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Loud enough tos M�€† be heard on one of the upper decks? He hoped not. The typhoon was astonishingly noisy now—the wind howled as the waves buffetted the base of the rig, and the relentless rain knifed into the steel exterior of the rig at seventy miles an hour.
Gideon threw open the door of the storage room, flipped on the light.
At the far side of the windowless room was the large steel box Kate had described seeing winched down by the crane. She had been right. This was the place.
Stacked neatly on the floor beside the box lay an array of electronic equipment—video monitors, black boxes with switches on them. A thick bundle of cables ran from the equipment to an access panel on the wall. Gideon moved closer. What he saw on the panel’s display caused him to stop breathing.
A thin LED window displayed a countdown, the seconds ticking down with frightening rapidity. It was the bomb’s timer, and it was rigged to the detonator.
08:43:07... 08:43:06...
He looked for something to prop against the door to keep anyone from entering. Other than the big metal box and the electronics, the room was bare. On the far side of the room was a door with the words EQUIPMENT LOCKER stenciled on the front. But it was secured with a heavy padlock. He’d just have to hope that nobody showed up while he was working.
Gideon studied the tools he’d brought as he set them on the floor in a neat row. During his months in the Cambodian jungle, Horst had taught him an enormous amount, but this was going to be a lot trickier than defusing some aging Soviet antitank mine. Horst had always said that the single most important tool for disarming a bomb was your eyes. Before even touching a wire, you had to study the bomb, the trigger, the mechanism—everything. There was zero margin for error.
The detonation control equipment consisted of several black metal boxes—standard nineteen-inch rack-mount boxes of the same size as home stereo equipment. The bottom box bore two large rocker switches on the front. One read POWER and the other read ARM. Both were in the on position.
The next piece of equipment also had a big red rocker switch on the front. Next to that was a knob labeled FREQ. A small ante
The next box was the timer with its red LED numbers and a numeric keypad like the kind found on cell phones. On top of this rested yet another black metal box with two rows of small LED lights ru
Significantly, there were no cables co
Stranght�€†ge. He’d expected the detonator to be wired directly to the bomb. It could be radio controlled, of course, but that wasn’t optimal. Radio was usually a secondary rather than a primary means of detonation. Radio frequencies could be jammed, sunspots could interfere with reception— any number of things could cause a problem.
He surveyed the lid of the box, checking to make sure it wasn’t booby-trapped. There was a small gap, large enough to see that there were no wires or magnets or contacts inside that might signal a booby-trap circuit. The lid was, however secured with a small padlock.
Gideon's War and Hard Target
He picked up the stoutest of the screwdrivers he had...
He stared in disbelief. The box was empty.
As he slowly lowered the lid, he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Gideon.”
Gideon turned, at first relieved and then confused by the sight of Parker standing inside the doorway, holding a gun at his side.
“Uncle Earl. How did you get away from them?”
Parker said nothing, but Gideon got his question answered when he saw the bearded man appear behind Parker, aiming the barrel of his AK at Gideon’s chest. The number 82 was tattooed on his wrist. But he wasn’t Tillman.
The harsh realization of what was happening washed over Gideon like a wave that swept over him and drew him out to sea. He felt as if he was drowning.
“I could have spared you the trouble, Gideon. You won’t find the bomb in there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MAJOR DALE ROYCE JR. had only been commanding his unit for a month now, coming into Operational Detachment Delta after a stint in Afghanistan with the 101st. He still hadn’t quite gotten the rhythm of his team. Everyone always told him, “Delta is different,” and sure enough they were right.
He’d led several hoo-rah units before, full of chest-pounding alpha males. But Delta was different. For one thing, these men were quieter. Sometimes he found their quiet intensity u
And here he was, being dropped right into the Big Game, his team the tip of the spear in one of the most important Spec Ops missions of the past twenty-five years. Talk about failure not being an option. This was it, he thought to himself as their C-17 bucked and rattled. They had reached the rough edge of the typhoon en route to the Obelisk. The pilot’s voice came over the cabin speaker. She wasn’t much to look at, Royce thought, but she had a soothing voice. “Sorry for the bumpy ride, gentlemen. The president is ready for you.”
“Go ahead,” Major Royce said.
There had been several false starts co
“Gentlemen,” the president said, “what I’m about to tell you is highly unusual for a commander in chief, but I feel strongly that you all deserve a fuller explanation than the one you’ve been given in your briefing packets. I wanted you to hear directly from me that the implications of your mission extend well beyond rescuing the hostages and preventing the destruction of the Obelisk. As you know, a growing insurgency is challenging the current regime in Mohan. The Sultan is an important ally who is committed to democratic reform and human rights. I believe he can prevail against these violent extremists without the intervention of our forces. Certain members of Congress disagree with my assessment and want us to fight the Sultan’s war. These politicians are well intentioned, but I fear they are misinformed and misguided. So far I’ve been able to resist the political pressure they’ve generated. But if these hostages are killed and this rig is destroyed, I will have no choice but to respond. Sometimes war is necessary. But not this time. Not yet. You men know far better than any politicians the real cost of going to war. What happens from this point on will be determined by the outcome of your mission. You don’t need my encouragement or my praise, but on behalf of the people who elected me to this office, please allow me to express my gratitude for your courage and dedication.”