comes from the might of men with iron in their bones and fire in their blood.
Jae-hwa looks at the steel that points to the stars and his smile broadens. When the Supreme Leader says that the time has come to launch the rockets and draw a dense curtain over the Earth, those lights will vanish.
Time moves slowly when so much is at stake, but now Jae-hwa knows there are only hours to the completion of his mission. Tomorrow, there will be only minutes. And after a few last, furious seconds, Jae-hwa will throw the shiny silver switch that he’s waited so many years to touch.
Men of iron. Men of fire.
CHAPTER 19
“I’m being held by Al Qaeda on the supertanker the Dick Cheney…”
The wire cutters around Birk’s thumb had produced a delightfully bright-red line of blood that drooled from beneath the blades. But even as Birk sat there trying not to wince and craving a drink the way a vampire craves blood—he knew that this could well be the best performance of his illustrious career. As long as his fucking thumb remained attached to his hand, he’d be happy to sit there bleeding in front of the teensy computer camera.
“This hijacking has all the earmarks of a well-planned military operation. These men know what they are doing and are well armed. I ask officials of all concerned nations, especially the United States, to listen carefully to their demands…”
Birk let his eyes drift to the wire cutters, knowing that in all likelihood he was focusing the attention of millions of viewers on the crimson sideshow. He glanced at the digital time display on the computer screen and knew that if he could yammer for just about one more minute, he’d go live as the lead story on Nightly News. As it was, he figured that right this second he was being carried by just about every broadcasting outlet in the world. What a great feeling, everything considered. And when the bewitching hour hit for Nightly News, he’d jack up the reporting to a whole new level to try to snag as many minutes of network airtime as possible.
Birk had already noted that every time he made the slightest attempt to pull his thumb away from the wire cutters, Raggedy Ass squeezed a wee bit harder. And voilà! More blood. Birk planned on some serious bleeding as Nightly News came on because, as reporters knew the world over, “If it bleeds, it leads.”
“The men holding me say that they will start releasing thousands of tons of iron oxide into the ocean if at least one of the ten biggest coal-fired power plants in the U.S. isn’t shut down immediately. They’re making this demand so that the U.S. can show good faith in the negotiations.”
And they were making this demand in no small part because Rick Birk had advised the cracker jihadist to raise the ante incrementally. “Show that the U.S. won’t even budge the tiniest bit,” Birk said, knowing that if he could stretch out the negotiations, two important things would happen. It would give the newly arrived U.S. military, whose fighter jets and rocket-equipped helicopters were buzzing high above the tanker, more time to stop this terrorist act; and it would get Rick Birk more airtime. Not necessarily in that order.
With all the lethal hardware in the air and on the water, Raggedy Ass had been surprisingly receptive to Birk’s counsel, leading the correspondent to conclude that most of the jihadist’s planning had gone into the hijacking of the supertanker, and not its actual occupation. Kind of like the U.S. in Iraq, Birk thought. As for Suicide Sam, he had a nervous habit of fiddling mindlessly with the different colored wires protruding from his vest, especially when he was staring at the TV screen on the other side of the wheelhouse. Watching the Shopping Network of all goddamn things.
Ye gods, he’s doing it again.
Birk forced his gaze back to the tiny computer camera, noting that right this second Nightly News was going on the air. He imagined the prissy-boy anchor, Brad Tettle, saying “Good evening” with the far more experienced visage of the great Rick Birk looming over his shoulder.
Timing it as closely as he could from almost fifty years of experience, Birk said “Good evening,” and jerked his hand in the grasp of the wire cutters.
Good God almighty. Raggedy Ass squeezed much harder than Birk had expected. The pain was excruciating and the septuagenarian had to fight to keep his composure.