Temple

The rotors of the Army Black Hawk thumped rhythmically as the big helicopter hovered over Vilcafor, in the centre of the circle of ominous black helicopters.

Suddenly, two of the unmarked choppers banked out of their formation and flew in toward the village.

Black-clad soldiers sitting in their doorways opened fire on the natives on the ground and the Indians scattered immediately, hurrying over the log-bridges, darting into the dense foliage around the town.

A voice came over a loudspeaker from one of the choppers. A man's voice, speaking in English.

“Army Black Hawk. Be advised, missile lock has been established on your aircraft. You are to land immediately. I repeat, you are to land immediately and prepare to hand over the idol. If you do not land immediately, we will blast you out of the sky and pick it out of the wreckage later.”

Nash and Marty exchanged a look.

Lauren and Copeland did the same.

'They're not lying about the missile lock, sir,' the pilot said, turning to Nash.

'Take us down,' Nash said.

Flanked by the two unmarked Black Hawks, Nash's Black Hawk II slowly descended back to earth.

The three choppers hit the ground together. The moment the Army chopper's wheels touched the mud the voice on the loudspeaker came again.

“Now exit the helicopter with your hands up.'

Nash, Lauren, Copeland and Marty did so, accompanied by the chopper's pilot.

From the safety of the ATV, Race and the others stared out at the scene before them in awe.

Race couldn't believe what was happening. It was like one of those fables where a big fish eats a smaller fish, only to be eaten itself by an even bigger fish moments later.

Frank Nash, it seemed, had just come across a bigger fish.

'Who the hell are these guys?' Doogie asked.

'I would guess,' Renee said, a strip of gauze pressed firmly against her bloody shoulder,'ht at they are the people who were responsible for the break-in at DARPA headquarters two days ago. The break-in that involved the theft of the Navy's Supernova.'

Half a world away, Special Agent John-Paul Demonaco and Commander Tom Mitchell were sitting inside Bluey James' filthy Baltimore apartment, waiting for the phone to ring.

They were waiting for the call that would instruct Bluey to send out the V-CD of Bittiker's message to all the TV net works. Naturally, Bluey's phone had been hooked up to a bank of FBI tracing equipment.

There was a knock at the door.

Mitchell opened it to reveal two agents from Demonaco's Domestic Terrorist Unit—a man and a woman, both young, clean-cut thirtysomethings.

'What have you got?” Demonaco said.

'We checked out Henry Norton,' the female agent said.

'The guy whose cardkeys and codes were used in the break- in. Our own investigations have confirmed that he had no known paramilitary contacts.'

'So who did he work with, then? Who could have seen him enter his codes and then pass them on to somebody?'

'Apparently he worked closely with a guy named Martin Race-Martin Eric Race. He was one of the DARPA people working on the project, the ignition system design engineer.“

'But we checked him out too,' the male agent said.

'And he's clean. No militia links, not even a history of contact with any extremist groups. He's even married to a high-ranking Army scientist named Lauren O'Connor.

She's technically a major, but she's had no combat experi ence. The rank is purely honorary. Race and O'Connor were married late in 1997. No kids, No apparent discord. But…”

'But what?“

'But exactly three weeks ago, her FBI file was flagged when she was spotted leaving a motel in Gainesville with this man'—the agent handed Demonaco an 8 x 10 black- and-white photo of a man leaving a motel room—'Troy Copeland. Also a major with the Army's Special Projects Unit. Seems Ms O'Connor has been having an affair with Mr Copeland for the last month.'

'So… ?' Demonaco said expectantly.

'So. Copeland has been under periodic surveillance for the past year, under suspicion of passing Army security codes to certain militia groups, one of which is—wait for it—the Republican Army of Texas.'

'But since the affair is only a month old,' the female agent said, 'DARPA probably hasn't picked up on it with any follow-up checks.'

Demonaco sighed. 'And the Army and the Navy aren't exactly the best of bedfellows. They've been pulling the rug out from under each other for years.' He turned. 'Commander Mitchell?'

'Yes.'

'Does the Army have a Supernova?'

'They're not supposed to.'

'Answer the question.'

'We think they are working on one, yes.'

'Is it possible, then,' Demonaco said, 'that this O'Connor woman was getting her husband to pass secret DARPA codes to her and the Arm36 and then she was passing them on to her lover Copeland, not knowing that he was giving them to the Texans?'

'That's what we figure,' the male agent said.

“Damn it!'

With the Spirit of the People in his hands, Frank Nash stepped out of his grounded Black Hawk II. Lauren, Marty, Copeland and the pilot did the same.