Silent Assassin(106)

“Move and I can make this a lot more painful for you,” Morgan said. Then, to Diesel, “What can you do?”

“Not much,” he said. “There are a lot of decoys. Lots of ways that I can send us sky-high, including taking it off of him.”

“Shepard,” said Diesel. “I need something to contain him.”

“There’s not enough time,” said Novokoff. “Two minutes and you are all dead.”

“He’s right,” said Shepard. “I’ll route the bomb squad to you guys, but there isn’t enough time.”

“There has to be some way,” said Morgan.

There was only silence as Novokoff laughed gleefully. “You have me, and there is nothing you can do now.”

“We use the satellite,” said Shepard, voice rising with the epiphany.

“What?” said Morgan. “What satellite?”

“The Chinese defense satellite. We take control and aim the laser toward Earth. It can hit a ballistic missile going at ten thousand miles per hour. No reason we can’t target Novokoff on the surface. Anything in its path will burn at temperatures of a few thousand degrees. Even better, it won’t set off any plastic explosives.”

“No,” said Bloch. “Absolutely not, no!”

“We might not have any choice,” said Morgan.

“It’ll cause an international incident,” said Bloch. “It could expose Zeta Division. It would put us right in the sights of the Chinese.”

“And if we don’t, Novokoff might set loose an infection in New York City that could kill millions,” said Morgan. “You don’t have a choice, Bloch. You have to use it.”

“It’s too late, Cobra,” Novokoff screamed. “It doesn’t matter if you kill me! I’m already dead! But you won’t stop this bomb from going off! I’m taking all these people with me! I’m taking this whole goddamn city with me!”

“Shepard, we need you to do it now!”

From space, the hijacked Chinese satellite beamed down its laser.

The laser itself was completely invisible, so there was nothing to see, but Morgan could feel the heat that was emanating from that spot. It was like sitting in front of a fireplace at first, but in a few seconds it grew to the intensity of a blast furnace. People around yelled and gasped, and there was a scramble to get away from the spot that was suddenly and inexplicably hot.

But most shocking was Novokoff himself. Morgan wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Wild-eyed, the Russian had noticed that something was wrong, but by then the heat had become too intense, and it was too late for him. His hair went first, a bout of flame breaking out spontaneously from it. He began to scream at that point, and slap at his head to put the fire out. It was useless. The hair shriveled up and blackened instantly, sticking to his head. Some of it stuck to his hand, and the scalp came off with it.

Then Novokoff’s entire body went up in a torrent of flames, orange and thick as if it were some hellish fluid, turning into thick black smoke some ten feet above Novokoff’s head. The screams were drowned out by the sound of the flames, and then stopped altogether. All around him, the asphalt turned to pitch, a thick, viscous black substance. The fire slowly died as it ran out of material to consume, and slowly, the heat subsided.

When it was over, all that was left were his bones charred black, along with a few hunks of melted metal, half-embedded in hardening asphalt.





CHAPTER 61


Washington, D.C., March 18





That was the afternoon when the call came.

Buck Chapman sat in his living room, watching baby Ella as she slept soundly. Rose was out, and he thanked God for that. He didn’t think he could face her. Not now. He was sick to his stomach every time he remembered what he’d done. He wasn’t sorry. He had been right. The day had been saved. And there was no way of knowing what would have happened if he had left the government to take care of it.

But he had betrayed them. Schroeder. The task force. And ever since he did, he was convinced that it was only a matter of time before they found out.

So he sat there and stared at the most important person in his life. Ella. Tears came to his eyes. What would she think when she found out about it? What would it be like for her, growing up without her father? Would she be better off without him? He looked at the wall on his left, where he had two large pictures hung in lacquered wooden frames. One was of his wife, Rose, smiling like an angel, the year they got married. The other was of Ella as a newborn, mottled red with wispy black hair clinging to her knobby head. Tears came to his eyes and began streaming down his face.

Chapman took a deep breath. Get a grip, he told himself. You did the right thing. You’re not dead yet.