“Join you?” said Hecate distantly.

“You’re fucking nuts,” said Paris. “You stand there and tell us that you started the AIDS epidemic. You brag about that? Then you say that you want to kill four-fifths of the people in the world?”

“More like six-sevenths,” Cyrus said.

“Jesus Christ. You think this is a frigging joke? You’re trying to destroy the world.”

“We’re not trying to do anything,” said Otto. “We are going to remake it.”

Paris spit on the ground in front of Cyrus. “I hate you,” he snarled. “I hate that I have your blood in my veins. I hate-”

“Shut up, Paris.”

Everyone turned toward the person who spoke.

Hecate.

Her blue eyes were laced with veins of hot gold.

“What… what did you…?” Paris said.

“I told you to shut up,” she said. “Father’s right. When you open your mouth you embarrass yourself. You embarrass the Family.”

Paris stepped close to her but pointed at Cyrus. “Have you lost your mind, too? Are you subscribing to this bullshit? Are you saying that you support this fucking monster-”

Hecate struck him across the face. It wasn’t a slap. She punched him so hard and fast that he spun in place, his jaw knocked out of shape, teeth flying from between his rubbery lips. He stood erect for a trembling moment and then he collapsed to his knees, blood gushing from his shattered mouth. His eyes rolled high and white and he fell forward onto the grass.

Everyone stared at her in shock. Hecate stepped over her brother’s body and walked over to her father and only stopped when their faces were inches apart. Veder shifted slightly to keep his weapon on her. Otto stood apart, his face still registering shock and uncertainty.

Hecate leaned close to her father until her lips were an inch from his ears.

“Father,” she said. “Why wait until tomorrow? If we’re going to burn the world down… why not start right now?”

And she kissed him on the cheek.

Cyrus Jakoby’s chest hitched with a sob that broke the stillness of the moment. He threw his arms around Hecate and crushed her to his chest.

“My pet,” he said, tears filling his eyes.

GRACE COURTLAND STEPPED out from behind the waterfall and raised her gun in a two-hand grip.

“This is all bloody touching,” she said, “but you have two seconds to give me that bloody trigger device before I blow your twisted brains all over the landscape.”

AND THEN THE lights went out.

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

The Dragon Factory

Tuesday, August 31, 2:24 A.M.

Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 33 hours, 36 minutes E.S.T.

The exit doors were steel and we made our stand there. The Russians kept coming. The hallway was choked with them, and the front rank held ballistic shields. They advanced as far as the hatch and then held their ground. It was clearly their target and they had the manpower to take and hold it. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but I heard the whine of a high-power drill. I never did find out if they brought it with them or found it on the premises, but they were attacking the hatch.

I tapped my earbud.

“Cowboy to Deacon.”

“Go for Deacon.”

“We’re taking heavy fire and casualties.” I gave him the bad news about Grace. “There’s no way to know if the trigger device has been activated. If you have the cavalry out there, now’s the time to blow the bugle.”

“They’re already inbound. Three DMS teams are on the island. Quicksilver Team has taken the south beach. India and Hardball teams are on the docks. SEAL team Six is five minutes out.”

“The trigger device…”

“We can’t take any more chances, Cowboy. We have to take out the electronics.”

That would fry the active team communication as well, and we both knew it. But he was right. We were out of options.

“Do it!” I yelled.

Bullets hammered the metal doors and I had to shout to my men. “Church is launching the EMP. We’re going to go radio dark in a few minutes!”

It was not good news. In the dark with no radio, in a firefight where everyone was wearing black BDUs, friendly fire was quickly going to become as much of a threat as enemy fire.

Top leaned close to me. “If those Spetsnaz sonsabitches get through that hatch…” He left the rest unsaid.

“We saw guards come up from downstairs,” said Bunny. “Maybe there’s a way to flank these bozos.”

I grabbed Redman and pulled him close.

“Hold this position. I’m going to take Echo Team downstairs and see if we can come up on the far side, catch these assholes in a cross fire. DMS and SEAL teams are on the island and have been apprised of your position.” He started to protest, but I cut him off. “Protect your wounded and hold this end of the hall. We have to get back to that hatch. Everything depends on it.”

“Don’t stop for coff ee on the way, Captain,” said Redman.

I gave him a wink and dashed down the stairs with Top and Bunny on my heels.

WE WENT DOWN two flights of metal stairs, going so fast that we pushed the envelope of safety on the corners. We knew our backs were protected, so all of us had our M4s pointed down. When a guard actually did step out we cut him to ribbons before he got off a single shot.

The security door on the next landing down was locked. Bunny tried to pick it, but even though the tumblers moved, the door held fast.

“Must be a drop bar or something,” he said.

“Let’s go one more level down and if that doesn’t work we’ll come back up and try to blow the door.”

We moved down two more flights into the underbelly of the building. Maintenance level. Poorly lighted, the ceiling crisscrossed with pipes, big generators rumbling with subdued thunder. It was hot and moist down here, and water dripped from the ceiling. The maintenance floor had a security door, too, but it was propped open with a chair. An ashtray and a copy of Popular Mechanics lay on the floor. God bless the lazy janitors everywhere. Once inside we found a second door that was similarly blocked, but there was a draft here and the sound of distant gunfire. I shined my flashlight up and saw a long concrete utility ramp that went all the way to the surface.

“Wait here,” I said, and ran up the slope. There was a heavy grilled outer door set with a pivoting drop bar, but the bar was in the upright position and the door stood up and open. I peered out and saw the backs of at least fifty Russians engaged in a firefight with some other force. From the ramp I couldn’t tell if they were fighting the Dragon Factory guards or our own boys, and I was in no position to participate in this fight. So I retraced my steps and found Top and Bunny.

They stood back-to-back, pointing their guns into the bowels of the maintenance area, their bodies tense and alert.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“Don’t know, Cap’n,” said Top. “Heard something weird.”

“Weird?”

Before he could answer there was a clickety-click sound somewhere near. Like toenails on concrete.

“Guard dog,” Bunny said.

“He ain’t barking,” Top said.

“Not all of ’em do.”

I sighted down the barrel and did a slow sweep. Suddenly something moved from left to right, breaking cover from behind the steel case of a big blower and darting behind a row of stacked crates.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Dog?” Bunny said, but this time he made it a question.

“Didn’t look like no dog to me,” Top said.

I had to agree. The silhouette was all wrong. The body was big, about the size of a mastiff, with thick shoulders and haunches, but the head shape was wrong and the tail was… weird. Too big and curling all the way over its back to beyond its snout.

The scuttling sound came again. This time to our right.