He began slithering across the floor, going back the way the team had come. A commando struck the floor beside him, groaning as blood poured from his neck. He slithered past other commandos on their knees, firing back at the enemy.

  Steele gritted his teeth, refusing to grab a weapon yet. He needed to get away first. The screams increased as the gunfire diminished.

  In moments, Steele slithered into a narrow side tunnel. He scrambled to his feet and fled.

  His heart pounded as he ran—he struck a wall twice, bruising a shoulder. He ran slower after the second strike, more deliberately. The sound of gunfire faded behind him. He had tried to memorize the route, knowing his survival could depend on it. The narrow passages twisted and turned, each step taking him further from Sardar Ibrahim, Alvarez, and the others.

  He emerged into a larger chamber, the distant sound of rushing water a welcome reprieve from the gunfire. He stopped: panting, sweating, and leaning against a damp wall. He searched for any sign of pursuit.

  How could he escape Delhi and reach orbital space? If Ibrahim detonated the nuclear devices while he was down here, he would still fail to reach Dawnstar. Steele focused his thoughts, and it came to him. Delhi held more than this subterranean command bunker. It also held some of the semi-secret Phoenix rocket ships the World Government had been constructing. Steele remembered reading something about Senior General Tom Bain. That’s right. He had overheard Ibrahim saying Bain was on the Director’s blacklist. How Ibrahim knew that, Steele didn’t know. But would Bain be at the Greenland Conference?

  Steele shrugged. He had no idea. He had to play the hand he had, not the one he wanted. Bain was a possible ticket to orbital space. It was a long shot, but he didn’t have anything better. At least it gave him a goal.

  As Steele stared forward again, a hard-breathing figure emerged from the dark, blocking his path. It wasn’t Alvarez, so that was good. This was the stocky man that had recognized him on the dhow. A grim smile played on the man’s bearded face.

  The commando raised his weapon while taking a deep breath. The muzzle gleamed in the dim light. Steele was already moving, hoping the man’s weariness would give him the seconds he needed. Steele had picked up a piece of rebar earlier. Straining to reach the other, he swung, the rebar connecting with a clack. The commando’s assault weapon clattered to the ground. Steele surged even nearer, swinging again with everything he had.

  The fight was brutal and brief, as Steele’s space marine training kicked in. He swung viciously, not knowing if others were behind the command. Within moments, the stocky, bearded commando lay unconscious or even dead on the floor, with his skull dented in several places and blood flowing.

  A gasping Steele took the man’s assault rifle and night-vision goggles, checking the magazine before continuing.

  He began to jog, coming into a passage he definitely recognized. Time passed and his lungs began to ache as he sucked down air. His side hurt like a son of a bitch. He had to flee the city before Ibrahim detonated the nuclear devices. Time was not on his side.

  A little later, Steele’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he neared the end of the sewers. He had passed the former barrier where the dead guard still lay in shadows. He could see a glimmer of the city lights ahead, marking the sewer entrance in the narrow Delhi alleyway. He had to deal with those Ibrahim had left to secure the entrance.

  Steele’s sweaty fingers tightened around the grip of the assault rifle. The weapon was a NWC model. He slowed now and approached the entrance with caution.

  Two guards stood to the sides, mumbling to each other. Incredibly, their rifles were slung casually over their shoulders. Ibrahim would have berated them for such laxness. Maybe too much time had passed for them to keep alert every second. They appeared relaxed. Steele realized he had the element of surprise.

  This wasn’t a moment for niceties, but efficiency. Steele jumped out and fired a short burst, the rifle’s muzzle flashing. The first guard dropped, with a neat row of bullet holes punched into his chest.

  The second guard scrambled as others shouted and came running. Steele darted to the side of the dead commando. Bullets whizzed past him, splintering crates, sending shards of wood flying. Steele returned fire.

  The second commando staggered, with a look of shock on his face as he crumpled to the ground.

  Steele primed a grenade and threw it. It flew through the air and exploded. A commando behind several crates screamed.

  Steele had already yanked out the spent magazine and inserted a new one. He raised the rifle and unloaded on his enemies, taking several down mercilessly.

  In moments, it was over. Steele shook with adrenaline. He scanned the alleyway, his senses heightened, searching for more threats. Believing he’d gotten them, he raced toward the waiting vans parked at the front of the alley.

  He moved to an older model, its paint chipped and faded. He yanked the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. The key was in the ignition. He started the engine. After two tries, the van sputtered to life.

  Steele slammed the door shut and shifted into gear, his foot pressing the accelerator. The van lurched, tires screeching as he sped onto the regular streets of Delhi. Soon, city lights blurred past as he merged into traffic.

  Delhi was a sprawling expanse of city lights, office buildings, shadows, and mazy streets. He had to find Tom Bain. How was he going to do that in a city of endless millions? He had better figure that out fast, or the nukes would kill him anyway, and all this would have been for nothing. Then—

  No, he wasn’t going to dwell on the worst. He would fight until he was dead. It was the only thing left him now.

  -20-

  Two men stood near an open sewage flow in what seemed like a subterranean canal.

  One of them, Alvarez, had taken wounds in the firefight. Blood seeped from his side, hidden beneath the wetsuit he’d donned. Alvarez ignored the pain as best he could. The pills he’d taken earlier helped to a degree.

  Sardar Ibrahim glanced at him.

  They had carried a heavy nuclear device from the firefight, each holding one of its handles. They were the only ones of the team to have survived the ambush. All the guards had died, the last ones with bullets to the brain as they lay groaning on the concrete floor.

  “We don’t have much time,” Ibrahim said.

  Alvarez nodded, his face pale. “Let’s finish this, my brother.”

  They dumped jet-propelled packs from duffel bags and secured them to their backs. The specially designed wetsuits would provide protection against the toxic environment they were about to enter. The compact, jet-propelled packs would help them move through the watery filth.

  Ibrahim helped Alvarez adjust his gear, ensuring everything was securely fastened.

  Then, Ibrahim activated his headlamp, the beam cutting through the gloom to reveal the murky waters that awaited them. The stench was overwhelming, a vile concoction of decay and filth, but their respirators kept it from their mouths, allowing them to breathe safely.

  The two heaved the nuclear device into the canal, Alvarez crying out in pain as he helped. Then they slipped into the awful, flowing sewage. Ibrahim used his fins to propel himself, picking up speed. The jet pack on his back whirred softly, providing extra thrust. Alvarez kept up the best he could, his movements labored due to his injury. They both hauled the nuclear device, each holding onto a handle. They swam through the labyrinthine, foul canals, following a planned route that would lead them beneath the heavily fortified bunkers of the WG military in Delhi.

  The canals narrowed at points, forcing them to squeeze through tight passages. The sound of rushing water echoed around them, mingling with the hum of their packs and the steady beat of their hearts.

  As they swam deeper, the current grew stronger, the sewage rushing past them with increasing force. Ibrahim kept on course easily enough, but Alvarez struggled to maintain his place.

  “Ibrahim,” Alvarez said through the short link, his voice barely audible over the roar of the water. “The current is too strong here.”

  “Have faith, brother,” Ibrahim said. “Just a little more effort, yes?”

  “Yes,” Alvarez wheezed.

  They swam against the currents now, the jet packs straining against the endless flow of water and filth. The journey had turned into a battle. Alvarez began mumbling prayers to Allah the Compassionate and Merciful.

  After what felt like forever, they reached a circular chamber where several canals converged. Ibrahim consulted a handheld device strapped to his wrist. The screen displayed a detailed map of the sewer system, along with their current coordinates. A green dot blinked steadily, indicating their destination.

  “We’re close,” Ibrahim said. “A little more and the bunkers will be directly above us.”

  Alvarez nodded. Behind his mask, his face was drawn with pain. They pressed on.

  After an agonizingly long struggle, Alvarez’s eyes wide, they reached the designated spot, a section of the canal where the ceiling arched above them.

  Ibrahim consulted his device again. “This is it, my brother. The bunkers are right above us.”

  They crawled out of the canal, dragging the heavy nuclear device behind them. Several times, Ibrahim bade Alvarez to bring the device just a little more to the left. Finally, Ibrahim nodded and activated magnetic clamps.

  Alvarez slumped onto the cold concrete, gasping with effort and trembling.

  After a short prayer, Ibrahim activated the arming mechanism. A series of LED lights blinked to life on the device’s surface. With grave deliberation, Sardar Ibrahim entered the detonation code.

  Once the device was armed, Ibrahim checked his watch. They had a half hour until detonation. Ibrahim now forgot why they had agreed this was the right amount of time. It seemed foolish. Could it have been an oversight and supposed to be three minutes? He suspected that was the case. Could such a little mishap ruin everything?

  He looked at Alvarez. The North American was staring up at the arched ceiling. Perhaps the water expert no longer cared. Neither of them would leave this place alive. Their mission had always been a one-way journey, a martyrdom for their cause.

  “There’s no turning back now,” Ibrahim said. “We stay here until the end.”

  Alvarez actually managed a nod.

  They positioned themselves near the warhead, the instrument of their final act. The sound of rushing sewage was the only noise that accompanied them as they settled into position.

  The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly. The oppressive gloom of the tunnel seemed to close in around them, the weight of their impending martyrdom pressing down.

  Ibrahim reached out and clasped Alvarez’s shoulder. “For Allah,” he said.

  “For Allah,” Alvarez echoed, his voice trembling with exhausted emotion.

  The final seconds ticked away, and the LED lights on the warhead began to flash. Ibrahim and Alvarez closed their eyes, waiting for the end.

  -21-

  TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER

  Steele stumbled, shoved by security personnel into a large room filled with consoles, technicians, armed guards, and a large man in a missile command uniform.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the large man demanded. “Why bring him to me on a night like tonight?”

  Steele raised his gaze. He had a bloody lip and a bruise on his forehead. A baton had struck him several times in the ribs earlier. He winced whenever he moved. Now, he straightened painfully.

  “Do you recognize me, Senior General?” Steele asked.

  Bain’s eyes narrowed. He approached Steele before looking at the security people who had shoved him into the chamber.

  “Who is he?” Bain demanded. “What is this?”

  “He claims to be First Lieutenant John Steele of the Orbital Stations,” one of the security men said.

  Bain scowled, glancing a second time at Steele. “You’re not claiming to be the son of Colonel Mike Steele.”

  “That’s my dad,” Steele said.

  “What? You expect me to believe you were on the Moon? You were the one who set the bomb that blew up the alien transport carrying all those mass drivers?”

  “I’m him,” Steele said. “I’m here to tell you something for your ears only.”

  “He’s got a real tale, sir,” one of the security men said, the one who had hit John in the mouth. “I don’t believe anything he has to say.”

  “Then why did you bring him here?” Bain demanded.

  The security man looked worried. “I’ve heard rumors, sir… about Greenland.”

  Bain had heard the same, something about a nuclear detonation killing everyone there, including the Director. That seemed impossible, though. Yet, no one had any knowledge about what had happened in Greenland.

  “You’re the highest-ranking officer in Delhi, maybe in all India right now,” the security man added. “I thought I’d leave this to your—”

  “If I could have a moment of your time, General,” Steele said, interrupting the security man. It was hard to keep the fear out of his voice.

  “Whatever for?” asked Bain, staring at the strange man.

  “I can tell you, or I can tell everyone here,” Steele said, making that a threat almost.

  A moment of fear and suspicion crossed Bain’s face. “All right, I believe you’re that John Steele.” The general looked around. “Someone give me a gun.”

  One of the security men handed a big pistol to Bain. The general hefted it before prodding Steele into a side office. “Sit down. I’ll feel more comfortable that way.”

  Steele sat, wincing as he did so because of his ribs.

  “Put your hands on your thighs,” Bain said.

  Steele did.

  Bain stepped behind his own chair, keeping the big gun trained on Steele’s center mass. “Okay, what do you have to tell me? This had better be important.”

  Earlier, Steele had rammed a police car with his van. When the cops boiled out after him, he said he was a secret agent from orbital space with a message for Senior General Tom Bain. There had been baton strikes, slaps, bunches, but Steele had stuck to his story. The cops finally handed him over to WG security personnel. They didn’t know that Director Drusus was in the subterranean bunker nearby. They believed she was in Greenland. In the last few hours, terrible rumors had surfaced about a bombing in Greenland. The security personnel had decided to take this problem and shove it onto Bain. Maybe it would be enlightening to see what he did with it.

  Steele now spilled the news. “There’s an Islamic Brotherhood team with nukes in the sewers. They’re part of the Jihadist Freedom Party.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Bain said.

  “That may well be,” Steele said in a clipped voice. “But I was with them earlier in the sewers, before I escaped. They should be just about ready to ignite the nukes.”

  Bain looked incredulous. “You’re saying these fanatics will detonate a nuclear bomb here in Delhi?”

  “Deep in the sewers under the subterranean military complex,” Steele said.

  “You’re insane. That’s insane. I don’t believe you. You must be one of Livia’s. This is a crazy loyalty test.”

  “It should be easy to verify my identity. See if my official photo matches the contours of my face.”

  Bain stared at him. “Have you heard anything about what happened in Greenland?”

  Steele shook his head.

  “I don’t believe you,” Bain said for a second time.

  “Why would I come to you and tell you this?”

  “I have no idea,” Bain said. “This must be a loyalty test by Director Drusus. I am passing it, right?”

  “Think about it,” Steele said, gambling, realizing he must almost be out of time. He worked to control his voice, to keep any hysteria out of it. “If there was a bomb at Greenland… who planted it?”

  Bain scowled. “What are you suggesting? I’m not following you.”

  “I think you are. Drusus planted a nuclear bomb under Anwar Gray. Maybe she just lit off another to take out the New World Conglomerate and Orbital Station leadership.”

  “She invited me to the conference,” Bain said.

  Steele raised his eyebrows. “Why would she do that? Do you think Drusus loves you or has it in for you?”

  Fear beat in Bain’s chest. “If Livia did this… she would not have gone to the conference.”

  “Where would she be then?” Steele asked.

  Bain’s eyes widened. “In the subterranean military bunkers near here. She must be waiting for one of her inscrutable reasons.”

  “Those bunkers won’t exist soon,” Steele said.

  “Then this is my big chance to take over,” Bain said.

  “I seriously doubt that. If Livia marked you for death by ordering you to Greenland, do you think the others vying for power won’t know that, or learn it soon enough?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Two nuclear detonations in two disparate parts of the world, with most of the highest world leadership slain, will throw the Earth into desperate turmoil.”

  “Then I must remain and try to restore order in the World Government,” Bain said.

  “I have a different idea,” Steele said, trying to modulate his voice and sound convincing. “The orbital stations will know my voice recognition codes. With that confirmation, you can launch in your Phoenix rocket ships and get the hell off Earth and into asylum in the orbital stations.”

  “No one in the orbital stations would allow that,” Bain said, his mind reeling. “They would believe it was a trick, the World Government trying a sneak attack against the orbitals.”

  “How about you loan me a rocket ship then so I can go home?”

  “You would do that?” Bain asked.

  Steele snorted. “I want to get out of here. Earth is a madhouse and it is only going to get worse. Do you understand the situation? If you’re right about Greenland, all the people of power are dead, murdered by Livia Drusus, who logically set that nuclear device in Greenland. She’s the one seeking more power. Maria Chavez and the top people of the NWC are also dead, unless they sent body doubles.”