Matthew Reilly - Area 7

skidded out from behind Marine One and swung around the

elevator platform, heading directly for the 7th Squadron

men guarding the Football.

"Open fire," Logan said to Boa and his men. "Open fire

now."

They did.

A barrage of P-90 fire assaulted the speeding towing vehicle's

windscreen, shattering it.

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Inside the driver's cabin, Love Machine ducked below

the dashboard. Bullets tore into the seatback behind him,

sending the fluffy innards of the seat showering everywhere.

The cockroach careered across the hangar, bouncing

wildly, taking fire.

Then suddenly, behind it, Marine One rose into the

air--inside the hangar--the deafening thump-thump-thump of its rotor blades reverberating off the walls, drowning out

all other sound.

Inside its cockpit, Gant worked the controls while Elvis

hit switches everywhere.

"Elvis! Give me missiles!" she shouted. "And whatever

you do, don't hit the Football, okay!"

Elvis slammed his finger down on a launch button.

Shoom!

A Hellfire missile shot out from a pod mounted on the

side of the Presidential helicopter, a finger of smoke extending

through the air behind it, the missile shooting at tremendous

speed toward the internal building on the eastern side

of the hangar.

The missile hit the exact center of the building--right

above the Bravo troops guarding the Football--and detonated.

The middle section of the internal building blasted outwards

in a shower of glass and plasterboard. A section of the

glassed-in upper level collapsed to the ground behind the

Bravo men guarding the Football.

The 7th Squadron commandos leapt clear of the falling

debris--only to have to roll again a split second later to

avoid a second source of danger: the oncoming cockroach

driven by Love Machine.

It was chaos.

Mayhem.

Pandemonium.

Exactly as Schofield had planned.

SCHOFIELD WATCHED THE CONFUSION FROM HIS POSITION inside

the destroyed AWACS plane. His watch read:

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8:27:50.

8:27:51.

Two minutes left.

"Okay, Book, let's go." He turned to Juliet and the President.

"You two stay here until we've checked the status of

the Football. If we can get it, we'll bring it back to you. If

not, you'll have to come out."

And with that Schofield and Book II leapt down from

the gaping hole at the rear of the AWACS plane and ran out

into the open.

AT EXACTLY THE SAME MOMENT, A SIX-BARRELED VULCAN

minigun popped out from a compartment underneath the

nose of Marine One and began spewing out a devastating

stream of supermachine-gun fire.

The 7th Squadron men--already scattered everywhere

--were dispersed even more. Some dived behind

their barricade for cover, others found shelter among the ruins

of the AWACS plane and fired up at the President's helicopter.

Gant sat at the controls of Marine One as her enemy's

bullets left scratches on the Lexan windshield. And the

armor-plated walls of the big Sikorsky were built to withstand

missile impacts, so gunfire wasn't a problem.

Beside her, Elvis was yelling, "Yee-ha!" as he rained

hell on the 7th Squadron men with the minigun.

SCHOFIELD AND BOOK II RAN EASTWARD, SIDESTEPPING

quickly toward the 7th Squadron men guarding the Football.

They moved in tandem, guns up, firing--bizarrely--at

Love Machine's runaway cockroach and up at Marine One.

The fact that they were firing at their own people was

probably best explained by the fact that they were dressed in

the black fatigues, black body armor and half-face gas

masks of the 7th Squadron--slightly damaged uniforms

they had pilfered from the dead Air Force commandos in the

decompression area down on Level 4.

Schofield and Book danced sideways, edging toward

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the barricade in front of the Football, firing hard at their own

men--but missing woefully.

They reached the barricade, and Schofield immediately

saw the Football on the chair.

Then he saw the tether.

"Damn it!"

The presidential briefcase was anchored to a tie-down

stud on the floor by a thick metal cord. It looked like titanium

thread.

Watch.

8:28:59.

8:29:00.

"Shit," Schofield keyed his wrist mike. "Janson! The

Football's tethered to the floor. We can't move it. You're going

to have to bring the President out into the open."

"Okay," came the reply.

"Fox! Love Machine! I need another thirty seconds of

mayhem! Then you know what to do."

Fox's voice: "Whatever you say, Scarecrow!"

Love Machine: "Roger that, Boss!"

And then Schofield saw Janson and the President leap

out from the rear section of the AWACS plane--also dressed

in full 7th Squadron attire and brandishing pistols, which

they fired determinedly at Love Machine's cockroach.

Janson fired her SIG-Sauer with a firm two-handed

grip. The President wasn't as fluid, but he did all right for a

guy who'd never served in the military.

Marine One banked in a wide circle around the enormous

hangar, drawing fire, the roar of its speed-blurred rotor

blades thunderous in the enclosed space.

Love Machine's towing vehicle swung past the barricade

protecting the Football, then veered left, heading north, smashing through some broken pieces of the AWACS plane

and then disappearing behind it.

FROM THE FIRST-FLOOR CONTROL ROOM OF THE INTERNAL

building, Caesar Russell watched the chaos unfolding below

him.

area 7

He saw the Presidential helicopter performing death

defying passes inside the enclosed hangar. He saw the

speeding cockroach blasting through the remains of the

AWACS plane on the elevator platform.

And he saw his own men--scattered and dispersed--

firing wildly at both of these two crazy threats, as if they

had been prepared for any ordered attack but not a totally

insane one.

"Goddamn it!" he roared. "Where is Charlie?"

"Still coming up in the personnel elevator, sir."

And then, in an instant of total clarity, as he watched his

men down on the hangar floor, Caesar saw him, and his jaw

dropped.

"No ..."

Caesar watched in stunned amazement as one of his

own men raced over to the Football--which, of course, was

still surrounded by a few men from Bravo Unit, all of them

facing outwards--pulled off one of his black leather gloves,

and under the watchful eye of three other black-clad impostors,

moved his hand toward the palm-print analyzer inside

the steel briefcase.

SCHOFIELD'S WATCH TICKED EVER FORWARD.

8:29:31.

8:29:32.

Amid the roar of the rampaging helicopter and the cacophony

of gunfire all around him, and guarded by

Schofield, Book II and Juliet Janson, the President stepped

up to the Football.

He yanked off his glove, took a final look around himself,

and then, as he strode past the Football, he inconspicuously

placed his hand on the palm-print analyzer, just as the

countdown timer on its display hit 0:24.

The briefcase beeped and the timer instantly ticked over

from 0:24 to 90:00 and started counting down again.

When Schofield saw that the deed was done, he and

Book II fell into step alongside Juliet and the President.

"Remember, guns up and firing," he said. He held his

Matthew Reilly

wrist mike to his lips, "Fox, Elvis, Love Machine: get out of

here. We'll meet you downstairs. Mother, the platform. Now"