"Now we launch," Ruadh said. "I've set silo number two for the launch sequence."

Muallah nodded at Ali and watched as Ali slipped silently from the command center. Ali would see how many of the Russians were left. Muallah's plans did not include a Russian prison.

"On my count of three, again," Ruadh said, and took hold of the second of the two sets of keys.

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

For a moment Joe couldn't move. The fear poured into his body, and he saw white specks in front of his eyes. There was a roaring sound in his ears, and he wondered if he was going to pa.s.s out. Then he heard the door open down the long hallway, and the trance broke.

He looked around Lowell's room. Everything seemed very bright and very clear. He noticed with one part of his brain that the clock on the computer had slowed down. Each second ticked by an eternity after the last. The gadget to pick up the metal floor tiles was in the television studio, a few feet from Lowell's room.

Joe leaped to the television studio and, device in hand, was levering up a metal square while one part of his mind was still contemplating the curious slowness of the simulation. He left the carpet square folded up, hoping it would drop back down as soon as he put the tile down. If Lowell found him, he wouldn't have much of a chance. A tile opener against a sharpened knife wasn't much. But unlike Art Bailey, Joe Tanner knew who the murderer was. Joe wasn't going to stand there and let Lowell rip out his throat. He was going to fight.

He had no flashlight, but that didn't matter. He kept the suction device, the weight rea.s.suring to his hand, and squeezed into the blackness beneath the floor. As he lowered the tile back down, he heard Lowell calling his name.

Highway 94, Colorado.

"Colonel Ellison didn't tell me why!" Stillwell shouted over the screaming of the little Datsun's engine. Gwen's car was a pickle-green B-210 with rusted-out side panels and an engine that probably shouldn't be driven over forty.

Stillwell held the engine at sixty, and the sound of the wind shrieking in through every faded seal was matched by the howl of the tiny engine. Lucy held on to the frayed dashboard.

"Have they found another body? Did he say that?"

"No!" Stillwell shouted. He banged the steering with his fist, and Lucy jumped and shouted.

"What?" he yelled. "What is it?"

"Don't hit this car!" she shouted back. "Are you crazy?"

Stillwell started roaring with laughter and Lucy, after a moment, joined him.

35.

Schriever Air Force Base.

The weight of her gun kept b.u.mping against Eileen's ribs, but she was used to that. The night air was soft and warm against her hot face. The long dark bulk of the CSOC loomed over her. A brief flicker caught her by surprise and she lost her pace for a moment, seeing something moving in the gra.s.s. Then she saw the white flip of a tail and realized she was seeing a jackrabbit. They must live on the base and come out at night to feed on the alien Kentucky bluegra.s.s. What a treat for the rabbits.

She crossed the road and headed up the slope toward the Gaining Center, and she felt as if she could run straight up the side of the building. The fear was over now. This was the time for action. She no longer had to sit and wait. She would finish this. She would save Joe or she would avenge him. There were no other options open to her. She ran.

Peterson Air Force Base, Colorado.

"I'm the commander of Schriever Air Force Base," Colonel Willmeth said into the phone. "And you are going to listen to me very closely. We have an inbound helicopter on the way to the s.p.a.ce Command building. This helicopter is authorized to fly over Schriever and land undisturbed. Do I make myself clear?"

"We're not supposed to-"

"Tonight, you will," Willmeth said. He was struggling into his clothing and was hopping on one foot as he spoke. What the h.e.l.l was going on out there? Not for the first time, he cursed an a.s.signment where he could not live on the base he commanded. He knew General Kelton from NORAD only slightly. Kelton's usual clipped voice had been flat with stress when he'd woken Willmeth out of a sound sleep minutes before.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Willmeth said to the on-duty officer at Schreiver. "If that helicopter has any troubles with my base guards, I'll gut you like a fish. Now follow your G.o.dd.a.m.n orders, Captain!"

He set the phone down and struggled with the zipper of his uniform pants. His hair could wait, he decided. His teeth could not. He grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed an enormous minty-smelling gob of paste on the bristles. The toothbrush went into his mouth. Car keys in hand, Colonel Willmeth ran for his car.

Schriever Air Force Base.

"Captain Alan Stillwell," Stillwell repeated. He could feel his temper threatening to float away like a balloon. His head felt like a balloon, full of the pound of his furious heart.

"We can't let you in here," the Air Force soldier said stubbornly.

"We had a call from Colonel Ellison that Detective Reed from the Colorado Springs Police Department had called in an a.s.sault," Lucy said. Her face was pale, and two red spots burned on her cheeks. Lucy looked furious.

"Yes, ma'am, she came out here and tried to drive in on base, but we can't allow vehicle traffic on base."

"How did she get in?"

"She had her badges, ma'am."

Lucy drew a deep breath and stepped up to the airman.

"You listen to me, soldier," she said. Her eyes were narrowed to slits. "You have two options. You can escort us onto this base, or you can keep us here. If you escort us on base, you might get in trouble. You might even lose a stripe." She looked at his two stripes. "If you keep us here, and you are wrong, which you are, I will guarantee that you will be charged with criminal negligence, conspiracy to commit a crime, and obstruction of an officer in the commission of his duty. That means Leavenworth. Is that clear?"

The airman was no longer looking stubborn and scared. He was now just looking scared. Stillwell looked at Lucy in admiration.

Lucy was just getting started.

"Your commission, your oath, is to your duty. You are not a robot. You are supposed to think. You do not shoot babies. You do not let innocent people die. If you do, you hang for it. You go to Leavenworth for it. Is that clear?"

"Ma'am," the airman said weakly, "I-"

Lights suddenly washed across the group as a Chevy Blazer roared up the road. The truck came to a skidding stop.

"Major Blaine here," said a trim-looking man from behind the wheel. "I'm chief of security. I need to get through-" He stopped and looked with an unsettling blankness at Lucy and Stillwell. "Who are you?"

"Captain Stillwell, OSI," Stillwell shouted. "And Lucy- ahh-Lucy from DIA. We need to get on this base!"

"OSI?" Blaine said. For a moment Stillwell saw a look of fright on his face, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be sure. "Why are you here?"

"Detective Reed called in an a.s.sault," Stillwell said with the last rags of his composure. "We need to get on this base to contain this situation, Major Blaine."

Major Blaine was silent for an endless second, his face smooth and blank.

Stillwell glared at Blaine. Didn't the stupid Security Chief understand the phrase? In all military services, containing the situation means one thing and one thing only. Cover-up, burial, containment, dammit.

Blaine at last seemed to understand, or to come to some kind of conclusion.

"Open the gate, Airman," Blaine said, and held up his badge. "Get in the car," he said to Stillwell and Lucy. "I'll take you in."

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

Joe lay p.r.o.ne in pitch blackness among the hum and pulse of the computers, trying to make his breathing slow down. This was the nightmare of childhood, hiding in the darkness while the monster stalked. He crawled away from the spot where he hoped the carpet lay undisturbed.

There was a thumping sound off to his right. Joe concentrated fiercely, but he couldn't hear anything over the hum of the machinery.

A tile lifted suddenly, off to his right. A bright shaft of light speared down and a hissing, squealing sound broke from his throat as he scrambled away from the light. He could see the support shafts now, too small to hide him. The whole area seemed to be lit up to his night eyes.

Another floor tile lifted suddenly, this one down by the doorway. Joe knew what Lowell was doing. When there were enough tiles lifted, he would be able to drop down and see him. Lowell knew where he was. He scrambled away from the lights, trying to think. A red mist tried to swamp his brain, a mist that told him he could kill Lowell, yes he could, he could kill Lowell with his bare hands, just stand up and fight, kill, kill him.

"No," he mouthed to himself, although he made no sound. Lowell outweighed him by fifty pounds. Joe didn't know how to fight. He'd never taken boxing or even wrestling. He did track in high school, for G.o.dsake. Lowell would take him apart. The only thing he had were his brains and his speed.

Joe started to work his way toward the far end of the Center. If he could just lead Lowell away from the door, he might have a chance to make a break for it.

He clutched the tile-lifting tool to his chest, and as he crawled under the floors he started to pry the rubber suction cups off, leaving the sharp metal edges exposed. Just in case, he told himself, dropping the suction cups to the floor. Just in case.

Schriever Air Force Base.

"I got the information from the base commander," Blaine said as the Blazer roared across the gra.s.s. Lucy held on as they bounced over a gully. Surprised jackrabbits scattered everywhere across the damp gra.s.s.

"We heard from the Peterson base commander," Stillwell shouted. He was still half deaf from the cruise in the screaming Pickle.

"Colonel Willmeth said Reed had called in a possible a.s.sault, not a murder," Blaine said forcefully. "I hope to G.o.d we're not too late!"

Lucy, from the backseat, looked at Major Blaine. Blaine was a horrible actor. There were big beads of sweat in the crisp hairline. There was a tic at the corner of his mouth. Blaine's voice wasn't steady. His face showed concern, but his eyes were ringed in white and wild with anxiety.

Lucy knew someone had tipped off George Tabor. It couldn't be anyone in the Gaming Center; they were all locked in the Center until the Colorado Springs detective arrived. Colonel Willmeth was a brand-new base commander and so could hardly have been George's contact. Lucy had tentatively marked Major Blaine as a possible risk, and now she decided that he was a very probable risk. She was certain of it. Major Blaine was not playing for the Home Team.

Lucy braced herself against the bouncing of the Blazer and decided to ride this one out. She would see what Major Blaine was up to. She could be wrong about him. But she had no intention of letting Major Blaine out of her sight.

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

Eileen held up her Schriever badge and her police badge and ran by the guards in the Missile Defense Center. She was too out of breath to explain anything to them, and she a.s.sumed the base guards would be along shortly.

The long stairs were the cruelest part of her run, and she was nearly done when she reached the third floor. The air was thin with little oxygen, and Eileen could feel the sweat soaking through the back of her shirt. She gasped and wheezed and then picked up a run again, nearly staggering.

The submarine-style door bashed against the wall as she flung it open. She didn't bother to close it behind her. Later on, they would show her the long groove the door handle had punched into the wall and the spray of blood from the knuckle she'd skinned when she spun the wheel. Eileen ran down the hallway to the last door, unaware of her bleeding hand, and as she came to the Gaming Center she reached under her arm and brought out her gun.

The number didn't work. She keyed the clicker twice, fingers trembling, before she realized she was keying in the proper number in reverse order. Eileen cursed, keyed in the number in the proper order, pulled the door open, and raced up the hallway.

As she entered the Gaming Center she saw the patchwork of tiles. Carpet squares lay everywhere. The metal tiles were flipped on their backs, metal gleaming sharply from their undersides. Every console in the Gaming Center showed the vision of Washington, D.C., in the last seconds before impact. Eileen recognized the simulation. It was from the War Game that had played just a few days before.

Lowell Guzman, hair soaked with sweat, was flipping open another tile. His soft burly body was crouched over the opening, and the glitter of his screwdriver was murderously sharp in the gloom.

As Eileen appeared in the doorway Joe leaped up from an opening a few feet from Lowell. His eyes were grim and narrow and his cheeks were patchy with red and pale white. He clutched a bare levering device in one hand and he was heading for the doorway, directly toward Eileen.

For a moment he didn't see her. His eyes were at his feet as he sprinted from opening to opening, fleet-footed as a deer in the snow. Behind him, Lowell roared and sprang after him, dropping his own tile-opening tool and raising the sharpened screwdriver high.

Joe was quicker than Lowell. But he raised his eyes, saw Eileen, and stumbled, arms flung wide. Lowell, behind him, still shouting, raised the screwdriver above his shoulder to drive it forward into Joe's back.

"Drop!" Eileen shouted, and Joe tucked into a ball and fell into the next opening like a magician through a trapdoor. He was gone, and Lowell saw Eileen.

Eileen raised her gun in slow motion, seeing every bead of sweat and the surprise and the frustration on Lowell's face. Behind Lowell, the giant screens blossomed with nuclear detonation. A climbing mushroom cloud stood over Washington like an angry fist. Then Lowell was gone, too, tucking up exactly as Joe had done and dropping into the floor.

Eileen shouted in frustration and ran forward. She didn't have a chance to make a shot at Lowell, and now she couldn't. She might hit Joe. She stood on a tile where the two had been, and as she looked for Joe the tile underneath her erupted up and she stumbled, staggering. Lowell burst up through the floor, and in the patchwork of the room Eileen could not find a footing. She curled up and rolled over a tile. The gun spun from her hands as she instinctively tried to keep from dropping into one of the holes in the floor. Lowell scratched a long silvery streak in the metal floor as his homemade stiletto missed Eileen by a bare half-inch.