“I thought I could feel my legs,” said Jeff. “It really tricked me.”

“You’re the only one playing tricks.”

“I can’t feel my legs, Kevin. It was a dream—a desire or something I can’t control. It’s not too late,” he said. “Geraldo can help you. Take us back to Dreamland and surrender. I’ll help you. I swear 1 will.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Stoking Madrone’s anger was the only weapon Jeff had. Down here there’d be no one to stop him. Zen couldn’t walk, but he would pit his upper body strength against anyone’s. As soon as Madrone lunged, he’d grab his neck and strangle him. Whatever it took to subdue him, he’d do.

Whatever it took to help him, he’d try; he hadn’t been lying about that.

“You going to hit me?” he told Kevin. “Come on, Monkey Brain. Hit me, Twig.”

Madrone didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for, Monkey Boy?”

“I’m not going to hit you, Jeff.” Madrone’s voice sounded sad, and far away. “You tried that before and it worked. But it won’t work now. No.”

“Come on, Monkey Brain. Microchip Head. Mack Smith nailed it for once. Come on. You’re a wimp. Come on.” But Madrone no longer spoke to him.

Pej, Brazil

8 March, 0647 local

BISON’S HANDS SHOOK AS HE ANGLED THE screwdriver blade beneath the small metal band. He nodded. Danny closed his eyes.

Something snapped. But there wasn’t an explosion. “Okay, we’re ready to work on the native timer and lock mechanism,” said Bison. “It’s hot.”

As Danny relayed the information to Annie, he saw that his sergeant’s hands were shaking violently.

“Undo the LED panel on the code-lock assembly right next to the explosive that launches the pellet,” said Annie. “You see it?”

Danny told Bison. The munitions expert nodded, then pushed a Phillips-head screwdriver down toward the light green panel.

The blade slipped and clattered on the floor.

Danny grabbed Bison’s arm as he reached for the screwdriver. “Kevin, let me try.”

“I’ve d-done this a million times.”

“I know. Let me take the responsibility, though. It’s not just us who’s blowing up.”

“We evacuated the Army guys, Captain,” said Bison, but then he slid back.

The panel wouldn’t come off.

Bison held the Satcom to his head. “Now what, Annie?” said Freah.

“Try it again,” she said.

“Shit.”

“It’s either that or reattach the timer and reset the detonation time.”

“Jesus.”

“You sound nervous, Captain. We will try sorting through the wires. Just don’t cut them all. As I told you before, complete power loss will trigger—”

There was a click and the line went dead.

“Annie? Annie?”

“I think that storm’s blocking the satellite,” said Bison, working the radio. “Time’s down to two minutes,” he added.

Danny stared at the back of the LED panel. The large integrated circuit had several small solder points at the back, but nothing that gave any clue about how it worked.

“Let’s short the thing out,” offered Powder from behind him. “Dump it in water. I got a bucket right here.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Powder?” said Freak “You were supposed to bug out.”

“None of us are going to leave you, Captain,” said Liu. “Don’t tell me you’re all here. Are you?”

“No, sir. We’re not here,” said Reagan.

Danny turned his attention back to the Satcom. “Annie? Annie?”

Nothing.

He leaned over the bomb. He could cut the wire that connected the LED lock mechanism. Annie had said that doing that would probably kill power to the spytron, the highly sensitive and accurate trigger that activated an accelerating explosive lens around the “catcher’s mitt” of uranium once the radioactive seed was launched toward it. But the explosive that sent the radioactive seed into the rest of the material would still ignite, as would the lens itself—a nanosecond or two too late to start a chain reaction maybe, but definitely in time to kill them.

“Everybody out of the hangar,” Freah shouted, taking the thick combat knife in his hand and reaching it across the thick wires. “That’s a fuckin’ order. Get out of here.”

“Captain!” shouted Powder.

“Go!”

“Nuke’ll get us anyway, Captain,” Bison said. “Rather be able to tell St. Peter I didn’t run away.”

“Just the explosive is going off,” said Danny. “Go!”

“Klondike said that might not work.”

“Go!”

“Thirty seconds,” said Bison, studying at his own watch.

“Here, Captain,” shouted Powder, running across the floor with a ceramic cup and a plastic gallon jug of water. He slipped on the smooth concrete, managing a leg-first slide near the bomb. He held the cup and jug out in front of him. “Douse it. We got nothing to lose.”

“Twenty seconds. He might be right,” said Bison.

Powder spilled water from the jug into the cup, his hands wobbly as he tried to slip it in place under Freah’s hand.

Would that work?

If it didn’t, he’d cut the wires.

Danny hesitated.

Do both at the same time.

“Fifteen.”

One way or the other, everyone in the hangar would die.

Bison reached over, trying to steady Powder’s hands. But he was shaking just as bad.

“Go!” Danny yelled.

“No time!” shouted Liu.

Danny closed his eyes and pulled back on the knife, sliding the blade through the collection of wires. He waited for the long millisecond before death, heard the fizzle of the explosion as it began.

But it wasn’t the explosion at all.

“Jeez, Louise, that was close,” said Powder. He pulled the LED into the water.

The fizzle had come from the clock circuit shorting.

“Captain, did you cut the wires?” asked Liu.

“They’re cut,” said Freah, looking at them.

“Shit,” said Powder.

“Got Ms. Klondike!” yelled Liu.

Danny sat back on the floor. The fluorescent lights in the hangar seemed very yellow. Liu came over on his knees and held the handset to Danny’s ears.

“Where have you been?” Annie asked.

“I cut the wires,” he said. “Powder dumped the timer in water and shorted it. I think that saved us.”

“No,” said the weapons expert. “The mechanism is impervious to moisture. Water wouldn’t have done anything.”

“It fizzled.”

“You cut the wires. It is odd, though—at least one end of the device should have exploded when all current was lost, unless the designer was completely inept. Are you sure you cut all the wires?”

Danny looked over at the harness. Fourteen of the sixteen wires had been cut clean; two remained.

“Shit,” said Danny. Then he told her what he saw.

“Out of curiosity, Captain, what’s your birthday?”

“Why?”

“I was thinking one of us ought to run down to Las Vegas and play those numbers on the roulette wheels.”

Aboard EB-52 M-6

Dreamland

8 March, 0351 local

BOTH MCADEN AND FENNER INSISTED ON STAYING WITH M-6 even after Bastian ordered them to stay on the ground; he finally decided it didn’t make much sense to argue with them. No one would blame them for flying, and besides, Magnus’s order applied to him, not them.

McAden wasn’t all that happy about taking the copilot’s seat, but there Dog had an easier argument—Dog had very little experience using the EB-52’s weapons systems, which were more easily handled from the copilot’s station.

As they got ready to fly, a black SUV hurtled up the ramp toward them, blue light flashing.

Dog watched the Jimmy screech to a halt. Undoubtedly Magnus had gotten to the security people somehow; he was about to be placed under arrest.

He edged his hand toward the throttle bar. As soon as the men were out of the car, he’d hit the gas and lurch away. By the time they got back in the vehicle he’d be on the runway.

But instead of heavily armed security men, a thin figure jumped out of the Jimmy. Dog stared at the shadow, which seemed to have small wings.