The Ragnarok Conspiracy (31 page)

Several thousand miles away, three hours after the cargo plane had departed Kennedy Airport, a black SUV sped down a highway in eastern Mexico. The driver didn't seem to notice the reading of the speedometer, now pushing past one hundred miles an hour. The large vehicle trembled at that velocity, and the heavy metallic objects on the passenger seat bounced continuously. Jordan glanced over and pushed the weapons toward the seat back, then refocused on the road. The paling sky began to turn a purple-red and then, slowly, a brighter and brighter orange. Finally, a great flaming orb erupted in front of him on the horizon, and he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. His vehicle aimed straight for the orb, and he followed its mark, like some demonic inversion of the shepherds being led to the Christ Child. Only he was not a shepherd, and he carried not gifts but automatic weapons, and what waited under the point of the star was not a Holy Mother and Child but the minions of the damned who sought to bathe the world in fire.

Cohen stared out the window. The rising sun turned from a deep red to a yellow-orange as it climbed over the horizon. A strange-looking black aircraft was being fueled under the morning rays. She was no aviation expert, but it was clear the plane was an altered version of a standard design, with several modifications built into the underside of the aircraft. A long tubular extension ran nearly the length of the body underneath, with a set of thin payload doors that seemed ready to open in flight and release their cargo to the world below. The exterior seemed coated in an unusual material, and even the sun was absorbed, its light unable to reflect from the surface. A portal into the night seemed to have opened where the aircraft stood.

A morning mist from the humid lands rose off the vegetation in the distance, and dew covered the surfaces of the aircraft and runway. She observed a platoon of men guiding a long crate up a loading ramp and into the belly of the plane. They walked solemnly, as if marching in a long funeral procession for a beloved statesman. Beside the ramp stood three men at attention. Two were stout and of military bearing, dressed in fatigues, one older than the other. Between them in an expensive suit, with reflective aviation sunglasses strapped to his grayed and angular head, was CEO William Gunn. He watched impassively, and yet every muscle in his body seemed taut with a hidden energy. The three watched the crate being loaded onto the plane and remained unmoving as the soldiers finished, then walked back down the ramp and lined up in formation behind the fuselage.

She pulled herself away from the window.
What was that all about?
The entire scene felt ominous to her, and she wondered what was held inside the cargo they loaded on the plane.

Cohen sat down, exhausted, legs crossed and eyes bloodshot, staring at the door and window of her prison. She had slept fitfully in the makeshift bed they had rigged for her—not a cot exactly, but not a bed. Even if she possessed a king-sized mattress and springs it would have meant nothing last night. She had tried all the possible escape routes—the windows on either side, the door—but each had been effectively barred and locked. After an hour of blistering her hands, she had given up. A refrigerator held cheap foods and drinks inside. She had not touched it. She had simply grown more subdued, waiting until her captors would call on her again.

The door burst open. Cohen jumped up and pressed her back against the wall. A young man she had never seen entered, and he closed the door quickly. He turned around, and instantly she changed her mind—she
had
seen him recently. He was the man who had stared so intently at her the other day after she landed.

“Ms. Cohen?” he asked.

“Yes. Who are you?”

He took off his hat. “My name's Michael Inherp, ma'am. I'm sorry for all this, but it's Mr. Gunn's doing, his plan to keep you here and stop the FBI and others from trying to stop the mission.”

Cohen was stunned. Who was this kid, and how did he know so much? What was he doing here?

“You know a lot about this, Mr. Inherp.”

He looked around the room quickly, then back at Cohen. “There's not time to explain it all. I'm the one who wrote to the army to tell them about the missile.”

“What missile?”
The cargo?

“You don't know?” He looked bewildered. “There's no
time
. Please, you need to come with me now. FBI and CIA agents are almost here now, and there is no telling what they are going to do. They could get you killed. Not too much longer from now, the air force is going to be bombing this place. We've got to get you
out
.”

Cohen felt the nauseating vertigo that combined a lack of understanding with a threat to one's life. “Please!” she said. “What are you talking about!”

The soldier sighed. “Ms. Cohen, this is Mjolnir. They have a nuclear missile they just loaded on a plane. They're going to use that missile. I notified the military just before sunrise. They told me FBI and CIA agents were already on their way, and that I had to warn you and them that the air force is going to bomb this airport to all hell as soon as they can get here. The rest of the airport is evacuating, and it's a miracle they haven't noticed yet.
Please
, we've got to go,
now
!”

He reached over, grasped her hand, and began pulling her toward the door. Just at that moment, the door opened again, and the form of another soldier entered, holding a plate of food and staring downward as he balanced the tray, still unaware of Inherp's presence in the room.

“Breakfast, Ms. Cohen,” he began, glancing up and momentarily looking confused at the sight of another soldier in the room.

Inherp kicked the other soldier between the legs. The man hunched over, and inhaled in pain, and Inherp removed his sidearm and brought it down sharply on the man's skull. He crashed to the ground, orange juice and toast spilling over the floor.

Inherp turned and grabbed Cohen's hand again. “
Now!
” he cried.

Terrified, Cohen exited the building with him. They sprinted down the side of the fence away from the loaded plane. She had no idea where they were going or how this soldier planned to get them out of there without Gunn or his troops stopping them.
And FBI coming here? Who? Why would they come if the military was going to strike? My God, can he be right? A nuclear weapon?

As they ran, the earth shook suddenly. Cohen stumbled from the tremor. She looked behind her. A large fireball erupted from a hundred yards on the other side of the plane. A plume of fire and black smoke rose into the air. They both stopped and stared back at the sight.

“Well,” said Inherp, the wind blowing the smoke across the airfield, the place beginning to look like a war zone. “I guess your friends are here.”

Jordan stood by the storage building, shielding his eyes from the flames. What was left of the fuel truck lay scattered across the tarmac, tendrils of fire reaching outward in several directions, threatening buildings, other vehicles, and the airplane.
Close, but not close enough.
It had been a wild idea. He had coordinated with Savas and Miller once they arrived, communicating over cell phones. They knew that they were hopelessly outnumbered, but their main goal had been to disable as many troops as possible, create a distraction, and damage the plane.
Well, at least I got the first two done.
Indeed, troops were running around in total confusion, and many had been killed instantly by the explosion as Jordan had announced his presence and drawn nearly a dozen in pursuit of him past the fuel truck. But the plane was the most important target, and it was out of the blast radius, still guarded by at least ten well-armed soldiers who were now on high alert.

When they had arrived, New York had reached them on their phones. Wonderful invention, the modern cell phone, he thought. A brave new world that rendered half the old tactics in action and espionage obsolete. They had learned that Inherp had contacted the army about the missile, the location, and the plans to load it on a plane and use it very soon. Perhaps the FBI and the CIA were angry about their going AWOL and trying to run the thing solo, but right now they were the only assets the government had in the area. They were scrambling fighters from nearby bases, but by the time they got airborne and made it to the site, the plane could be gone. Jordan had seen enough of it to know that it would be lost soon if not followed by eye. The plane had been converted into a stealth craft. How Gunn had recruited the expertise,
found the materials, and pulled it off, he had no idea. But the man was resourceful, with deep pockets, and obsessed, and it looked like he had forged his own private invisible bomber. This thing would fly low and be invisible to radar. It would not exist in the air. They couldn't let it get off the ground.

He reloaded his weapon and opened his cell phone. He had to get Savas and Frank Miller on the line. Time was running out.

“What the
hell
is going on?” William Gunn stepped out of the hangar as his lieutenant raced over. Fire rose into the sky from the explosion, and the noise of automatic weapons could be heard echoing across the airfield. His second-in-command bolted up beside him carrying a machine gun.

“Mr. Gunn, the worst we could have expected. We are under attack, and the plane narrowly missed being destroyed by the explosion. It looks like it was a fuel truck. There are attacks on soldiers, but haphazard, so I conclude it is a very small force, but they are determined to blow up the plane. They
know
, William.”

“
How can they know?
This is crazy!”

“The main airport has evacuated. The pilots have been denied permission to fly. That can only mean one thing—a strategic strike is coming, airborne, no doubt. Somehow the mission has been compromised, sir. We may have only minutes.”

Gunn thought quickly. He had to salvage their most important strike.

“Then we get the plane in the air now! Fuck air traffic control. If they've shut the airport down, the skies will be empty. They can't track the plane once it's in the air. Tell them to go,
now
!”

“Yes, sir! But we have to get you out of here. I've already called the helicopter. It's en route. I'll give the pilots the go, tell them to forget pre-check, and get the hell out of here. Then we run to the chopper landing pad.”

“Tell the pilots to go, but I also want you to get over to the plane and make sure that no one in that firefight is able to damage it. Work with the soldiers, pin down whoever the hell is doing this!”

“Yes, sir, but you will not be protected!”

“I'll take the car the long way around to the helipad. I'll be fine. That missile is what matters now. We can't jeopardize this mission! Go! You'll meet me at the chopper as soon as the plane is in the air!”

“On my way!” The soldier sprinted toward the billowing smoke and the sound of gunfire. Gunn turned and walked quickly toward a row of cars near the building, his jaw clenched.

They were too close to fail now!

Savas placed the cell phone in his pocket. He felt like he was going mad in the middle of this chaos, coordinating multiple phone calls with the FBI and this Mjolnir soldier turned ally. The fire was spreading and igniting flammables in the hangar near the fuel truck.
This could get completely out of control.
The heat was searing, and his eyes were watering from the smoke. He leaned against the metal siding of one of the storage buildings near the fence and yelled over to Miller.

“This Inherp—he has Rebecca, Frank. As far as I can tell, we're on the wrong side of this inferno, and he's two buildings down waiting for us. We just need to get across and past the soldiers guarding the aircraft before they fill us with bullets.”

Miller nodded. “The good news is that we have a lot of smoke for cover. Have you reached Husaam?”

“No!” shouted Savas. “He's not picking up. I don't know if he can't hear in this chaos or if he is engaged. He said he would bring that plane down. It looks like the explosion failed. Once we find her, we need to regroup and form a plan to stop them from getting that missile in the air. Let's move and try again when we find Rebecca.”

Miller stood up, then crouched and kept his body low. “Through the worst of the smoke, John. We're probably going to asphyxiate, but it will be nearly impossible to see us in all this.”

They both sprinted forward into the smoke and fire, weapons raised and at the ready. Plunging into the black cloud, Savas held his breath as long as he could. Soon he had to inhale, and he nearly choked, his eyes watering, the fumes burning his lungs.
I'm coming, Rebecca!
If he could only make it that far.