of the Russians fell. A quick turn to the left and three more shells crashed.

Bang, bang, bang.

The other Russian men went down in heaps, one squirming and writhing until Saravich finished him with a shot to the head.

Father Domingo and the other prisoners dove in opposite directions. Maria scrambled out the door. Danielle pushed back to the wall and froze beside McCarter as Saravich aimed the gun her way.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“It is simple,” he said. “I do not wish to die today.”

“Neither do I,” she replied.

“You won’t,” he said lowering the gun. “Not by my hand, at least. But these men would have buried us all.”

Before she could ask anything else, Ivan turned to Father Domingo. “Do you have Yuri?”

“I swear, we don’t know where he is,” Father Domingo said.

“I hope for his sake you’re lying,” Ivan replied. “I hope you have hidden him well and just find it impossible to trust me. But do not worry. I have no intention of taking him back to Russia.”

Father Domingo shook his head. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Hmm …,” Ivan grumbled. “You must look for him, then. If you find him, or if he comes back once we’ve left, please keep him safe. I will tell the men who sent me that he died.”

Danielle studied Ivan’s face. It seemed etched with regret.

“I still don’t understand,” she said.

“All this time,” he told her, “I have been thinking that my brother disgraced me. That it was he who had ruined our names. But it was I who disgraced him and what he tried to do.”

“And now?” Danielle asked.

“Now?” he repeated. “Now an army of men and machines are speeding toward your valiant friend, the one called Hawker. And though he seems to be very resourceful, he will soon be involved in a battle he ca

Ivan offered a hand. “Unless we help him.”

“He’s a long way from here,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, “and Comrade Kang has helicopters with him. But I promise you, they’re nothing like the one I’ve brought.”

Danielle found herself dizzy from the sudden reversal, but the thought of Kang killing Hawker was something she could not allow her mind to grasp. She reached out and grabbed Ivan’s hand, pulling herself up.

“Then let’s go help him.”

CHAPTER 63

In the darkness of the Yucca Mountain tu

Nathanial Ahiga, Byron Stecker, and the rest of the two science teams looked up. With only half an hour to go, they had been discussing the procedure for destroying the stone.

“Where the hell have you been, Arnold?” It was President Henderson’s voice over the speaker on the flat-screen monitor.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been working on a new theory,” he said.

“Oh, please,” the director of the CIA grumbled.

“Shut up, Stecker!” Moore shouted, then turned back to the president.

“It’s a little late for this, Arnold,” Henderson said.

“Just hear me out,” Moore answered. “Then do whatever you want. Shoot me if you want. Just listen for two minutes.”

Without taking a breath or giving the president the chance to say no, Moore continued. “Stecker’s information was correct, but the numbers weren’t the perfect match he told you they were. They massaged the data to fit it into the graph, but for reasons that would take too long to explain, if you extrapolated the numbers in either direction, their graph diverges from reality.”

“Stecker?”

“It’s called rounding, Mr. President. Other than that I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

The president looked open to suggestion but he glanced at the clock nervously. “Be quick, Arnold.”

Moore took a breath. Light-headed and sweating, he looked around. Stecker rolled his eyes, Moore’s staff members looked at the ground, and Ahiga shook his head sadly and looked away. Not a friend in the room. He didn’t care.

“Mr. President, standard geology holds that earth’s core is a huge, spi

It was the quickest primer Moore had ever given.

“The problem is, no one knows this for sure; no one’s dug down that far to find out. And no one has been able to match this theory up with an explanation of why the earth’s field reverses at seemingly random intervals, a million years between one changeover, fifty thousand between the next.” Moore ran a hand through his hair, tamping down his wiry mane, trying to look like something less than a lunatic.

“The reason is,” he said, “it’s not a single magnetic field—I mean in the aggregate it is—but it’s being generated by three separate layers interacting with each other.”

“Oh, come on,” Stecker mumbled.

Moore ignored him. “A similar thing happens in the sun. Even though the sun is a million times more massive than the earth, and it creates a magnetic field millions of times more powerful, its magnetic field reverses every eleven years. And it doesn’t go easily. The sun’s equator rotates faster than the sections near the poles. As a result the magnetic lines of force get dragged across the face of the sun, much like spreading a sheet out over your bed and then pulling it only from the middle. The center moves, the edges stay. Instead of nice parallel lines everything gets skewed.