“No, sir, I’m not joking,” Richard said. “We do not intend to give ourselves up, now or … Colonel, please listen to me …

Not bothering to crouch, I dashed to the other side of the room and raised the scope to a western window. The Apache was now hovering in midair at a parallel distance and altitude from the Cayuse, slightly above the height of the water tower; like the other one, it was now facing the tower.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted swift movement on the ground; looking down through the scope, I saw ERA troopers sprinting away from the tower, giving up their cover behind trees and benches. I ran the scope to the armored car closest to the park; troopers were practically shoving each other aside in their haste to get through the LAVs’ rear hatches.

It looked like they were retreating.

I felt a momentary surge of relief … then the nightscope almost dropped from my numb hands as I realized what was about to happen.

“The Apache’s going to launch its missiles!” I shouted.

“Just a moment, Colonel …” Payson-Smith cupped his hand over the receiver. “Ruby confirms TADS lock-on and Hellfires arming.”

“Sentinel flyover in sixty-six seconds,” Morgan said softly, his eyes riveted to his screen. “Initiating satellite uplink and c-cube interface.”

“We don’t have sixty seconds!” I shouted. “That chopper’s going to-”

“Gerry,” Richard said, “please shut up and get away from the window.”

I took a couple of steps away from the window, then stopped when I saw what was displayed on the computer screens. Payson-Smith’s had opened a window depicting a cutaway view of an Apache AH-64; Morgan’s screen displayed an aerial map of downtown St. Louis, with the Compton Hill Reservoir epicentered within a red bull’s-eye.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Colonel,” Payson-Smith said, uncupping the phone again. “But you’ve been warned-”

There was a bright flash through the western windows.

I looked around just in time to see sparks erupt from beneath the nacelles of the Apache as two Hellfire missiles launched from the chopper.

Then I threw myself to the floor.

I didn’t even have a chance to scream before the supernova erupted.

There was a brilliant white flash, then an immense thunderclap pummeled my ears. Windows shattered, glass spraying across my back, as the stone floor trembled beneath me. I lay still, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my hands wrapped around my head, waiting for the tower to collapse around me.

But that didn’t happen.

The light faded, the thunder subsided, the floor stopped shaking.

The missiles hadn’t hit the tower.

I raised myself to my elbows and looked around, not quite believing I was still alive. Glass from the broken windows on the eastern side of the room was strewn across the floor; a cool predawn breeze wafted through the shattered panes, carrying with it the harsh odor of burning aircraft fuel.

“What the fuck happened?” I murmured.

“Hello, Colonel?” I heard Payson-Smith say. “Do you hear me?”

Richard and Jeff were picking themselves off the floor from where they had ducked for cover. Payson-Smith still had the phone in his hand; he was listening to it as Morgan crawled to the computer terminal and tapped a couple of keys.

The stench of burning gasoline was stronger now. I raised myself to my knees and stared through the broken windows. A thick plume of black smoke billowed up from behind the reservoir walls, obscuring the downtown lights. I could hear the steady thrum of a helicopter’s rotors from behind me, but it sounded more distant than before.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Payson-Smith was saying. “Ruby Fulcrum-and I’m sure you’re aware of what that is-has accessed the source codes of the programs controlling your Apache’s onboard computers.”

I could hear the faint voices of men yelling outside the tower, sounding almost as confused as I was. I felt around with my hands until I located the nightscope where I had dropped it.

“In case you don’t know this,” Payson-Smith said, “the avionics of your Apaches are controlled by eleven computers, including the ones that operate the weapon fire-control systems. When its missiles locked on to the tower, my friend Ruby took command of the laser targeting computer. Even though your copilot thought he was aiming at us, he didn’t really have any control over …”

I crawled to an eastern window and raised the nightscope to my eye, but I saw only an opaque black spot through the eyepiece. The scope was broken.

“We’ve achieved uplink with Sentinel,” Morgan said quietly. “Ruby’s making the snatch.”

Richard smiled and held up a finger. “Yes, Colonel,” he said into the phone. “Ruby took over their TADS computer, so when the Apache launched its Hellfires, the laser guidance system instantly retargeted the other helicopter instead. That’s the reason why one of your choppers has just been destroyed and the other one cannot attack us …”

He paused and listened. “No, Colonel,” he replied, “that wouldn’t be very wise. Just ask the Apache’s gunner. Everything on that chopper runs off its computers. If he tries to fire another missile or use his guns, he’ll probably hit everything except us, and that includes your men on the ground … I’m sorry, sir. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t-”

Even without the nightscope, I could see the troops clambering out of the LAVs where they had taken cover and swarming toward the base of the tower. I bent closer to the window, trying to see what they were doing …

Poppa-poppa-poppa …

I ducked below the sill as I heard full-auto gunfire. “They’re sending in the ground troops!” I yelled; the window above me shattered, and there was the high zing of bullets ricocheting off stone walls. I hit the floor and began to crawl toward the center of the room.

“Colonel, listen to me!”

A double beep from the Compaq; Jeff Morgan leaned closer to read the message he had just received. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured. “They just got wise to us.”

Richard turned around to look at him, his eyebrows raised in silent question. “Ruby reports a jet just took off from Scott AFB,” Morgan said softly. “Strong probability that it’s a YF-22.”

A window had opened on the Compaq’s screen, displaying dorsal and side views of an YF-22 Lightning 2: a small dual-engine fighter that looked like a hybridization between an F-18 Hornet and a Stealth fighter.

“Excuse me, Colonel …” Richard said, then clapped his hand over the receiver again. “What’s its ETA?”

Morgan typed a query into his keyboard, then shook his head. “Five minutes, thirty seconds. Ruby says its onboard computers are inaccessible … must be using a program she hasn’t wiggled into yet. Sentinel is trying to track it, but the sucker’s down in the grass-”

“Ground track?”

More tapping of keys, almost drowned out by the popcorn rattle of gunfire from below the tower. “No good,” Morgan said, shaking his head as he stared at the screen. “Thermal emission zeroed out … ground-air shadow almost negligible … Sentinel’s got something, but it can’t lock on. The pilot’s flying evasive. ETA five minutes and counting.”

Scott Air Force Base was located in Illinois, not far across the Mississippi River from St. Louis. The YF-22 was made for just this sort of mission: radar-deflecting fuselage, low-visibility paint, engines designed to reduce its heat-exhaust signature. Even flying below radar, the fighter would be here in only a few minutes … and I had no doubt that its Sidewinder missile could finish the job the Hellfires had botched.

“Where’s Sentinel?” Richard snapped.

“Directly above us.”

“Instruct it to … never mind, I’ll do it.” Payson-Smith pulled the Apple closer to him and began to type instructions into the keyboard. He slid the phone across the floor to me. “Keep him busy,” he ordered. “Make sure he knows we’re not bluffing.”