Matthew Reilly - Area 7

had stopped beating--blood which had been supplied to the

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Matthew Reilly

General during the two transfusions that had been required

after his unfortunate beatings at Leavenworth.

The military tribunal had said that he would never leave

federal custody alive.

They had been right.

while all this was happening, in a stark empty cell in

the Departure Lounge at Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary,

the rickety old television remained on.

On it, the newly crowned President--smiling, ecstatic,

elated--waved to the cheering crowds.

O'Hare International Airport,

Chicago, Illinois

3 July (Six months later)

they found the first one at o'hare in chicago, sitting

inside an empty hangar at the farthest reaches of the airfield.

A regulation early morning sweep with an electromagnetic

reader had revealed a weak magnetic signal emanating

from the suspect hangar.

The hangar had been completely deserted, except for

the warhead standing in the exact center of the cavernous interior

space.

From a distance, it looked like a large silver cone about

five feet tall mounted on a cargo pallet. Up close, one would

recognize it more easily as a conical warhead designed to be

inserted into a cruise missile.

Wires sprang out from its sides, connecting the warhead

to a small upwardly pointed satellite dish. Through a clear

rectangular window set into the warhead's side, there could

be seen a luminous purple liquid.

Plasma.

Type-240 blast plasma. An extremely volatile quasi

nuclear liquid explosive.

Enough to level a city.

Further investigations revealed that the magnetic signal

that had been detected inside the hangar was part of a

Area 7

complex proximity sensor array surrounding the warhead. If

anyone stepped within fifty feet of the bomb, a red warning

light began to flash, indicating that the device had been

armed.

Lease records revealed that the empty hangar belonged

to the United States Air Force.

Then it was discovered that according to the airfield's

log books, no Air Force personnel had set foot inside that

hangar for at least six weeks.

A call was made to USAF Transportation Command at

Scott Air Force Base.

The Air Force was vague, noncommittal. It knew nothing

about any plasma-based warheads at its civilian hangars.

It would check with its people and get back to O'Hare

ASAP.

It was then that reports came flooding in from around

the country.

Identical warheads--all of them surrounded by magnetic

proximity sensors; all with fold-out satellite dishes

pointing up into the sky--had been found inside empty Air

Force hangars at all three of New York's major airports:

JFK, La Guardia and Newark.

And then Dulles in Washington called.

Then LAX.

San Francisco. San Diego.

Boston. Philadelphia.

St. Louis. Denver.

Seattle. Detroit.

Fourteen devices in all, at fourteen airports across the

country.

All armed. All set. All ready to go off.

All they were waiting for now was the signal.

FIRST CONFRONTATION

3 July/ 0600 Hours

THE THREE HELICOPTERS THUNDERED OVER THE ARID DESERT

plain, booming through the early morning silence.

They flew in tight formation—like they always did

... shooting low over the tumbleweeds, kicking up a tornado of

sand behind them, their freshly waxed sides glinting in the

dawn light.

The giant Sikorsky VH-60N flew out in front—again,

like it always did—flanked on either side by two menacing

CH-53E Super Stallions.

With its pristine white roof and hand-polished dark-green

flanks, the VH-60N is unique among American military helicopters.

It is built for the United States government in a high

security "caged" section at the Sikorsky Aircraft plant in Connecticut.

It is non-deployable—meaning that it is never used

in any operational capacity by the United States Marine

Corps, the branch of the military charged with its upkeep.

It is used for one thing, and one thing only. And it has

no replicas on active duty—and for good reason, for no one

but a few highly cleared Marine engineers and executives at

Sikorsky can know all of its special features.

Paradoxically, for all this secrecy, the VH-60N is without

a doubt the most recognized helicopter in the Western

world.

On air traffic control displays, it is designated "HMX-1,"

Marine Helicopter Squadron One, and its official radio call sign

is "Nighthawk." But over the years, the helicopter that

ferries the President of the United States over short-tomedium

distances has come to be known by a simpler

name—Marine One.

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Matthew Reilly

Known as "Ml" to those who fly in it, it is rarely observed

in flight, and when it is, it is usually in the most demure

of circumstances--taking off from the manicured

South Lawn of the White House or arriving at Camp David.

But not today.

Today it roared over the desert, transporting its famous

passenger between two remote Air Force bases located in

the barren Utah landscape.

Captain Shane M. Schofield, USMC, dressed in his full

blue dress "A" uniform--white peaked hat; navy-blue coat

with gold buttons; medium-blue trousers with red stripe;

spit-polished boots; white patent leather belt with matching

white holster, inside of which resided an ornamental nickel

plated M9 pistol--stood in the cockpit of the Presidential

helicopter, behind its two pilots, peering out through the

chopper's reinforced forward windshield.

At five-ten, Schofield was lean and muscular, with a

handsome narrow face and spiky black hair. And although

they were not standard attire for Marines in full dress uniform,

he also wore sunglasses--a pair of wraparound anti

flash glasses with reflective silver lenses.

The glasses covered a pair of prominent vertical scars

that cut down across both of Schofield's eyes. They were wounds from a previous mission and the reason for his operationatcall-sign,

"Scarecrow."

The flat desert plain stretched out before him, dull yellow

against the morning sky. The dusty desert floor rushed

by beneath the bow of the speeding helicopter.

In the near distance, Schofield saw a low mountain--

their destination.

A cluster of buildings lay nestled at the base of the

rocky hill, at the end of a long concrete runway, their tiny

lights just visible in the early light. The main building of the

complex appeared to be a large airplane hangar, half-buried

in the side of the mountain.

It was United States Air Force Special Area (Restricted)

7, the second Air Force base they were to visit that day.

"Advance Team Two, this is Nighthawk One, we are on

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final approach to Area 7. Please confirm venue status," the

pilot of Ml, Marine Colonel Michael "Gunman" Grier said

into his helmet mike.

There was no reply.

"I say again, Advance Team Two. Report."

Still no reply.

"It's the jamming system," Grier's copilot, Lieutenant

Colonel Michelle Dallas, said. "The radio guys at 8 said to

expect it. These bases are all Level-7 classified, so they're

covered at all times by a satellite-generated radio sphere.

Short-range transmissions only, to stop anybody transmitting

information out."

Earlier that morning, the President had visited Area 8, a

similarly isolated Air Force base about twenty miles to the