Matthew Reilly - Area 7

Squadron. In that case, death is probable, but not certain.

"We can't stay here!" she yelled instantly. "Out! Out!"

She and Juliet immediately grabbed the President by his

coat and hauled him toward the door. They didn't miss a step

as they ran through the doorway and dived out of the moving

train onto the platform, rolling quickly as they landed.

Hot Rod Hagerty and Nicholas Tate jumped nervously

from the moving rail car, landing awkwardly.

A split second later, the figure of Mother--obviously

not wanting to wait in line behind Hagerty and Tate--came

area 7 219

flying out through one of the broken windows next to the

doorway. She somersaulted as she hit the platform, gun

tucked up against her chest, rolled to her feet.

A moment later, the three grenades went off--three

consecutive blasts, booming out from the second rail car.

A trio of brilliant fireballs expanded laterally throughout

the interior of the rail car--illuminating the entire carriage

like a spectacular elongated lightbulb--consuming

every available inch of space within it.

Angry flames billowed out from the windows of the carriage,

snapping the window frames like twigs, cracking the

car's walls.

The fireballs fanned out over the underground platform,

expanding over Gant and the others' heads as they scurried

behind the station's concrete pillars to avoid the fire of the

advancing 7th Squadron men.

THE ENTIRE X-RAIL TRAIN ROCKED WITH THE TRIPLE GRENADE

explosion, but it kept on going, picking up speed with every

yard.

In the front carriage, Schofield was almost knocked off

his feet by the blast. When he managed to regain his balance

and look back down the track, he felt a rush of horror sweep

through him.

He saw the President--flanked by Gant and Mother and

Juliet--taking cover on the underground station's platform.

Damn it!

The President was off the train!

The accelerating X-rail train was now approaching the

western end of the station, coming alongside the 7th

Squadron commandos positioned there. Schofield saw the

7th Squadron men, right alongside his carriage, but they

paid him no heed.

They only had eyes for the President.

And suddenly Schofield had a decision to make.

Leap off the train and stay with the President--the President

on whose back the fate of the country rested.

Or go after the boy ...

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Matthew Reilly

Then, in a fleeting instant, just as the train was about to

disappear into the tunnel, Schofield saw him, and he knew

then that the President would get away--at least away from

the Level 6 station. And he knew that Gant and Mother

would see it, too.

And with that, he made his decision to go after Kevin.

A second later, Schofield's view of the X-rail station--

the image of the ten 7th Squadron commandos leapfrogging

their way down the platform toward the President of the

United States and his last few guardians--was replaced with

that of the impenetrable black wall of the tunnel.

gant ducked, covering her head from the chunks of

concrete that were raining down all around her.

They were screwed.

The 7th Squadron had them.

There was nowhere they could go, nowhere they could

run. They were stuck out in the very middle of the platform,

outnumbered, outgunned and out of goddamned luck.

And then she saw Elvis.

Walking like a robot--an automaton, completely out in

the open--toward the advancing 7th Squadron men, despite

the raging gunbattle going on all around him.

He had no weapon in his hands. Indeed, his massive

fists were clenched firmly on either side of his body as he

walked. His face was entirely devoid of emotion--his eyes

fixed, his jaw set.

Elvis, it seemed, had his own mission now.

"Oh, Jesus," Gant breathed. "Take care, Elvis."

Then she turned to the others, "Get ready, people. We're

leaving."

"What?" Hot Rod Hagerty blurted. "How?"

"Elvis is going to buy us some time. Take cover and get

ready to move."

sergeant wendall "elvis" haynes, USMC, strode purposefully

toward the oncoming 7th Squadron commandos, in between them and the President's group.

area 7 221

The 7th Squadron men slowed slightly, if only because

this was such an odd thing for Elvis to do. He was quite

obviously unarmed and yet he just kept moving slowly

forward--twenty yards from them, twenty yards from the

President--completely calm.

The 7th Squadron commandos never heard the mantra

he was repeating softly to himself as he walked. "You killed

my friend. You killed my friend. You killed my friend ..."

Quickly and efficiently, one of the 7th Squadron men

raised his P-90 and fired a short burst. The volley ripped

Elvis's chest to shreds and he fell, and the 7th Squadron men

resumed their advance.

It was only when they reached Elvis that they heard him

speaking, gurgling through his own blood: "You killed my

friend ..."

And then they saw his bearlike right hand open like a

flower--

--to reveal, resting in his palm, a high-powered RDX

hand grenade.

"You killed my ..."

Elvis drew his final breath.

And his hand relaxed completely--releasing the

grenade's spoon--and to the utter horror of the men of

Bravo Unit standing close around it, the powerful RDX

grenade went off with all its terrible force.

THE X-RAIL TRAIN ROCKETED THROUGH THE TUNNEL SYSTEM.

Sleek and streamlined, with its bullet-shaped nose and

its flat X-framed fuselage, the twin-carriage train whipped

through the wide tunnel at a cool two hundred miles per

hour--and this despite its blasted-out windows and bullet

battered walls.

It moved with little noise and surprising smoothness.

This was because it was propelled not by an engine, but

rather by a state-of-the-art magnetic propulsion system that

had been developed to replace the aging steam-operated catapults

on the Navy's aircraft carriers. Magnetic propulsion

required few moving parts yet yielded phenomenal ground

speeds, making it very popular among engineers who lived

by the rule that the more parts a piece of machinery has, the

more parts it has that can break.

Book II sat in the driver's compartment, hands on the

controls. Herbie sat beside him. The driver's compartment

was the only part of the X-rail car that hadn't had all its windows

blasted to pieces.

"Aw, shit!" Schofield's voice yelled from behind them. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Schofield strode into the driver's compartment.

"What's wrong?" Book II asked.

"This is what's wrong," Schofield said, indicating the

silver Samsonite briefcase dangling from his combat webbing.

The Football. "Damn it! Everything was happening

too fast. I never even thought about it when the President

dived off the train. What time is it?"

area 7 223

It was 8:55.

"Great," he said. "We now have just over an hour to get

this suitcase back to the President."

"Should we turn around?" Book II asked.

Schofield paused, thinking fast, a thousand thoughts

swirling through his head.

Then he said decisively: "No. I'm not leaving that boy.

We can get back in time."

"Uh, but what about the country?" Book II said.

Schofield offered him a crooked smile. "I've never lost

to a countdown yet, and I'm not about to start today." He

turned to Herbie. "All right, Herbie. Twenty-five words or

less: tell me about this X-rail system. Where does it go?"