Sky Hammer. James Axler
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Название: Sky Hammer
Автор: James Axler
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9781474023610
isbn:
“Move!” Kushner shouted, dragging the prime minster to his feet and shoving him toward the stairs.
As they hurried down the torn carpeting, avoiding the broken steps, Kushner could see that the entire section of the wall that went through the center of town was gone, reduced to smoking rubble.
“Incredible,” a guard whispered.
Reaching the ground, Kushner shoved the prime minster toward the tank, and a Mossad agent helped the man inside. There were a dozen more of the agents nearby, their weapons drawn and hammers back. Kushner started to leave, but one of the men waved her inside and she obediently followed.
“Go!” a Mossad agent called down the hatch.
At the front of the armored vehicle, a driver started the massive diesels and the tank rumbled into motion.
“Are you all right, sir?” a Mossad agent asked, helping the politician to sit on a hard plastic seat. Her hands moved across the man, searching for wounds, but thankfully found nothing important.
“Hell, no. The Arabs are somehow going to blame us for this meteor strike,” the prime minister proclaimed, brushing off his tattered clothing. “I don’t know how, but they will.”
“I always thought meteors burned up in the atmosphere,” Kushner said with a frown, hanging on to a ceiling strap.
“Most disintegrate plummeting through the atmosphere, but not all,” the tank commander stated. “The Gulf of Mexico was made by a meteor strike. As were all of the holes that make up the man on the moon.”
Cradling a sore arm, the prime minister frowned. The officer was correct, yet this the strike had occurred just as the dedication ceremony began. No way that was a coincidence, which left one unnerving conclusion.
“I want a geologist,” the prime minister announced, wiping dirt off his face.
“Sir?” Kushner asked, puzzled. Then she nodded. “Of course. Yes, sir.” She touched her throat mike. “Control, we need a geologist with maximum security clearance at the grandstand immediately.”
“A geologist?” a voice replied. “Did I hear that correctly?”
Kushner gave the prime minister a questioning look and he nodded.
“Confirm, control. A geologist. ASAP.”
“Roger, we’ll contact the university. Over.”
Leaning to peer out a gunport, the prime minister scowled at the path of destruction cutting a swath through the borders of the two rival nations. Precisely, and exactly along the border, hammering the wall down to the ground for several city blocks. Buildings were riddled with shrapnel, streets smashed, cars burning, wounded people everywhere. A lot more laying motionless in the wrecked streets. The wreckage of a F-16-I jet fighter lay smoldering on the ground on the Israeli side of the crevice and a tank sat dead on the Palestinian side, an orange-hot hole in the roof armor clearly showing a direct hit from…whatever had done this.
“When the scientist arrives, have him check the residue at the bottom of each crater,” the prime minister ordered brusquely. “Each and every single one.”
“Why?” the Mossad agent asked bluntly.
“I don’t think those were meteors,” the politician stated.
CHAPTER TWO
Los Angeles, California
“Look, gentlemen, we can do this all night,” the President of the United States said, lifting a carafe and pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, “but I really don’t think that—”
He stopped talking abruptly as the vice-president walked into the boardroom flanked by a cadre of grim-faced Secret Service agents.
“Sir, there is an important call for you from NORAD, sir,” the VP said.
The President went still at the coded phrase. Any sentence that started and ended with the same word meant all hell had just broken loose somewhere.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” the President said, wearily standing. “This is a matter of national security.”
The gruff men in expensive suits murmured their understanding as the President left the room.
Moving along the corridor, a dozen Secret Service agents closed around the President and more joined him from every doorway they passed. Soon, he was surrounded, and could no longer see where they were going. The leader of the United States had to simply follow wherever his bodyguards were leading.
Upon reaching the driveway, the Secret Service agents parted to reveal a line of identical black limousines, all of them with the exact same license plates. There were five of the vehicles, and the President was directed to the fourth in line. As he approached, the rear door opened and his personal assistant, Kevin Molendy, stepped out.
“This way, sir,” he said, moving out of the way.
The man was wearing a bulletproof vest under his suit jacket, which was odd, but the President said nothing as he stepped into the limo and took a seat. Several people were waiting for him, four of them Secret Service agents. The rest were members of his Executive Council: Oswaldo “Oz” Fontecchio, his national policy adviser, as well as Hillary Hertzoff, his national security adviser, and Matthew Mingle, the current head of the CIA.
Thank goodness, Hal Brognola wasn’t here, the President observed with a sigh. That would have meant real trouble.
As Molendy climbed inside, a Secret Service agent closed the door and the limo started to roll. The President knew that the vehicles wouldn’t maintain formation, but rotate positions randomly, making it impossible for a sniper to know in which vehicle he was riding. An assassin would have to strike all of the limousines to even have a chance of success, and the plain black limos were all million-dollar cars, containing more armor than most light tanks, including the tires. Even if hit with a grenade, the rubber would blow off, but the limo would continue moving smoothly on the wide steel plates hidden inside.
“Okay, what happened?” the President asked as the limo took a corner.
“Sir, there has been an attack on the wall in Israel,” Hertzoff said in clipped tones. It was as if every word was precious and she didn’t want to waste any. “Hundreds are dead, perhaps more, with collateral damage in the millions.”
“Missiles or car bombs?” the President queried.
Leaving his seat, Molendy opened a small wall panel and started making fresh coffee.
“Neither, sir. It was a meteor shower,” Hertzoff replied.
“A what?” the President demanded as the smell of Jamaican Blue Mountain filled the air of the limousine. “A meteor shower?”
“Yes, sir. About a mile of the wall has been completely flattened in the СКАЧАТЬ