Day of Wrath

Something in their prisoner’s eyes told Thorn he was lying. He stood up and kicked the chair backward. “Bullshit,” he said softly.

The German flinched.

Thorn stalked up to the other man, grabbed hold of him by the shirt, and yanked him upright. “I said, do you speak English?”

Their prisoner stayed mute, his eyes wide in fear.

It was time for more active measures, Thorn decided coldly.

He scooped his shotgun back and casually, almost negligently, aimed it toward the other man’s head. “I’m going to ask you that question one more time. If you lie to me …”

He chambered a round.

The German bit his lip, trembling even harder now. “But you cannot do this! You cannot torture me. It is against American law!”

Thorn leaned closer. He pressed the shotgun right against the other man’s temple. “That plane is carrying a nuclear weapon.

What makes you think I care about the law right now?” His finger tightened on the trigger.

“Mein Gott.” The German swallowed hard. “I … I will help you. Do not shoot me … bitte. please!”

Helen patted him down, fished a wallet out of his pocket, and showed Thorn a tourist visa issued to one Klaus Engel.

He grabbed the German and dragged him back to the live console.

The blinking aircraft indicator was now roughly halfway between the towns of Leesburg and Herndon, Virginia — which meant they probably had somewhat less than five minutes remaining.

He pointed to the question asking for the aircraft identification.

“What’s the ID number for that plane?”

Engel shook his head frantically. “I do not know, I swear it! I merely built and programmed the machine. I was not part of the planning cell!”

Thorn lifted the shotgun again.

“They are not numbers. They are code names,” the other man said, stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out. “But I do not know these names!”

Code names? Thorn glanced at Helen. “Do you still have that list we took off Wolf?”

“Yes.” She fished it out of one of her pockets and handed it over.

He scanned down the list until he found the five animal code names listed under Godfrey: Lion, Tiger, Leopard, Jaguar, and Cheetah, all in German. He looked up at Helen. “What do you think?”

“Try Lion,” she said flatly. “It’s the first on the list and the king of the beasts.”

Thorn nodded. That Was logical. Except for Ibrahim and a few others, most of those involved in this conspiracy were German.

Putting their primary target at the top of a list and attaching the name of the top of the animal kingdom to it would appeal to them.

He sat down at the keyboard and typed in L,O,W,E.

A new line appeared on the display: ID INCORRECT; AIRCRAFT ID?: Damn it.

Helen leaned over his shoulder. “Peter, there’s no umlaut symbol on this keyboard!”

Of course. Thorn tried again, typing in L, O, E, W, E, this time.

New data appeared below the digitized map on the computer display — showing information on airspeed, altitude, the plane’s attitude, heading, and degree of bank, throttle settings, and fuel remaining. At the same time, the video monitor just to the left of the computer screen flickered to life — showing a black-and white image of lighted suburban streets passing slowly astern.

Thorn scanned the numbers quickly, trying to make sense of them. From what he could tell, the strike aircraft was currently flying southeast at two hundred thirty knots — at an altitude of two thousand feet.

Two sets of coordinates — latitude and longitude — stayed constant.

A third decreased constantly. As he watched, it flickered from 25.4 to 25.3. He turned toward Engel and stabbed a finger at the screen. “Are these what I think they are?”

The German computer tech nodded nervously. “That is the detonation point. And the range to the target.”

Something about those coordinates looked familiar to Thorn.

Then it clicked. This aircraft was headed straight for the Pentagon which would put most of Washington inside the bomb’s blast and shock radius. He glared hard at Engel. “All right, how do I give this plane a new set of coordinates?”

“You cannot.”

This time Helen ground her weapon into the technician’s cheek. “Try again!”

“Please. It is true.” Sweat rolled down the German’s face. “You cannot change the aim point once the aircraft is aloft. Herr Reichardt insisted on that as a security precaution!”

Reichardt? Who the hell was he? Thorn filed the name away for future reference. He focused on the task at hand. “Are you telling me that goddamned plane is totally locked on autopilot?”

“No, no!” Engel insisted. “You can control the aircraft manually.”’ “How?”

The technician plucked a joystick off the top of the console and held it up. “Using this. and the keyboard.”

“Set it up. Now!” Thorn growled. Ibrahim’s bomb-laden plane would be over the Pentagon in roughly four minutes.

Engel leaned over his shoulder, hastily plugged the joystick into a port near the display, and began entering commands on the keyboard.

“Peter?” Helen said quietly.

He looked at her. “Yeah?”

“Can you fly that plane from here?”

Thorn shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”