“Close,” she says. “Very, very close.”
Tucker picks up his drink, also a glass of ice water, and says, “That’s what Wellington said, right after Waterloo. ‘The nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life.’ Yeah, the duke knew what he was talking about. Makes you think what he would feel about something like this, a worldwide collapse barely avoided.”
“How much time to spare?”
“Maybe seventy, ninety seconds.”
“But the clock in the room—”
Tucker sips again. “The duty general in Cybercommand wanted a confirmation before pushing the buttons that would turn the world black. Thank God. Something like that happened back in 1995. Russian military saw an incoming missile that looked like it was heading to Moscow for a decapitation strike. Yeltsin had his nuclear football up and running and was about to issue orders for a nuclear retaliation before the Russians realized the missile was a Norwegian weather rocket. Jesus.”
Hannah just sits and refuses to think for a bit, but Tucker interrupts her silence and says, “How’s your officer? Himel?”
“Somewhere in here being treated. A tough young lady indeed. She was with me for the past hour, not complaining, with a torn-up wrist and bullet wound in her side.”
Tucker says, “Those are the kind of people who save us, aren’t they? The ones who go above and beyond. Or ask questions, like that Cybercommand general.”
Hannah nods. “You got any news to report?”
He says, “The word of our stand-down got to the right people. Chinese naval and aviation units are returning to port or their bases. But there will be a reckoning, you know. Here and there.”
“I’m sure there will be.”
Tucker says, “One thing that needs changing is how the president has the authority to commit this nation to a cyber offensive. There are checks and balances on the nuclear side of the table. But not in cyberspace. That will have to be fixed, and soon.”
Hannah says, “Funny thing, I just got an email message from theirrezidenthere, wanting to know if we could have a face-to-face. Reduce tensions even further. Beyond that, the two of us will be busy the next couple of weeks, talking to the Gang of Eight and others.”
“You’re right,” he says, “but the basic problem remains. Anoutlaw regime on the other side of the world that keeps on pushing and violating boundaries, treaties, and agreements. We were lucky today. Don’t know if we can be that lucky again, down the road.”
He raises his glass and she does the same, and with a smile, they clink. “But we won’t solve that today, will we.”
“You know it.”
CHAPTER 149
LIAM GREY IS slipping in and out of consciousness, sometimes forgetting where he is. He sometimes feels like he’s having one of those nightmares where you’re barely awake and can’t move, and other times, like now, he knows exactly where he is.
Trapped under the wreckage of the South African farmhouse and CIA safe house, blown apart earlier—how long, he has no idea—from that RPG-7 round.
Seems like Han Yuanchao grew impatient and wanted to settle things.
Fair enough.
It’s night and his lower legs are pinned by beams of wood. There’re chunks of brick overhead, allowing him breathing space, and not much else. Both arms are free but so far, all they’ve been useful for is scratching at an occasional itch.
A couple of times he’s heard voices but is pretty sure he’s hallucinating.
He’s hoping that some neighbor heard the ruckus over here and called the police, but he knows that in some rural parts of South Africa, good citizens retreat to their farms, lock their doors, set their alarms, and ignore what’s happening out in the dark night.
Getting thirsty.
Hungry.
Speaking of hungry, what animals out there in the night might be circling this wreckage right now, smelling his blood, deciding it was the right time for a meal? Hyenas? Foxes? Some type of wildcat?
Whatever.
He’ll do his best to fight them off as the night drags on.