Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

"Tunnels," he said aloud. "Bloody tunnels."

Crouching low, Burton crab-walked around the rim of the bowl until he

lay directly over the concrete bunker. Then he pulled three grenades

from his web belt and laid them on

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sporadically, searching out targets in the gloom. Pulling the pin on

the first grenade, Burton swung himself down, lobbed it through the

narrow firing slit, and rolled back up onto the lip of the bowl.

The explosion shook the ground beneath him. The machine gun fell

silent. Gray smoke poured from the firing slit.

Grabbing the other two grenades, Burton dropped down in front of the

bunker. One meter below the slit he noticed a padlocked steel handle

set in the bunker's grass-covered face. Escape hatch, he thought.

Arming another grenade, he jammed it against the lock and hopped back

onto the roof of the bunker.

The blast tore the hatch right off its hinges. Covering his nose and

mouth with his shirtfront, Burton disappeared through the smoking hatch

like a rabbit down its hole.

Hauer's lungs were on fire. He had just flung himself down the twenty

flights of stairs to the basement complex, thanking God with every step

that he had run out of ammunition before the howitzer gunners spotted

him. Now he worked his way through almost total darkness toward the

voices he heard at the far end of the dark laboratory. When he finally

reached open space, he saw eight people standing in front of a shining

silver wall with great doors set in its face. Someone was speaking

English very loudly, but Hauer didn't recognize the voice. When he was

only five meters from the group, he finally saw what held center stage.

Lying prone on a wheeled cart like truncated guided missiles were three

bulbous, metal-finned cylinders. Ominous and black, they seemed to hold

everyone away by some invisible repulsive force. No one had noticed

Hauer yet, so he hesitated, trying to gauge exactly what was happening.

Jonas Stern stood with his back to the glinting storage vault, speaking

in low, urgent tones to General Steyn, who faced him across the bomb

cart. Gadi stood on Stern's left, an assault rifle hanging loosely in

his right hand. The two surviving South African CT soldiers, still

masked and helmeted, stood directly behind General Steyn. Smuts had

propped Hess against a nearby wall, his wasted legs splayed out before

him. Hans and Ilse stood arm in arm beside Dr.

Sabri.

Hauer slung his empty rifle over his shoulder, strode 7656 GREG ILES

through the semicircle and interposed himself between Stern and General

Steyn.

"Captain Hauer!" said General Steyn. He jabbed a finger at Stern.

"Do you know what this madman wants to do?

He's talking about detonating one of these weapons!"

Hauer had already guessed as much. What he could not understand was why

Stern had told General Steyn about his plan at all. Perhaps the South

Africans had surprised the Israelis in the process of arming the bombs.

Hauer looked at Smuts and pointed to one of,the bombs.

"Exactly what are we looking at here?"

When Smuts did not respond, Dr. Sabri said, "You are looking at three

fully operational nuclear weapons, sir."

Hauer studied the bespectacled young Arab. "And you are ... ?"

"He's a Libyan physicist," Gadi said irritably. "We've established that

already."

"Hauer," Stern said evenly, "the situation is hopeless. You know that

as well as 1, and General Steyn knows it better than both of us.

There is no way out of this building. In a matter of minutes the

Libyans will break through. When they do, Israel is lost. Unless-"

"Unless you blow the northern half of South Africa to hell?" General

Steyn bellowed.

Ilse's voice rose above the others. "How much time do we have? I

haven't heard any explosions for a few minutes."

Hauer rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "I think some of the

Arabs are already inside, but they won't be able to breach those shields

with light weapons. The main force is trying to drag their big gun

across that bowl. Three hundred meters. Plus, our armored car is

blocking the door to the house. I'd say we have fifteen to twenty

minutes before we have to fight."

"Thank you, Captain," said Stern. His voice softened as he spoke to

General Steyn. "Jaap, the, damage from these weapons might be far less

than you imagine. Dr. Sabri, what are these bombs capable of.?"

The young Libyan answered in a shaky voice. "I've only examined one of

the weapons closely. It's a forty-kiloton bomb. That's a fairly low

yield by today's standards, though it's twice the size of the Hiroshima

bomb. If it were detonated as it was designed to be-in an air burst-the

results would be catastrophic. But here ... I would guess we're about a

hundred meters underground. The walls look like inforced concrete,

that's good." He frowned. "Such ings are difficult to predict, but if

only the one bomb exploded, the result could be similar to a

medium-sized underground nuclear test. If, however, the other weapons

detonated with the first-and if they are of the same approximate

size-the explosion might blow upward and break through the surface.

Where we are standing would be the epicenter of a large crater.

As for the above-ground effects, estimating blast radius and such, my

rough guess would be ... perhaps five kilometers? The radiation is the

real problem. But if the wind is right, the whole cloud might drift

right out to sea."

"Or it might drift south and kill everyone in Pretoria and

Johannesburg!" General Steyn exploded.

Hans stepped tentatively forward. "You said you brought an armored car

with you. Is there some way we could sneak the bombs out of here?"

Hauer shook his head. "Even if we could fight our way up to the

vehicle, we'd never get the bombs up to it. God only knows how much

they weigh."

"Sixteen hundred and fifty kilograms each," Dr. Sabri volunteered.

"There it is," said Stern with a note of finality. "The bombs cannot be

gotten safely away. That leaves only one option."

"That's ridiculous!" roared General Steyn. "All we have to do is find

a way out of here ourselves! We can leave the bombs right where they

are. As soon as we reach a phone, I can call Durban airbase. The air

force can shoot these Arab pirates down before they even leave our

airspace!"

This suggestion found immediate favor in the group. But while General

Steyn expanded on his idea, Gadi Abrams eased slowly across the room to

where Hans and Ilse stood listening.

When the general finished speaking, Stern put his foot on the nearest

bomb, laid an elbow across his knee, and leaned toward the South

African. General Steyn stared back with the tenacity of a bulldog.

Behind him, his masked soldiers stood with their shotguns at the ready.

"Jaap," Stern said softly. "I simply cannot allow these weapons to fall

into Libyan hands. Not even for an hour.

The risks are simply too great."

General Steyn raised his right hand. The gesture had a distinctly

military quality to it, and it brought an immediate response. Both

South African commandos pointed their shotguns at Stern.

Their futuristic garb gave them the look of hostile aliens, and their

command over the group was total.

Or almost total. At the moment they brought their guns to bear, Gadi

swung the barrel of his assault rifle up from behind Ilse and fired from

the hip.

Ilse screamed.