N o one moved. No one spoke. They had known that missiles were on their way for two hours now, and yet, with the knowledge that they must have actually been fired, the horror of the situation struck home with an impact they had not yet experienced.

To Ben’s surprise, the former president was the first to break the silence. “Is there any way to get confirmation about what has happened?” Kyler asked.

“Not until we get power, or a report from someone who’s gone above,” Zimmer said into the darkness. “I’ve sent agents topside to investigate. I assume they’ll come down with information about any recent developments.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hard to say, sir. My guess would be around ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes of not knowing,” Kyler said softly. “My God, how will we survive?”

“Is there any doubt about it?” Swinburne asked. “Zuko told us what he would do. He’s a violent dictator, not a poker player.”

“And how many people did he say would die?” Sarie asked, her heartbreak evident in her voice. “Thousands?”

“Tens of thousands,” Rybicki reminded them all.

The room fell silent again.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait for information.”

“For the moment,” Zimmer said.

“And we can pray,” Cartwright added. “We can still pray.”

Ben felt certain that, at least for that one brief moment in time, everyone in the bunker, whatever their race, creed, or color, lowered their head and said a little prayer to anyone they believed might be listening.

(SEVEN MINUTES BEFORE)

Seamus gritted his teeth and raised his eyes to the ceiling. He was bleeding in so many places he couldn’t keep track of them. It had all merged into one gigantic hurt. He had tried to hold in the pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from bleeding, or screaming, or crying. He hated that. Not because it was a sign of weakness. Because it gave Scarface so much pleasure.

Raising his eyes upward was not simply an expression of his desperation. It was an old spy trick. You look away from whatever you don’t want your assailant to see.

He had managed to pull one of his legs free from the cords that tied him to the cot. If he could loosen the other one, he just might be able to improve his situation.

Or die trying.

“You seem not so bothered anymore,” Scarface said with unmitigated glee. “I miss the lovely sound of your screaming.” Perhaps we need to try somewhere else.” He removed Seamus’s belt and jerked down his slacks. “I think the American testicles might be a good place to try next. Do you think you will feel my pliers on your American testicles?”

Seamus didn’t withhold his contempt. It wasn’t going to make any difference anyway. “I think you’re going to do whatever pleases you. If you didn’t have a strong sadistic streak, you wouldn’t be doing this. You tell yourself you’re doing it for some noble cause, but the truth is you’re only doing it to gratify your own desire to inflict pain.”

Scarface jabbed him in the stomach with the pliers. Seamus lurched forward. He felt his gorge rising. If he had eaten anything lately, he surely would have lost it. He thought it was possible he had broken another rib, but he had so much pain radiating from that region it was impossible to know with any certainty.

Scarface thrust the pliers between his legs. “Prepare to feel the pain of your own manhood slipping away from you. And then to lose life itself.”

Seamus squinted his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.

Then he heard the crash.

He opened his eyes. Through the window, back in the main room with all the computer equipment-a car had just crashed through the north garage door opening. The car had been battered mightily by the crash, but it had made it through and it was still moving. It was traveling at a tremendous speed, which probably helped it get through. It-

Wait a minute.

It was Seamus’s car.

Scarface whipped his head around. “What in the name-”

As soon as he looked in the other direction, Seamus made his move. Both legs free now, he pulled them upward. Using his ab muscles hurt like hell, but he ignored that and kicked back ferociously under Scarface’s chin. The terrorist went reeling backward, stunned.

Guard One, obviously caught by surprise, raced forward. Seamus hoisted his legs up again and wrapped them on each side of the man’s head. He hadn’t been doing those thigh workouts for nothing. He held the guard’s head in a lock and twisted it harshly around much further than necks were designed to move. Seamus heard a sickening crunching sound that told him this guard wouldn’t be getting up again.

Scarface staggered to his feet, took one look at the situation, and ran.

Good. That would simplify matters. In the next room, Seamus could see his car was still speeding around the large open room, sending the personnel fleeing and crashing into the obscenely expensive machinery, from which sparks flew every which way. Good. This station wouldn’t be controlling anything for some time.

He twisted around and, using his now free feet to push against the cot, pulled his arms free of the cords. They burned and tore his skin, but all that mattered was that he got himself unpinned from the cot. He fell to the floor in a heap, shrugged off his torn shirt, and ran.

The guards appeared to have fled-except for a handful who were lying on the ground after being smashed by a rampaging Dodge. The three computer operators, including the woman in the white shirt, were huddled beside the main computer, trying to stay out of the path of the car.

The Dodge squealed to a stop, and a moment later Arlo rolled down the driver’s-side window.

“Seamus! Are you okay?”

Why would he ask that? Perhaps because he was limping and bleeding from a dozen places? “I’m fine, kid. Nothing the medics can’t fix. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, trying to get you out before they kill you?”

“I told you to stay put!”

“No, you told me not to leave the car.” He smiled. “I didn’t.”

Seamus bit down on his lower lip. Couldn’t argue with the kid’s logic. He flipped open his phone. “Zira? Send in the troops.”

“Are you kidding? I did that a long time ago.”

“I thought you needed confirmation.”

“You sent me a photo of the base, remember? That was good enough for me. Especially after you stopped responding.”

What do you know? Maybe Zira wasn’t as totally useless as he thought. “When they get here, have them come in through the north side. I don’t think they can miss it. There’s a big hole in the wall.”

He snapped the phone closed. He did a quick perimeter search but didn’t find anyone. The toughs must’ve realized the jig was up and exercised the better part of valor. Smart on their part-treason was still punishable by execution, according to the U.S. Constitution.

“Nice work with the car, kid,” he told Arlo. “That took some guts.”

“Well,” he said, “you can’t spend your whole life playing computer games.”

“True enough.”

“Comes a time when a man has to stop simulating and try the real thing.”

“And you picked exactly the right time to do it, too.” Seamus grinned. “You can get out of the car now.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” Arlo opened the car door and slid out. “I think we should get you to a hospital.”

“My people are on their way. They’ll have a medic.” He walked back into the debris that once had been a high-powered satellite control station and found the three computer operators still huddled together, hands over their heads, as if they were ducking and covering for a fifties nuclear bomb drill. “All right, you clowns. Stand up.”