"The two of you are fools."
"What?"
Charley cocked her gaze upward enough to briefly meet Tesla's stare. "Why bother saving the world if you can't enjoy it?"
"Charley, please . . . "
"No, whatever it is the two of you share, I want you to know I'm fine with it. I'm honestly not sure you have any better idea how to define it than I do. But you need to make sense of it, for your own sakes."
"Thank you."
The doors slid open mechanically and Tesla wheeled Charley into the steaming air. It assaulted her skin like a blast furnace, seeming to instantly melt the make-up that had already turned her face into a Halloween mask. Tesla eased the chair up to the curb and raised a hand to hail a taxi.
Almost instantly, a grime-encrusted white sedan screeched forward, cutting off another cab in the queue. A fierce exchange of explosive Hindi shot back and forth and the winning cab, the sedan, pulled up in front of the women. Tesla busied herself with helping the costumed Charley out of the chair and helping her into the backseat. Leaving the airline-issued wheelchair by the curb, she walked around and climbed in the taxi's driver side.
"What is your destination?" the ancient turbaned driver asked in awkward English. His massively wrinkled face glanced at them in the grimy rearview mirror.
"Take us to the Baglihar dam," Tesla said.
Archer still had not heard from Jana and was fearing the worst even before word reached him that she was apparently en route to the United States--at least her cell phone was. He wondered if this was some form of cosmic punishment, that taking the life of his father had sentenced him to a life in isolation without the distractions of love and romance. No matter. He was young enough to enjoy the fruits of his labors and eventual power that would come once his work at the dam was done.
Still, he found Jana's failure to contact him disturbing as he did the anomalies in the picture of the apparently dead daughter of Colonel Harold Middleton. And if Charlotte Middleton was still alive, then so was the female Volunteer Tesla, holding fast to Archer's trail. It was a good thing he'd taken precautions, another legacy bequeathed him by Sikari himself.
As if on cue, Archer's scrambled cell phone beeped and he raised it to check the incoming text message from the man he had dispatched to Kashmir.
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
Middleton stood in the cordoned-off security area, gazing up at the sky in expectation of the president's arrival. The structure of the Baglihar dam beyond made for a magnificent spectacle. The only thing that even remotely approached it in size and scope was Nevada's massive Hoover Dam. Then, as now, construction had gone forward in essentially a wilderness; desert for the Hoover, rural unpopulated land for the Baglihar. If the concrete used here was even half what it had been there, Middleton could see no way any explosives short of the nuclear variety, including thermobaric, could possibly destroy the facility. Nor could it result in the kind of collateral damage capable of reaching the place where the president would be speaking: essentially a sprawling, natural amphitheater built to offer stunning, tourist-friendly views of the Chenab River, its vast power now harnessed between a million tons of concrete and steel.
What exactly had Devras Sikari meant in his email to Balan?
You recall what I have planned for the 'Village.' It has to happen soon--before we can move on.
As he gazed at it, he thought: No wonder Pakistan had lodged such a vigorous protest with the U.N. Irrigation to a great bulk of the nation's agriculture was now endangered, especially if the season turned any drier than normal. From one side of Pakistan to the other, people could find themselves going hungry, the perfect pretext on which to strike back. Middleton couldn't help but wonder if that had been the plan from the beginning.
"I have something you need to see, comrade," Chernayev said, suddenly at Middleton's side, holding out his BlackBerry. "The man pictured is named Umer, a known associate of both Sikari and Archer who helped them obtain the explosives. General Zang's intelligence indicates he will be the one to trigger the explosion."
"It makes no sense."
"What?"
"Why go through all this trouble to set off explosives inside a dam they can't effectively destroy?"
Chernayev shrugged. "A show of force, perhaps, of power as a precursor to something much worse."
"No, this was about assassinating the secretary of state from the beginning. Now it's the president. That's what we're facing."
"Once my men locate Archer's men, it'll be sometime before we'll have to face him again. And if we're lucky enough to find the boy himself . . . "
Middleton turned about, gazing off toward the huge throng stretching well into the thousands pulsing into the natural amphitheater from which the President of the United States would christen the opening of the dam with unprecedented pomp and circumstance.
"Any luck so far?"'
Chernayev shrugged again. "It is a very large crowd, comrade. But my men are good and know what to look for."
"The BlueWatch people?"
"Da. And, believe me, Colonel, they've been trained for this kind of work."
"What kind of work is that?"
"Up-close termination."
"Like shooting a radioactive pellet into a defector's leg?"
Chernayev grinned, winked. "Now, comrade, where did you ever get an idea like that?"
Their eyes moved to the sky simultaneously alert by the distant whooping sound of a helicopter. Middleton could feel the Russian tense even as his own spine snapped erect.
The president was arriving.
"I won't be able to get you much closer than this."
"That's OK," Tesla told the driver. "We'll manage."
The driver regarded the hobbled Charley in his rearview mirror and continued, "But there is a VIP section, much, much closer to the official ceremony. Perhaps you have some sort of press or political credentials . . . "
"As a matter of fact I do," Tesla lied. And passed him $50.
He beamed. "Then I will do my best to get you there."
The driver swung right, drove down an isolated stretch of hastily flattened road toward a security fence manned by a trio of Indian special police. They signaled the cab to stop, one coming round to the driver's side while the other two kept to their posts ahead of the car's hood.
Tesla turned toward Charley, prepared to offer some reassuring words when a sudden flash of motion snapped her attention back to the front seat. The driver's hands were suddenly off the wheel, both grasping silenced pistols. Before she could react, he had thrust them out the window and opened fire on the approaching guard and the two standing at the front of the car.
The angle of the shots should have been impossible. Unless it was practiced. No one was around to see their murders.
Tesla gasped. Her first instinct was to protect Charley. Weaponless, there was little more that she could do.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw another man slip from the bushes, where, apparently he'd been waiting. Dressed in local clothing, with a long beard, he walked quickly to the driver's window. He spoke in Hindi to the driver, then turned to the women.
"You are please to come with me. Now." He said something else but his words vanished as the president's helicopter, flanked by a pair of gun ships, soared overhead.
Archer's cell phone beeped to signal an incoming text and he raised it upward, shielding it from the sun, to read Umer's message:
IN PLACE. ALL IS READY.
Archer clicked the phone's screen dark again without replying; there was no need to. He watched as the president's helicopter settled onto the secure, makeshift landing pad that had been constructed to accommodate it for the opening ceremonies. The gun ships hovered protectively overhead, their rotor wash whipping dirt and debris into a swirling cloud.
If the day had been too windy for the chopper to land, he mused, all his plans might have been for naught. Even the fates smiled upon him. He could feel his father's presence nearby, app
roving as well, understanding the need for his own death so that a great destiny could be achieved.
Middleton listened to the Indian cabinet minister say after his introductory remarks, "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure, on this joyous and momentous day, to introduce the President of the United States!"
Middleton wasn't watching when the president mounted the stage to tumultuous, ground-shaking cheers and applause from the assembled throngs. Instead he stood alongside Chernayev, sifting through the crowd with his eyes searching for Umer or any of Archer's men, for that matter. The vast sea of humanity gave up nothing. As the president began reading from his prepared remarks on the dam opening, Middleton continued his gradual progress through the crowd, angling toward the jam-packed and roped-off area reserved for the press corps. Cameras flashed and whirred, some no smaller than a palm, recording the president's every word and gesture.
How would I do it?
Middleton tried to place himself in Archer's shoes. The thermobaric explosives he'd managed to obtain had never been intended to blow up the dam itself--that much was obvious. What wasn't obvious was what did that leave? The stage and amphitheater platform itself had been dutifully checked for all varieties of explosive to no avail. Which meant . . . Which meant . . .
The explosives had never been here in the first place. And that could only mean Archer had concocted a plan to bring them in through other means, after the speeches had begun.
"On this day, I stand before you representing India's staunchest and foremost ally, prepared to welcome in a new age of energy independence that has come to your doorstep . . . "
Middleton gazed up at the helicopter gun ships that had taken positions too high in the sky to render them dangerous to the president if they exploded. So what did that leave?
Fifty men, he thought, if I had fifty men how would I utilize them? Layering the thermobaric explosives into suicide bomber vests would have been a possibility, had everyone who entered not been required to pass through portable detectors. So what did that leave?
Fifty men . . .
"Nothing," Chernayev reported, receiving another report over his nearly undetectable earpiece.
"Tens of thousands of India's people will now have light and power without damage to the environment or further waste of resources. The opening of this dam serves as an example for what the latest in wind, water and solar technology can accomplish . . . "
"We never should have let this go on," Middleton snapped to Chernayev as they were jostled suddenly when the crowd reacted to another powerful line spoken by the president.
"What choice did we have?" Chernayev challenged him. "Who would have listened to us? We will find this Umer. We will stop this."
"We'd better," said Middleton.
Umer made his way to the front of the crowd, sliding along slowly, not about to do anything that would bring notice to him. He need not get this close to trigger the blast but he had promised his men he would join them in their glorious mission and be the first to greet them when they reached heaven. It hadn't been a difficult sacrifice to make; after today, nothing he ever did could equal the service he was performing. He needed to share in that glory, be celebrated as a hero, even if that be limited to the tiny circles that knew his role.
His men shared his ambition and courage, each and every one of them knowing they had been born for this day. Each had gone into this with eyes wide open prepared to give themselves to the service of the Almighty. Umer felt strangely calm, aware in a God-like moment that he was the master of a fate controlled by the tiny detonator in his pocket. Flip the switch, press the button and the world would change forever in a nanosecond.
Umer prayed he'd be able to view the aftermath from his spot in heaven.
"Let us not let ourselves be held prisoner to the vestiges of the past. Let us embrace the future without fear of the complications that come with boldness and the bright expanse a new direction imparts. The time for fear and tentativeness is gone . . . "
"You'll never get away with this," Tesla told Archer weakly.
From the private booth in the VIP area, Archer seemed to feel quite confident that he could get away with whatever he wanted to.
"My father would have wanted Middleton to die here," he said. "But I prefer having him watch me kill his daughter. Better to have him live in misery."
"He'll hunt you to the end of the earth."
Archer's lips flirted with a smile, clearly unfamiliar with the gesture. "If he survives, which is unlikely. And if he does, let him come after me. Let his personal hatred consume his failed mission. And not long after today that earth will be a considerably different place."
Tesla thought briefly. "Is it true you killed your father?"
Archer stiffened, didn't respond.
"I'll take that as a yes. Some would call that the ultimate betrayal."
"Age betrayed him," Archer shot at her. "Weakness betrayed him. He had played the game too long."
"Is that what this is to you?"
"As it was to my father. But he no longer cared enough about winning."
"You just answered my question," Tesla said. "This was your plan all along. It was your plan and he refused to go along with it. He changed his mind, so you killed him."
Archer didn't bother denying it. "We had come to see the world a different way."
Security badge dangling from his throat, Middleton was nearing the front of the vast mass of humanity when he glimpsed a man standing off to the side. On first glance, he wouldn't have paid him any heed at all, except for the fact that his eyes were held closed, as if he were asleep. Or praying. Second glance brought a flash of recognition from the picture Chernayev had shown him:
Umer!
Middleton had barely formed that thought when one of the reporters squeezed into the press rows plowed his way into the aisle, his face a sheen of dripping sweat. Middleton watched him tear the camera strap from his neck and toss it aside, as security personnel moved toward him.
Middleton swung back toward Umer. His eyes had snapped open and his hand was digging into his pocket.
In that moment it all became clear. The fifty soldiers, thermobaric explosives, the discarded camera . . .
Archer's men were disguised as journalists, the explosives laden into their Nikons, Canons and video cameras.
The equipment would have been remodeled to include a lead shielding rendering the explosives mostly invisible to detection devices. Add to that the fact that thermobarics were so new that their signature may not have been identified and coded yet.
Middleton made his way toward Umer, wishing now he and Chernayev hadn't separated.
"I've got him," he said softly into a tiny handheld microphone the Russian had provided him. "Front crowd, southeast facing."
Middleton saw Umer cupping his hands around a tiny oblong detonator and raising them into a position of prayer. He closed his eyes again. He started to go for the Beretta Chernayev had supplied but didn't dare risk firing. Even a kill shot to the brain could result in a spasm more than sufficient to activate the detonator. Middleton would have to win this battle in close.
A commotion in the press corps drew Archer's gaze away from his two captives. Harold Middleton was fighting his way down the aisle.
"No," Archer rasped. And then his voice dissolved into the throaty scream of a spoiled child. "No!"
With that he lashed a blinding whipsaw of a blow to Tesla's throat that would have crushed her windpipe had she not turned at the last instant. The blow impacted instead against the side, still mashing cartilage and dropping her momentarily breathless to her knees.
Gasping, Tesla saw Archer jerk Charley forward and drag her downward toward the crowd.
Taking advantage of Umer's resolute focus, Middleton slammed into him from the side, hand thrust forward to jerk back all the fingers he could find. Umer whelped in pain, enraged eyes finding Middleton as if aroused suddenly from a beautiful dream. The commotion spilled those crowded
closest to the front into a domino-like fall, leading Secret Service personnel to storm the stage and enclose the president in a protective, moving bubble.
Chaos.
The word locked in Middleton's mind as it raged around him. He slammed an elbow into Umer's face, crushing his nose and mashing his front teeth. He heard something clack to the concrete and knew it could only be the detonator, as Umer dropped to feel for it. Middleton joined him amid the thrashing feet moving in all directions at once. If one of them pressed down on the detonator's button . . .
On stage he glimpsed the Secret Service just now starting to rush the president to safety, still any number of long, long seconds before he was out of range of the kind of blast 50 separate thermobaric explosions would wreak. Middleton felt a knee smack his skull, a foot jab his ribs, courtesy of the fleeing throngs. He continued to grope about the ground for the lost detonator, afraid to spare the hand it would take to draw his gun on Umer. He grabbed sight of him pawing about the ground through the sea of churning legs and desperate fleeing frames.
Middleton glimpsed the detonator, its black casing now cracked, stretched a hand toward it only to have his fingers stepped on as another foot kicked the device from him. It bounced once and skittered straight toward Umer who lashed a hand toward it.
The fingers on his right hand throbbing and useless, Middleton drew his pistol with his left and fired in a single motion. The bullet took Umer in the cheek, blowing off a hefty portion of his face. He collapsed atop the detonator, shielding it from the onrushing feet long enough for Middleton to close desperately on all fours and jerk it from beneath his body.
Rising to his feet proved an arduous, almost impossible task as he clung to the detonator with both hands to protect it. His eyes fell on an impossible sight, conjured certainly by the sharp blows to his head: a vision of his daughter Charley.
But then the haze cleared, revealing Archer, holding a gun to Charley's head.
"Give it to me!" Archer bellowed, looking surprisingly young and desperate. "Give it to me or she dies!"
16
JAMES PHELAN