Black Skies (24 page)

“W
hat the hell is going on out there?”

Diana Bloch had emerged from her office to the War Room, where Shepard was hunched over his computer and Spartan was saying repeatedly into her headset microphone, “Cobra, come in.” On the big screen was a grid of TV broadcasts from the scene. O’Neal watched in horror, while Louise Dietz seemed to be trying not to look at all.

“No idea, Boss,” said Spartan. “Cougar’s in the dark too, and Cobra isn’t responding.”

“I’m trying to raise whatever I can, but no one has anything about what’s happening on Liberty Island,” said Shepard. “All we know is what’s on TV.”

“That’s not much,” said Bloch.

Shepard shrugged. “They’re on the scene.” He motioned to the big screen. “Any new developments, we’ll catch live.”

“Get ahold of Morgan!” she insisted. “I want a report on what’s happening.
Immediately.
”

“We’re trying,” said Spartan.

She turned to see Kirby approaching from an inner corridor.

“Bloch,” said Kirby. “Look, it’s probably nothing, but it’s strange. I thought I should run it by you. Just in case.”

“This isn’t exactly a good time, Kirby,” said Bloch.

“It’s fine, I can come back, I just—”

Bloch rubbed her index finger and thumb against her forehead. “Just spit it out, Kirby. What is it?”

“The security system’s been offline for three minutes,” he said. “Camera feeds in the garage are down, as well as the door authentication systems.”

“Not the first time that’s happened,” said Bloch. “Probably just a glitch. Louise,” she said to Dietz, who was still sitting at the table, frozen by the urgency of the situation. Bloch figured that giving her something to do might help. “Go check the elevator. The security system sometimes has this issue when there’s something blocking the door. Make sure nothing is in the way.” Louise took off at a nervous run toward the entrance to Zeta Headquarters. “Kirby, you get Shepard to run some diagnostics—
after
we’ve resolved the current crisis, please. This is not the time to pull him off—”

A loud, muffled
clang
came from down the hall, in the direction of the elevator.

“What the—” began Kirby. All eyes turned to the entrance hall. And then the explosion hit.

A hundred things seemed to happen at once. The walls, ground, and ceiling shook. All the glass walls to Bloch’s office shattered, raining tempered glass down on the floor. The lights went out just as fire shot out of the entrance hall into the War Room.

Everything went black, except for the glow of the fireball, which mushroomed up to the ceiling and died against the concrete.

Bloch blacked out. When she came to, she saw the War Room by the light of flames on the walls and floor. How long had she been unconscious? It couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds, could it? She looked around, but she was disoriented, her vision hazy.

“Is anyone conscious?” she asked out loud. Every word sounded muffled. She noticed a ringing in her ears. She repeated the question, trying for a steadier and louder voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shepard stumble to his feet.

“Shepard! Over here!” It took a fair bit of shouting before she caught his attention and he limped over to her. His cheek was scratched, his shirt torn and sooty.

“Are you hurt?” she asked. He seemed dazed, even more out of it than usual.

“No.” He patted himself down, examining himself in the flickering light of the flames. “I don’t think so.”

Bloch detected more movement in her peripheral vision and turned around. “Spartan. Thank God. Are you okay?”

The solidly built Spartan was still on the ground, shaking her head and blinking hard. “I’m alive,” she said.

“Listen,” said Bloch, “I need you to check the entrance, make sure we’re not being invaded. See what you can gather about the explosion.” She turned to Shepard. “Give me a status on the electronics.”

He walked over to his console, still trembling. He pushed a few buttons, then took a look under the hood.

“Everything’s fried,” he said. “I might be able to recover something from the servers, but I won’t be able to access any of it before we get more equipment down here.”

Spartan returned from the entrance corridor with tears in her eyes. “My God . . . Louise . . . The bomb was dropped from the elevator shaft. She was right there. She didn’t stand a chance.”

“Damn,” said Bloch, tears welling in her eyes. Louise Dietz was talented and young. It was a real loss. But she couldn’t mourn for her right now. “We just have to focus on the survivors. How many of us were there? Oh my God, Kirby.”

He had been standing mere feet from her. She looked around and saw him, facedown, across the room. He must have been caught in the shock wave. She rushed over as fast as she could, but her legs were heavy and sluggish. Spartan reached him first.

“He’s alive,” she said. “Barely breathing. He needs medical attention.”

“Okay,” said Bloch. “Let’s find a working cell phone, or some other way of communicating with the outside.”

“There might be something further inside,” said Shepard. “Problem is, this place was built to keep wireless communications
out.
”

“We’ll worry about that when we have a cell phone to work with,” she said. “There are flashlights in the maintenance closet in the East hallway. Go!” He walked off. Bloch turned to Spartan. “Go see if anyone else was hurt and if you can . . . move . . .” Bloch’s vision grew faint and her legs felt weak.

She collapsed.

“Bloch!” cried Spartan, lunging to catch her.

“I’m fine,” Bloch said, except she was now on the floor, with Spartan holding her back so her head wouldn’t knock against the hard stone. She looked down at her abdomen, and just then noticed that her suit was soaked and sticky, a dark stain. “I’m . . .” Her mind was hazy, her thoughts clouded. She blacked out for a second, and then opened her eyes to see Spartan’s face over hers. “How long was I out just now?” she asked.

“A few seconds,” said Spartan, choking back tears. “Gave me a bit of a scare, boss.”

“Nonsense,” said Bloch. “I’m fine. I don’t need your help. But there might be others who do. Go and see if anyone else is hurt.”

“Bloch . . .”

“I’ll
be
fine,” she said. “O’Neal was in here somewhere. Find her. Then get the word out. Help Shepard find some way to communicate with the outside. We’ve got work to do. Go!”

Spartan gently laid Bloch’s head on the ground, and then stood and walked down the east corridor, disappearing into the bowels of Zeta headquarters. Bloch looked down at her own wound. She was bleeding too much, and knew she needed a doctor soon, perhaps as soon as poor Kirby. But she didn’t want anyone fawning over her when there was work to be done.

Bloch tried to get up, but had to hold down a cry of pain, and then frustration. This was a crisis. The country needed her, her troops needed her. She tried again, and this time roared with the searing in her gut. No, she was in no condition to get up. This time, she’d have to trust everything to others, even her life itself.

She lay back. So tired. All she needed was a little rest. To close her eyes.

Just a little rest.

M
organ led the way up the stairs of the base of the Statue of Liberty, followed by Lily, McKay, and Clarke, the security guard. He stopped at a locked door, which led into the pedestal of the statue. Clarke took the lead and unlocked the door. Behind them, Morgan could hear the assailants banging against the outer door.

Going through the door to the pedestal, they emerged into a square space with wide, spacious, carpeted stairs running along the walls in a spiral that wouldn’t be out of place in a nice office building.

“Cougar!” Morgan said out loud as he ran. “Cougar, come in!”

“Cobra, would you tell me what the hell is happening?” he responded through the communicator.

“There was a raid of some kind on the party,” said Morgan, without breaking stride. “Men with semiautomatics. My guess is amphibious commandos. They took out the security and moved in on the guests. Killed plenty. Body count’s in the dozens, I’m betting, but I think now they’re just rounding them up. I think they were after Senator McKay.”

“My God,” said Conley. “Where are you? Did Lily make it?”

“She’s here with me, and so is the senator,” said Morgan. “We’re in the statue. Listen, Cougar, we’ve got to get the senator out of here. Is there any chance of a daring escape here?”

After a pause, Conley said, “Can you get to the crown?”

Morgan repeated the question to Clarke. He gave a thumbs-up.

“That’s an affirmative, Cougar.”

“Get there as fast as you can. I’ll send the chopper for you.”

“Roger,” said Morgan. “Over.”

Within some two minutes they reached the door to the statue, which Clarke unlocked for them with his thick set of keys. Inside was a narrow spiral staircase that led upward, apparently without end. Each sound they made reverberated all through the length of the colossus.

Below, Morgan heard shouting. The attackers had gotten into the base of the statue, and they were in the pedestal now.

“Clarke,” said Morgan, “I need you to escort the senator to the crown, and get her on the chopper that’s coming for her. Can you do that?”

McKay objected. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I need to stay to keep them from getting to you,” he said. “Lily, do you have my back?”

“You know it, Cobra,” she said.

“Can’t you protect me better by coming with me?” asked McKay.

“Those guys meant business,” said Morgan. “They’re out for blood. If I let them get near you, it’s you they’re going to be shooting at. At least on the stairs, they’ll have a different target. Clarke, can I borrow your gun?”

“Brother, you need it more than me,” the guard said, and handed it out, handle first. Morgan took it. It had a nice heft to it. He recognized it as a Ruger SP101.

“It packs a punch,” said Clarke.

“I’ll bet,” said Morgan. “.357 Magnum?”

“Believe it.”

“No extra bullets?”

“Just the six in the drum,” said Clarke.

“It’ll do,” said Morgan. “Now go! Get to safety. We’ll hold them off here.”

They hurried up the steps, their footsteps against the metal echoing up and down the statue. Morgan and Lily turned toward the stairs that led up to the pedestal. “How much have you got left?” he asked her.

“Half clip, if that much,” she said.

“It’s going to be a challenge,” he said.

“If it’s a Bolivian army ending for us, at least it’ll be a good death,” she said.

He cocked his Ruger. “Let’s do this.”

They crouched at the top of the stairs, guns at the ready. Morgan stretched out his hand, keeping a steady aim. The first man appeared at the base, rushing forward. His eyes went wide as he saw the gun aimed at his head. Morgan shot him in the forehead before he could raise his submachine gun. The Magnum bullet did its damage and he fell forward, splayed out on the stairs.

He was easy because he’d been careless. The others would be more wary. But Morgan thought he might be able to push the element of surprise further.

Morgan jumped over the railing, landing on the dead man’s back to break his fall, and turned a corner on the landing to fire three shots toward two commandos who were approaching. They pivoted out of his line of sight. Morgan looked down at the man he had killed. He had fallen on his semiautomatic, and there was no way for Morgan to pick it up without making himself vulnerable. But he did have a sidearm in a hip holster, a black Glock .22. Morgan drew it from the holster with his left hand and raised it so that both guns were at chest level, bracing for more. He had no hope for accuracy shooting double-handed, but the point here was suppressing fire.

He inched back upstairs, sights trained on the landing below. The men could come around at any second, guns blazing. He continued his way back up.

“Who are you?” came a voice from around the corner. Morgan couldn’t quite place the accent, but it sounded Eastern European. Probably a mercenary, he guessed. Morgan didn’t respond. He looked up at Lily, who was breathing heavily, beads of sweat trailing down her forehead. “There are five of us here. More to come,” the intruder yelled.

“You’re not coming in here,” said Morgan, as he reached the top of the staircase.

“We just want the senator,” he said. “Send her out and we will go away.”

“We have the higher ground,” Morgan said. “We can hold this position as long as we want.”

“Against a few of us, maybe,” said the man. “But we have the numbers and the guns.”

“I’ll give you each a hundred thousand dollars to fight for me,” Morgan said. The answer was laughter.

“You can’t outbid our employer, buddy.”

“Two hundred and fifty.”

“Oh, yeah? You gonna write us a check right now, or what?”

There was no way he was going to convince them, but he’d encountered hired guns stupid enough to believe it before.

“Just come out,” said another one. “You don’t have to die here today.”

“No,” said Morgan. “But you will.” He looked up—McKay and Clarke were almost at the top of the stairs. He turned to Lily. “Let’s move up,” he whispered. She glided ahead of him onto the narrow spiral staircase that led up to the statue’s head. Morgan followed close behind. Both tried to keep their footsteps as soft as possible so as not to announce their movements to the enemy, but it was nearly impossible to achieve any kind of stealth.

Morgan heard the attackers coming up, at first in slow, careful footsteps, and then at full tilt once they realized Morgan and Lily were no longer holding their position. Morgan and Lily had ascended twice around the central shaft when several bursts of gunfire came from below—covering fire as the men climbed up into the statue. The noise reverberated inside the hollow giant.

The gunmen must have seen Morgan and Lily running up, because they fired up at them. The railing was solid up to Morgan’s waist, which offered them some protection. A bullet hit the vertical shaft that supported the staircase, directly above Morgan’s head.

“Down!” he cried. He and Lily crouched so that they were hidden by the railing. They continued moving ahead, but much more slowly now that they couldn’t stand. There were a couple of more bursts from below, bullets hitting the railing and sailing above it. Then Morgan heard the clangs of metal footsteps as men mounted the stairs.

“Cobra, come in!” came Conley’s voice over the comm. “The chopper’s going to be there in just about a minute,” he said.

“The Senator should already be in the head of the statue,” said Morgan. “Tell them not to wait for me.”

“Morgan—”

Another burst of gunfire. “You heard me!” Morgan yelled. “Out!”

Morgan and Lily continued their ascent of the steep staircase, the men below hot on their heels. Morgan knew that, as long as he and Lily were forced to crouch, the men would catch up with them before they reached the top.

“Lily,” he yelled to her over the deafening noise, “I want you to keep going, understand? I’m going to hold them back. Don’t argue with me, just go. If you reach the top before the chopper leaves, go and don’t wait for me.”

She looked back with sad eyes and nodded. He stopped and turned around, lying back against the stairs. The footsteps drew closer. He held up both handguns at his abdomen and listened, feeling the vibration of the metal steps underneath him. As he heard them just feet away, he held his breath and raised the weapons.

The first commando ran headlong into his field of vision. He was not expecting Morgan, and didn’t have time to react before Morgan fired the two bullets remaining in the Ruger into his head. He was close enough that he nearly fell on top of Morgan, who pushed the body with his feet so that he fell backward, against the next man on the stairs. Morgan threw the Ruger at the assailant, moved the Glock to his right hand, and leapt down a few more steps to shoot the man who was trying to extricate himself from the dead weight that had fallen on top of him.

Morgan couldn’t press the attack any more without exposing himself. He turned around and resumed his ascent, holding the mercenary’s Glock in his right hand. He checked the magazine—thirteen rounds left. He heard banging noises that reverberated through the stairs, then a soft, dull thud below. They were throwing their fallen comrades over, clearing the way. Then they continued to climb, at least five more by the sound of it. But Morgan had moved far enough ahead that he’d reach the top well before they would.

He ran up the final flight of stairs to the crown until he was standing, gasping for air, among the others. Clarke was doubled over from the effort, panting. McKay stood apart, wide-eyed and terrified but composed, apparently ready to take action if necessary. Lily moved to close the trap door to the head as Morgan caught his breath.

“It doesn’t lock,” she said.

“There’s only one way out,” said Clarke. He motioned toward the windows that lined the crown of the statue.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Morgan.

“You want to get to the top of the crown?” he asked. “That’s the way.”

“I’ll go first,” said Lily. “Morgan, cover us here.” She handed Morgan the semiautomatic, which he held in his left, then raised herself up like a gymnast by a structural beam and kicked out the window, which fell out into emptiness. A gust of wind pushed its way inside, whipping Morgan’s hair against his forehead. Lily wriggled out the window opening, standing up on the ledge in her high-heeled shoes, and her legs disappeared upward.

“All right, Senator,” Morgan said to McKay. “You’re next.”

“I can’t do that!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll help,” he said. “I’ll hold you and Lily’ll help pull you up.” She looked at Morgan with panic. “There’s no choice, Senator. If you want to live, this is what you’re going to do.”

She turned to the window, trembling. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Clarke,” said Morgan. He handed the guard the PP-90. “Hold the fort while I help her up, all right?”

“You got it,” Clarke said, taking the submachine gun and positioning himself over the trap door, holding the weapon with both hands.

Morgan walked to the open window and called up to Lily. “I’m sending McKay up.”

“Come along now!” Lily yelled down over the roaring wind. “I think I see the chopper coming!”

Morgan held McKay as she stepped up to the open window. She was shaking uncontrollably. She took off her shoes and climbed onto the ledge with Morgan holding her hips. She slowly stood, her body outside the statue, reaching up to Lily.

“I’ve got her!” said Lily. Morgan leaned out the window, giving McKay a leg up as Lily pulled her from the other end. He watched as the senator disappeared onto the crown. Then he turned back to Clarke, who was watching the stairs.

“Your turn,” said Morgan.

“They’re gonna be here any second,” said Clarke.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here!” Morgan said.

“I’m not getting up on the head and you know it,” said Clarke. “I’m too old. Could barely walk up these stairs.”

“Come on,” said Morgan. “I’ve got you. I’ll push you up, and Lily will help from the other side.”

“That ninety-pound girl? No way, José. Take a look at this gut.” He patted his stomach. “I’m staying right here. I spent thirty years guarding this old statue, and I’m not about to stop now.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” said Morgan. “We can hold them off together.”

“Now, don’t argue,” he said. “You’re young and I’m old. I’m staying, and you’re going.”

Morgan looked up at the low ceiling of the statue’s head. McKay was up there. All this had been at least partly about her. Weinberg, responsible for this and possibly more, was still at large and had a dangerous weapon in his hands. Morgan’s honor told him he had to stay and help Clarke, but he had more important things to do.

Morgan held out the Glock to Clarke. “Are you okay using these?” he asked.

“Boy, I was in ’Nam before you were even in diapers,” he said. “Give that here.” Clark held the submachine gun in his right hand, the Glock in his left. “Get the hell out of here. I’ll hold them off for you.”

“You’re a good man, Clarke.”

“No,” he said with a smile. “Just old. But I’ve got some use in me yet.”

Morgan faced the opening and took a deep breath.
Goddamn heights.
He hated them more than he hated facing down the barrel of a gun. He climbed up on the window, forcing himself not to look down, then stood up, this time on the outside of the statue. He held on to one of the spokes of the crown. Winds whipped his body, but he held firm. He had to shut his eyes tight to avoid looking down.

He heard gunfire below as he pulled himself up to the top of the crown. He thought he might slip when his feet were raised off the ledge, but his arms held. Lily and McKay were already there, crouching and clutching each other for support. Morgan could see the chopper now too, nearing fast from the west. He held on to a spoke of the crown and looked down.