Day of Wrath

“Unknown aircraft climbing through two thousand on heading one seven seven, this is Washington Center ARTCC. Who are you? And what the hell do you think you’re doing? Be advised you are straying close to restricted air space.”

Thorn hit the mike switch. “Washington ARTCC, this is Colonel Peter Thorn, United States Army. The twin engine plane you’re monitoring is a remotely piloted aircraft carrying an armed 150-kiloton nuclear warhead. I repeat, this nuclear warhead is armed.”

“What?” the air traffic controller said sharply. “Jesus Christ, if this is some kind of joke—” Thorn cut him off. “This is no joke. I repeat, that plane is carrying a live nuclear weapon. I’ve got control over it for now but I suggest you give me a safe heading that will take this thing away from the District and any other inhabited area.”

The radio went dead.

He watched the altitude number creeping up through three thousand feet and then glanced up at the digital map. The robot plane was now over Alexandria. The TV monitor showed an array of brighter city lights and the winding, black trace he knew must be the Potomac River.

The Washington Center air traffic controller came back on line. “Okay, Colonel. We’re going to assume you’re telling the truth …”

“Good move,” Thorn said sharply, still watching the screen.

“We’re clearing a corridor that should take your plane out to sea a safe distance. What’s your fuel status?”

Thorn checked the numbers and read them off.

“Okay. You should have plenty of range left. Here’s what I want you to do. Maintaining your air speed and your current rate of climb, come left to new heading one two zero. That’ll take you out over southeastern Maryland to Chesapeake Bay. I’ll relay further instructions as needed.”

“Understood.” Thorn complied, carefully moving both the joystick and the rudder control. “I also suggest you alert both the FBI and the D.O.D about this situation.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Colonel,” the traffic controller said.

“The shit’s already hitting the fan all over Washington. For your sake, I really hope this isn’t some cock-and-bull story to get attention.”

“Considering that I’m not a trained pilot, and that there is a real nuke aboard that plane, you’d be a lot better off hoping I’m full of crap,” Thorn snapped back. He adjusted the controls again. “Coming left to one two zero. Let’s get this crate out over the Atlantic as fast as possible.”

Strike Aircraft Lion, Over Maryland New bits of data flowed through the onboard computer inside the Jetstream 31. Range to target: Increasing. Heading: Steady. Time elapsed since original projected detonation: three hundred seconds.

The data triggered a new subroutine-one added by Dr. Saleh, Ibrahim’s computer expert, after Reichardt’s German specialists finished the basic programming.

A readout attached to the TN-1000 suddenly blinked to life.

It read 00:15:00.

Control Center Thorn saw a new set of numbers flicker into existence in the lower right-hand corner of his monitor:

00:14:59.

00:14:58.

00:14:57.

His heart seemed to stop. “Oh, hell.”

Helen leaned closer, her own face pale. “What is it, Peter?”

“The bastards must have put in another backup arming trigger,” Thorn said quietly. “I think that bomb is going to detonate in less than fifteen minutes. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Engel, the German technician, stared at the damning numbers on the screen in shock. “It is impossible. I did not write such a subroutine.”

The other man was probably telling the truth, Thorn decided.

From what they’d seen so far, Ibrahim and Wolf had both liked to exercise complete control. He’d bet that few, if any, of their subordinates had ever known all the pieces of the puzzle. Not that it made much difference now, he realized coldly.

The hard truth was that fourteen-plus minutes didn’t leave him enough time to get the plane safely out over the ocean. He ran the numbers hastily through his mind. He could fly that aircraft roughly fifty or sixty nautical miles further down-range before the nuke went off. On its present course, that would put the new detonation point somewhere over thinly populated Dorchester County, Maryland. That was better than having the bomb explode right over Washington but there were still half a dozen or more small towns inside the probable blast radius. And that meant civilian casualties could number in the thousands.

Thorn keyed the radio mike. “Washington ARTCC. We have a new problem here.”

“Go ahead, Colonel.”

Thorn quickly laid out the situation they were facing.

There was a moment’s silence before a stunned voice came back over the circuit. “Oh, God.”

Thorn saw the detonation countdown on his screen blink through 00:13:00. His hand tightened on the joystick. “Look, I need some help here. Right now!”

“I’m patching you through to the Pentagon Crisis Operations Center,” the anxious air controller said hurriedly. “Wait one.”