Brent's first reaction when he heard the news was gratitude that Amy hadn't taken that assignment in London after all. His second thought was that it was time they put a stop to Namir Dagan and the terror he was unleashing on innocent civilians.
The minute he and Quinn had returned from their training flight, someone had been waiting with the latest updates on the situation along with orders for them to report immediately to their commanding officer. They had quickly changed out of their flight gear and headed straight for their boardroom.
Brent pushed the door open and was surprised to see Commander Dunnan, the XO, sitting at the table shoulder to shoulder with Amy. Neither of them even looked up, and Brent moved closer to see the papers spread out in front of them.
Amy tapped one of the papers in front of her. “I'm telling you, this has to be the route they're taking to transport this stuff out of there.”
“You want me to take out a road even though we don't know if they're responsible?” Commander Dunnan asked in a condescending tone.
“Actually, taking out the bridge here would be better,” Amy answered with a shrug, ignoring Dunnan's skepticism and his tone. “They can just reroute if the road is damaged, but if they can't get past the river, the only way to get the stuff out would be by helicopter.”
Before Brent managed to find his voice, Quinn asked the question, “What are we working on?”
Dunnan glanced over at him and tapped the stack of photos in front of him. “These are the latest satellite photos of Abolstan. Assuming the theory is correct and Dagan is responsible, we are working up a strike plan.” He nodded at the map. “We think we know where they're manufacturing their biological weapons, but the president isn't likely to authorize a strike until we can identify the culprit.”
“Which is why we need to take out this bridge,” Amy insisted. “We don't even have to claim responsibility. With the accuracy of our weapons, I'm sure some mid-range weapon could take care of it in one shot.”
Dunnan let out a sigh. “We still need authorization.”
Brent listened half-heartedly to the debate while Kel brought him and Quinn up to date on the situation. He turned to see Amy push back from the table, and from the look on her face he wondered if she was debating calling for authorization herself. When she picked up the phone, he was relieved when she didn't start the conversation with, “Hello, Mr. President.”
Sitting beside her, Seth hung up the phone and pushed out of his seat. “We just got the estimate on the kill zone if we blow up the plant.” He held out the satellite photo and tapped a finger on the map. “They estimate that the vapors from the explosion would affect everyone within a twenty-mile radius.”
“The closest village is just outside that range,” Kel said with a shrug. “It's risky, but the villagers should be okay.”
Brent sensed Amy standing beside him. He looked down at her, startled by how pale she was. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, and a tear spilled over. “The CIA just confirmed two more attacks. One was in Edinburgh, the other in Belfast.”
“What?” Brent stepped back so he could see her more clearly as everyone stopped talking.
“When?” Kel interrupted.
“One was only fifteen minutes ago, the other a few minutes before that.” Amy drew in a shaky breath and continued. “One of my contacts at the CIA was keeping track of the live satellite images from the base we've identified. Three cars just left the installation and are heading for the border.”
Dunnan grabbed the nearest phone, motioning to Amy at the same time. “Find out how long it will take for those cars to reach the bridge.” He then updated the captain with Amy's new information, detailing the plan to eliminate the bridge.
Amy made her call, and she had her answer in less than thirty seconds. “Their ETA at the bridge is twelve minutes.”
“I don't know if our patrol is close enough to take out the bridge before then.” Dunnan shook his head as he once again relayed the information to the captain. He hung up a moment later and turned to Kel. “I'm going to head back up to CIC.” He glanced at Amy and added, “That's the Combat Information Center. I want you to keep me informed of any new developments.” With a nod to Amy he turned and left the room.
* * *
Amy dialed the phone for the twentieth time in an attempt to connect with someone in London's Center for Disease Control. Apparently everyone was so busy dealing with their three tragedies that no one was actually in the office to take her calls. She hung up after yet another unsuccessful attempt.
She anxiously glanced up at the clock. Only seven more minutes before the three cars would reach the bridge. She knew it was unlikely that they could prove Abolstan responsible for the attacks in the next seven minutes, and she prayed silently that the Navy would succeed in destroying the bridge to eliminate any imminent threats until they could prove who had caused this nightmare.
Her eyes swept the room, and she knew that the rest of the team was working just as hard. Each of them was concentrating on different aspects of the strike that would destroy the weapons plant, none of them paying attention to the news that hummed in the background. Amy let out a little sigh as she let herself look up at the television screen.
In her mind, the most logical way to confirm that Dagan was responsible was to identify the biological agent that was used in the attack. Since they already had a sample of the deadly substance in the United States, all they should have to do was compare the sample with the weapon used today.
She had already contacted the CDC, and they had faxed over their report of the drug to her as well as to their counterpart in London. The substance they had confiscated in Washington was a new derivative of some drug with a name she couldn't begin to pronounce. Most of the information they had about it had come from a source in Abolstan that had caused the intelligence officer there to arrange for the meeting with the DCI.
The report listed the various technical data that could be used to match their sample to samples being taken at the scene of the first attack. As she watched the television, a reporter came on the screen dressed in a hazmat suit. His voice was muffled as he pointed to the scene behind him, the site of the first attack. The camera showed several people working in the area, all wearing the required hazmat suits.
With a flash of inspiration, Amy snatched up her phone once more. The call to her father's secretary only lasted a minute, and two phone calls later she was speaking to the producer for the news broadcast she was currently watching. The beginnings of a smile lighted her face as the reporter signed off and the scene shifted to Edinburgh.
When her phone rang two minutes later, she sighed with relief as she spoke to the reporter who had just been on camera. When she explained she needed to talk to one of the British scientists, he was eager to help. A minute later one of the scientists currently taking samples on site came on the line. Amy relayed how critical it was for them to identify their samples and compare them to the samples obtained from the attempted subway attack in DC. She hinted at the possibility of more attacks if they couldn't gather the information quickly.
Amy agreed to send her report from the CDC to their makeshift command center, pleased that the scientist promised to gather the initial analyses and make the comparisons immediately. With a little sigh, she leaned back and prayed that this would all be over soon.
Kel hung up the phone and turned to face the rest of his team. “Our patrol was two minutes late. The cars had already crossed the bridge.”
“Did they still take out the bridge?” Tristan asked.
Kel shook his head. “They didn't want to alert anyone that we've identified their location.” He pointed to the map. “Intel is trying to keep track of the three cars, but we only have about an hour before the first one gets to a heavily populated area. Once that happens, we're going to be hard-pressed to keep tabs on them.”
Brent leaned back against the table. “Then we're going to have to plan a simultaneous attack on three moving targets as well as the military base.”
Kel held up his notes. “Here are the projected routes of the vehicles. Let's figure out when the best time to strike is so that we can keep this stuff away from the populated areas.”
* * *
The phone rang and Amy snatched it up, pleased to find that the British scientist was on the line. She grinned when she received the news and rattled off her email address so that he could transmit the official findings.
“We've got our confirmation. The Brits have matched the substance used in the London attack with the samples we confiscated in DC.”
Kel nodded his approval. “Call up to the XO and let him know. Let's get the strike plan ready now. We don't want to miss this time.”
Ten minutes later they were all staring at the maps trying to see something that wasn't there: the perfect timing. At any given time, at least one of the three cars would be near some kind of populated area, and they had no idea how much of the biological agent was being transported in each vehicle.
“Where would the least civilian casualties occur?” Kel voiced the question that none of them wanted to hear, much less answer.
“Right here.” Tristan tapped the route of the car on the northernmost route. “There's a medium-sized town right beside the road, but the other two cars aren't near any kind of populated area at that time.”
Quinn shook his head with disgust. “I wish there was a way to get the villagers to leave so that they'd be out of the kill zone.”
“Actually, I have an idea,” Brent said, breathing new life into the team. “When Amy and I were in Abolstan, we came across a village that had been abandoned just a few hours earlier because of a nearby battle. If we make it look like there's fighting nearby, they should head the other direction.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Amy asked.
“A couple of well-placed missiles should do the trick,” Brent suggested. “In fact, we should probably do the same thing in Abolstan to get the villagers to move away from the kill zone when we go in to strike there.”
“That's a good idea,” Kel said, nodding in agreement. “Amy, call the XO and tell him we're ready. Everyone get suited up and meet in the briefing room in five minutes. The rest of the pilots should already be in there standing by.”
“What do you mean, âthe rest of the pilots'?” Amy asked, apprehension shooting through her as understanding dawned. She had never considered that this squad would be going into combat with the other pilots on board.
“We've got the most firsthand data, and we know more about the targets than any of these flyboys on board,” Kel explained. “That means we're going along.”
* * *
Amy had never seen anything like it. Briefing the pilots had only taken about three minutes, but those three minutes had been charged with an excitement level Amy couldn't compare to anything she had ever witnessed. These men were in essence going to war, and they were eager to do it. Not eager to kill, but eager to protect.
She sensed that the images they had all seen on television that day probably fueled their need to get out and do something, and for them that something was to exact revenge in a way that could protect their country and so many others from experiencing anything like this again. Assignments were given outâwho would take out which target, who would intercept any enemy fighters, and so on. Then suddenly they were dismissed.
As the men filed out of the room, Amy caught a glimpse of Brent. She shifted uncomfortably when he returned her stare. Then he disappeared in the crowd filing out the door. Brent and Quinn had been tasked with firing the shots near the village by the military base to hopefully save innocent lives. She looked at the now-empty room, realizing that all she could do was pray that they would be successful and that they would all come home.
* * *
The sky was crystal clear, blue above and blue below all the way down to the Mediterranean. Brent had scored the pilot's seat in the F-14 since he had been next on the training schedule, and Quinn was operating as his navigator in the seat behind him.
“I always get stuck in the back seat,” Quinn complained grumpily as he looked over the complex instrumentation he would use to help Brent achieve their objective. “How come you always get to fly on the real missions?”
“Because it's always my turn,” Brent said simply, suppressing a grin. He could always count on Quinn to keep him loose. “Time to intercept?”
“Two minutes,” Quinn replied. “The bombers are in place and are thirty seconds behind us.”
“That's cutting it pretty close,” Brent observed.
“We don't want the base to have too much warning. We can't be sure those antiaircraft guns aren't already waiting for us.”
“How long will we be in range of the guns?”
“Fifteen seconds.” Quinn checked in with the other team members, and then suddenly the target was right before them.
“Incoming!” Quinn shouted as the antiaircraft guns started firing. “Roll right!”
Brent rolled to the right as bullets flew within inches of the belly of the plane. He made another turn to avoid the steady stream of ammunition. His heart pounded and his fear surfaced briefly before he pushed it aside. Seconds ticked by slowly as he used a combination of instinct, skill, and luck to evade the bullets sparking in the sky around him. Finally he made it out of range and picked his target, a large tree a half mile from the village. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the Navy pilots take out one nest of antiaircraft guns. “Missile away.”
“Let's get outta here,” Quinn said as the bombers came into view.
Brent didn't respond as he navigated out of the kill zone to rejoin the squadron that was flying cover. He was moving too fast to see if the villagers heeded their warning, and he hoped that the estimated size of the kill zone was accurate.