Page 140 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Given the flight time to and from the final waypoint, it was estimated each Tomahawk had approximately seventy-two minutes of loitering time.
Far more time than was left.
67
He fished around in Aida’s pockets and found her cell phone and took it, then snagged up her pistol to replace his own.
His boots squished in the oozing gore near her head in the narrow passage as he sprinted away in a crouch to the other end of the tunnel.
A hundred feet before he reached the ladder he heard Gavin’s desperate voice crackling in his Bluetooth.
“Jack! I... reach... can’t... signal... launcher!”
“Say again.” Jack was near the ladder now.
“I can’t find the drone signal! I don’t know where the launcher is!”
“I might.”
“Where?”
“How much time before launch?”
“Just under seven minutes. We have two Tomahawks on station, ready to go. We just don’t have a target.”
“Tomahawks can use GPS coordinates for targeting, right?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Can you link my phone GPS to the Tomahawks?”
“Huh. Maybe. I don’t see why not. It will take a few minutes.”
“We don’t have a few minutes.”
“I’ll call you when they’re linked.”
Jack stood at the ladder, nearly breathless. The metal trapdoor was shut. He climbed up the five and a half feet and stood at the top of the ladder and listened for a moment. The muffled jihadinasheedmusic he had heard earlier now thundered above the steel plate.
He pushed gently on the trapdoor, just enough to get a view. The music roared in his ears now. Big truck tires were in front of him, and beyond them the steel walls of a metal building erected on a slab of reinforced concrete. The shed’s front and rear doors were slid open. He also saw a spool of cable. At the end of the cable, hanging down from the side of the truck for easy access, was a box with covered safety switches.
A manual launch trigger?Jack wondered.
Jack checked his watch. Six minutes to go.
He looked to his right and saw a big man in camouflage standing outside the building entrance, his broad back to Jack. He was holding an electronic device in his hands, supported by a shoulder rig, his head bouncing to thenasheed.
Jack glanced up at the forty-box rocket launcher on the back of the truck, angled ominously toward the sky. Above the launcher, the camouflage netting that served as the roof was rolling back. Jack shifted his gaze. He saw a smaller man in a camouflage uniform standing in the far corner, turning a hand crank.
“Gerry, are you there?” Jack whispered.
“Yes, Jack. Go ahead.”
“I see the truck.”
Gavin crackled on his earpiece. “Jack, the Tomahawk is now targeted on your phone GPS.”
“Jack,” the President said. “Leave your phone there and get the hell out. That Tomahawk will be there in ninety seconds. Clear as far away as you can.”
