Eileen dropped into the hole in the floor. Lowell came after her. Lowell was mad, eyes completely senseless in his beefy face, sweat running in streams. He drew back for another strike as Eileen scrambled to her feet. Eileen reached under Lowell's arm and hit him smoothly in the throat. Most people hit in the jaw, thinking about the movies. Jaws are hard objects that in real life have a tendency to break what hits them, like hands. Throats, on the other hand, aren't very hard. People protect their throats with their jaws in a fight, but Lowell wasn't expecting Eileen to strike him there. The blow struck Lowell directly in the windpipe, immediately cutting off his breath.

Eileen danced backward, and that was her mistake. The edge of a floor tile caught her in the upper thighs, sending exquisite pain through her legs. She doubled over and barely avoided Lowell as he tried to strike at her again. His eyes were bulging and he was trying unsuccessfully to breathe.

Lowell stood up for a third strike, and that was when Joe rose up behind him with the tile opener held in both hands. He swung the bulky thing like a baseball bat and connected solidly with the back of Lowell's head. There was an amazing spray of blood from Lowell's scalp as the metal edges tore through his hair, and the sense and madness fled from Lowell's eyes. He stood for a moment, a childlike, puzzled look on his face, then fell forward. He landed half on, half off a tile that was still in place. His feet dangled to the floor below.

Joe stood staring, then dropped the b.l.o.o.d.y tool from his hands.

Eileen secured her gun before she handcuffed Lowell Guzman, and she did both of those before she turned to Joe Tanner.

"I told you I didn't do it," Joe said shakily.

"I knew you didn't," she said. She looked at Guzman and realized he was breathing, which relieved her. She wanted to have a long talk with Lowell Guzman. Several of them. It was going to be a pleasure. "Gotcha, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she murmured.

"I got him," Joe said, smiling ferociously.

Eileen put her hands on the crossbars of the tiles and swung herself out of the floor. She dusted her hands and grinned.

"You got him, yes you did," she said. "Have I said thanks yet?"

"Not yet," Joe said, and scrambled out of his hole in the floor. There was an empty floor tile between them.

"Thank you." Eileen laughed, and leaped at him.

36.

Schriever Air Force Base.

The Blazer scattered gravel into the gra.s.s as it slid to a stop in front of the building. Blaine got out of the Blazer and ran toward the doorway, not waiting for Lucy or Stillwell. Lucy cursed, struggling with the backseat release. She pa.s.sed Still-well as they ran for the entrance.

"What's going on?" Stillwell asked.

Lucy ran without answering. She sprinted by the desk without seeing the guards, following Blaine. Her stomach felt heavy and unfamiliar, but her legs were toughened by years of running. Stillwell was a distant third as Blaine headed up the stairwell.

She was silent in her running shoes. She hoped her intuition was wrong. She knew it was not. The building seemed enormous, and she could not quite catch up to Blaine. There didn't seem to be any oxygen in this Colorado air.

As she rounded a curve, she saw Blaine in an open doorway. He was looking at something, and as time slowed down for her she saw him pull a pistol from his shoulder holster. Her pistol matched his, flying into her grip with absurd and dreamlike ease.

He raised the pistol. Lucy didn't raise hers. She knew she couldn't hit him while she was running, and she hoped she could reach him before he fired.

He fired.

Turtkul, Uzbekistan.

The sound was enormous. It was unbearable. Anna Kalinsk shrieked and huddled over her two youngest boys, trying to hold her body over theirs and protect her ears at the same time. She knew everyone must be screaming, but she could hear nothing.

Suddenly daylight poured over her. Anna hunched over her boys, trying to gather them under her like a duck hiding her ducklings, knowing that it would do no good. Her body would not stop the bullets. They would go through her and into her sons, and it would be over.

Not for the first time, Anna wished she had a rifle. At least she could try and take some of the husband-killing, father-killing murderers with her. She looked up, teeth bared, to meet her death face-on.

There was no one at the opening of the underground silo. Nothing but clouds of billowing dust.

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

There was a movement at the entrance to the Gaming Center. Eileen turned from Joe's arms, expecting to see a whole platoon of base guards, and instead saw Major Blaine standing at the end of the hallway. He had a pistol, and as he raised it to his shoulder Eileen twisted around and pulled Joe into an open s.p.a.ce between the floor tiles.

They hit the subfloor together, with an impact that drove the air from her lungs. Joe had landed on top of her. Blaine's gun went off with an enormous coughing sound. It was not the thud of a bullet hitting meat. Eileen whooped, and Joe shouted. He scrambled off her and tried to stand up. Eileen put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him roughly down. She couldn't seem to take a breath. She leaped out of the floor.

The office chair in front of the unconscious form of Lowell Guzman was shredded and smoking. It had been a near miss. The stink of gunfire was choking. Eileen ran toward the entrance, gun in hand.

Blaine was down. He was flat on his face, one arm twisted high between his shoulder blades. He was breathing heavily. A woman sat on him, holding his arm neatly. She was panting. Both of them had obviously arrived at a run, which explained Blaine's poor shot. He didn't have time to take a good stand and steady his aim. If he had, Lowell Guzman would probably be dead.

Eileen stopped in the doorway, bent over, put her hands on her thighs, and drew a deep harsh breath.

"Ahh," she said.

"Anyone shot?" the woman said.

"Just a chair," Eileen wheezed.

Another man came running up, wheezing as badly as Eileen.

"Was he trying to shoot a bad guy or a good guy?" the woman asked. She was dark-haired and very pretty, and dressed in civilian clothes. Eileen had never seen her before. "Tell me I did the right thing."

"You did the right thing," Eileen whispered hoa.r.s.ely. She took a couple of breaths and choked out a laugh. "I'm out of handcuffs."

"He's not," the other man said, pointing at Blaine. Eileen looked at the new man. He was a short Air Force major in a rumpled uniform. The uniform was not merely rumpled. There were wrinkles on the wrinkles. Dust was creased into the wrinkles at his ankles. There was a big stain on the shirt. He was sunburned and mosquito-bitten. He looked as if he'd been hopping freight trains for a week.

"Lucy Giometti, DIA," the woman said. She was very pale. She unhooked Blaine's own handcuffs from his belt and used them on him. As she stood up Eileen realized the woman was pregnant.

"Eileen Reed, Springs Police," Eileen said. Her breath was coming back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Lucy Giometti said. She was feeling her stomach, patting it all over, as though she were checking to make sure it was all there. She grinned at Eileen and held out her hand. "I don't want to do that, say, for regular exercise, but I'm okay."

"Thank G.o.d," Stillwell said as Eileen and Lucy shook hands. "I couldn't get here as fast as she did. What a hit! Where did you learn to do that?"

"Girl Scouts," Lucy said primly.

"I'm Captain Stillwell, OSI," the racc.o.o.n-eyed major said, turning to Eileen.

"Nice to meet you," Eileen said. "You're supposed to take over the investigation, right?"

"That's right," Stillwell said, and started to grin. "Looks like the only thing you left me was some paperwork." He held out his hand, and Eileen shook it firmly.

"I'm glad," Lucy said.

"Me too," Joe said from behind Eileen's shoulder. He was looking at Major Blaine with a wondering expression on his face.

"Me three," Stillwell said.

"Let me up," Blaine said from the floor.

"Shut up," all four of them said at once.

Turtkul, Uzbekistan.

Ali appeared at Muallah's right. Muallah was watching the countdown clock with satisfaction. Only four minutes and Fouad Muallah would fulfill his destiny. The Trumpet of Doom would sound, and the world would never be the same.

"Mahdi," Ali murmured. "I predict survivors. We can climb from silo one."

"We need a.s.sad," Muallah murmured, understanding instantly what Ali meant. Rashad, Haadin, and Ruadh would hold off the soldiers while Muallah and Ali escaped. They needed a.s.sad to fly the helicopter, but the others were disposable.

"We need a.s.sad to set the explosives in this room," Muallah said aloud to Ruadh. "Take his place and send him here."

"I can-"

"I require a.s.sad," Muallah ordered. Ruadh bent his head and left, with a last glance at the control panel.

"Only three minutes left," Ali said, gazing at the red numbers.

"I want to be outside when the Trumpet sounds," Muallah said. He felt rapturous, transported. His moment was at hand.

"We need to hurry," Ali said.

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

"Who's in the Center?" Lucy asked, holstering her gun.

"Lowell Guzman," Eileen and Joe said together, and grinned at each other.

"Lowell," Lucy said wonderingly. "He's the murderer? And Major Blaine was trying to shoot him?"

"He sure wasn't aiming at us," Eileen said. "I think-"

She was interrupted by the earsplitting shriek of a siren. The hall to the Gaming Center lit up with swirling red lights.

Lucy and Stillwell jumped. Joe Tanner gasped.

"Oh my G.o.d," he shouted.

"What is it?" Eileen said, shouting over the whooping of the siren.

"It's a launch," Joe shouted back. "It's impossible. It's-" Then he turned and was gone, bounding up the hallway into the Center.

Stillwell and Eileen looked at each other, then at Lucy. The color was draining out of Lucy's face.

"What is it?" Eileen asked.

"Muallah," Lucy whispered from ashen lips. "Muallah is going to launch."

Turtkul, Uzbekistan.

Anna saw the distant silhouette of a figure at the top of the silo, the figure she'd been dreading, and she felt her whole body go rigid. As if that would help stop the bullets.

"h.e.l.lo?" a voice echoed down the silo. Anna blinked in disbelief. The voice and the language were Russian. Russian.

"h.e.l.lo!" she screamed. "h.e.l.lo, help us, please!"

Ilina stood, dislodging children left and right, her face wild with hope.

"Help us, we are Russians, we are women and children, help us, please!" she shouted, then burst into hysterical laughter.

"They are Russian, Ilina, Russian!" Anna shouted, and then everyone was on their feet, shouting and laughing and crying, as the first ropes came down the silo.