"His jet was out on the tarmac," April said. "He can still access the other dish with a laptop from there. We have to stop him."

Skarda twisted his head to catch her eye. "Think you can fly?"

"Just get me to the pilot's seat."

SIXTY-FIVE.

Gulf of Mexico ON Candy Man's big monitor, readouts from communications satellites in orbit around the Earth tiled up in overlapping windows. Tapping a key, he brought up the file for the Russian RSCC Express-AM33 telecommunications satellite, the bird Skarda would be using in Crimea to connect to the Stealth.

The signal was weak and flickering.

Then it stopped altogether.

___.

Mount Tavrida Stepping out into the frigid air, Tomilin looked up at the stump of the shattered satellite dish on the fortress roof. Silently he cursed Rachel. The technicians had just finalized the link between the Roman-Kosh satellite and Tavrida when she began her attack. But the thought brought a confident smile to his face. Maybe the b.i.t.c.h had blown up the computer room, but he couldn't be stopped that easily. There was a laptop on the Challenger. From there he could access the dish on Roman-Kosh and fire the laser into the Arctic Ocean.

Checking the magazine of the AK-47 he had s.n.a.t.c.hed up, he headed east, hurrying along the shelter of the exterior wall, listening to the crackle of rifle fire in the distance. Ahead the wall turned south. Jogging up, he stopped, peering around the corner. Without a coat or gloves, he was shivering now, his teeth chattering. From here he could see the twisted wreckage of the Mi-25's, still gushing flame and smoke, mingled with the ruins of the shattered exterior wall. Some of the fighting had moved outside as men raced out through the breach, firing their weapons. A grenade exploded, sending two Atlanteans pinwheeling through the air.

Then through the ruptured wall he saw David Charbonnet appear, sweeping his SCAR at the enemy before he ducked into the cover of an outcrop of snow-covered rocks. With swift appraisal Tomilin surveyed the open ground between his position and Charbonnet. It would be suicide to make a run for it. But to his left ran a patch of uneven ground upthrust with jagged boulders.

Crouching low, he darted for the shelter of the nearest rock.

___.

With Flinders running point in front of him, Skarda staggered along the length of the loading dock, the burden of April's weight heavy on his shoulders. A nauseating dizziness threatened to overpower him, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. Through the open door he could see the huge, twin-rotored Chinook squatting on its helipad, its metal skin dancing with warm reflections from the storeroom lights. The aft cargo ramp was still lowered.

Breaking out into the open, they crunched through a snow drift and moved up the ramp, their boots clanging out metallic echoes on the floor of the main cabin. He carried April along the narrow s.p.a.ce between twin rows of canvas-backed seats. At the c.o.c.kpit door he helped her ease into the pilot's seat. In the frigid darkness her face was a pale oval.

"Can you make it?"

"Don't worry. I'll make it. Get the wingpacks!"

With that she turned her back to him and started the firing sequence for the engines.

But he was worried. She looked like she was going to pa.s.s out. He turned and raced off for the rocks.

Within three minutes he was back, dragging the flying wings behind him. Flinders, now wearing a bulky parka she'd found in a storage locker, raced down the ramp, grabbing one as the Chinook's big turbine engines whined into life, growing louder as they warmed up. Together they hauled the wingpacks into the cabin.

Skarda ran up to the c.o.c.kpit. "How long?"

April kept her eyes fixed on the instrument panel. Her face had regained some of its color now, but he knew she was working on pure adrenaline. "Another minute of warm-up, then let's give him seven minutes."

"Okay." He have her a thumbs-up. Taking out his Stealth, he typed in a message to Candy Man: "Target these coordinates in seven minutes."

He hit the "Send" b.u.t.ton.

The screen read: "NO SATELLITE SIGNAL."

He tried again.

Same message.

They had to go now, Candy Man or not. There was no choice.

Racing to the open ramp, he programmed the Stealth for autosend. Then he rooted through a storage locker until he found a hammer and smashed a jagged hole in the nearest porthole. Clearing away the gla.s.s, he jammed the Stealth in between the two shattered panes of the double-gla.s.s window. The smartphone would keep trying to send the message over and over until the battery was exhausted.

Grabbing a parka, he found a knife and cut out long strips of polyester from the back. In his ears the roar of the engines grew louder, rattling the fuselage as the rotor blades began to spin.

Flinders helped him strap into his wingpack.

"We're not that high, so we won't need the helmets to breathe," he told her. "But the wind's going to be brutal. And cold. So you take my helmet."

He fitted the helmet over her head.

Then he reached around the small of her back and dragged her next to him so they were face-to-face. With first one hand and then the other she lashed her legs to his with two of the strips.

Her face was next to his. Through the helmet's visor she stared into his eyes and smiled. "And you said you weren't ready."

He laughed. "When we jump, throw your arms around my neck and hang on."

"Don't worry!"

The hum of hydraulics came to his ears. He looked up, seeing the ramp closing shut as the Chinook lifted from the helipad.

Then the helicopter rocked as an explosion blasted the c.o.c.kpit.

___.

Tomilin's shoes broke through a crust of snow as he crouch-ran to the shadow of another boulder. From this position he could catch a glimpse of Charbonnet, firing from the shelter of his own rock.

Carefully aiming the AK-47, Tomilin squeezed off a single shot, chipping off flakes of stone about five feet above the other man' head.

Instantly Charbonnet whipped around, bringing his rifle to bear.

Throwing out his hands to both sides, Tomilin dropped the rifle, rising up a little to let Charbonnet see him. The younger man's teeth flashed. With an exaggerated motion Tomilin pointed at the runway.

Charbonnet nodded.

___.

Gulf of Mexico Candy Man brought up a schematic of the DRO satellite hovering over the North Pole. He'd already hacked into the satellite's systems, but the pa.s.sword still eluded him.

At least the laser hadn't fired.

On the bottom of his screen the pa.s.sword cracker ripped through billions of keys. He'd already gone through the hashes on his rainbow tables without a hit.

A signal beeped.

He glanced down at the screen: "KEY FOUND".

Accessing the satellite data link, he tapped a key. A pa.s.sword box popped up. He typed in a string of characters and numbers and hit the enter key.

"ACCESS GRANTED".

He was in!

Now the firing codes.

With his teeth he tore the wrapper from a Dove bar and gnawed off a huge bite.

___.

Mount Tavrida When the grenade exploded, April ducked instinctively, but the Chinook's bullet-resistant gla.s.s blocked the hail of steel fragments. A churning column of black smoke obscured her vision.

Whipping her head around, she yelled out to Skarda. "What's going on?"

Looking out through the narrowing gap in the aft ramp, Skarda stared in disbelief.

Silhouetted by the light from the loading dock, Jaz's grisly figure staggered toward them, her right hand clutching a second grenade.

"Get this thing in the air now!" Skarda yelled.

Jaz dragged herself closer, raising her arm. The gap between the cargo ramp and the tail of the Chinook slowly closed.

Too slowly.

Desperately Skarda tried to get Flinders' attention. But she was staring at Jaz, too, her bottom lip quivering.

"Untie yourself!" he yelled. "It's our only chance!"

He could jettison the wingpack, but he couldn't move his legs with her bound to him.

For a heartbeat, Flinders stared at him through the helmet. Then her face went serious and she bent down, her fingers scrabbling at the knots she had tied.

The Chinook lifted higher.

By now Jaz had almost reached the ramp. Blood trickled from both sides of her mouth and her bare chest, thick with hair, was a mat of red gore. How she had managed to get this far, Skarda couldn't imagine.

Baring her teeth in a rictus of hate, she lobbed the grenade at the narrowing gap. But loss of blood had robbed her of her powers. Her aim was off. The grenade banged against the lip of the ramp, flying off in the direction of the dock.

Her sightline obscured by the bulky helmet, Flinders groped at the tightly-drawn knots.

Too slow!

Roaring with rage, Jaz leapt forward just as the big chopper lifted from the helipad in a rush of wind. Her fingers clamped on the cold metal lip of the ramp, gripping hard, her body jerked upward by the force of the lifting aircraft and the rapidly-closing gap.

Skarda stared in horror as she struggled to pull herself up into the cabin, her fingers scrabbling for purchase, her face twisting with hate.

Below her, the grenade exploded. Jaz shrieked as hot shrapnel ripped through her legs.

"Hurry!" Skarda shouted at Flinders.

Her fingers fumbled. She glanced up at him, terrified.

He knew she wasn't going to make it in time.

Pivoting the wing sideways, Skarda tried to grope for the knife he'd left on a seat.

No use.

With inexorable effort Jaz dragged herself forward, the big muscles of her arms bulging with the strain, the fat vein on her forehead squirming. Wind blasted her, whistling as it whipped around her body dangling in open s.p.a.ce below the level of the ramp.

The Chinook rose above the level of the fortress.

The gap shrunk. Her fingers closed on a U-ring bolted to the deck and she dragged herself further into the opening, her verdigris eyes drilling into Skarda's, her ghastly mouth twitching spasmodically.

Then her fingers jerked. Something shook her body. Suddenly she let go of the ring, clutching on nothing as the ramp narrowed its gap to inches, until only a narrow slice of the night sky was left. Her head jerked up. Her eyes bored into Skarda's, her face transfixed by an expression of astonished bewilderment.

Then the heavy steel lip closed like a vise, drowning out her terrible shriek.

The b.l.o.o.d.y stumps of her hands and wrists dropped free, tumbling forward with the momentum of the chopper to land at Skarda's feet.

___.

Outside the Chinook, the blast of the rotors hurtled Jaz backwards, somersaulting, the severed ends of her arms pumping out streamers of blood as she fell, screaming, into the black depths of the mountainside below.

SIXTY-SIX.

THE Challenger loomed white in the gloom, gleaming with dull highlights.

Tomilin ran hard for it, his breath shooting from his lungs in gouts of steam. Charbonnet had already reached the cabin door and was lowering the entry staircase.

Reaching the jet, a sudden realization struck the senator.

The Falcon was gone.