At that moment, the bomber lifted off, shuddering and shaking as it plowed through wind gusts and low-altitude turbulence. Flynn hurriedly grabbed hold of the back of the copilot’s seat while still keeping his pistol aimed at Petrov’s head. Hydraulic thumps and whines from behind the cockpit signaled that the landing gear had retracted and locked inside.

Slowly, the aircraft banked, turning toward the south as it sped low over snow-capped ridges and hills. With difficulty, Flynn tore his eyes away from the bleak and empty landscape. He set the Glock’s muzzle directly against the Russian colonel’s temple. “Then turn those computers off and land this big son of a bitch.”

Petrov laughed harshly. “I will not.” He shrugged. “I am already dying anyway.” Sardonic amusement flickered in his icy blue eyes. “What you do not understand is that you are dying with me. Though you may live long enough to see the missiles fly.”

“Missiles? What missiles?” Flynn demanded sharply. Oh, shit, he thought, feeling cold.

“This bomber prototype carries twelve nuclear-tipped cruise missiles,” Petrov told him calmly. “Missiles that I have already armed. In a few short hours, once this undetectable stealth aircraft reaches its preprogrammed coordinates, those missiles will launch against strategic targets in your country—”

Flynn listened with mounting shock and horror while the Russian laid out his plan. And, from the smug expression on his gray, bloodless face, Petrov enjoyed seeing his reaction. “You must be fucking insane,” Flynn ground out between clenched teeth when he’d finished.

The other man shrugged again. “Perhaps.” His eyes were half-closed now. “Then again, it could simply be that knowledge of approaching death clarifies the mind, stripping away everything that is useless—concern for mere individuals and so-called morality, for example . . . in favor of more important matters like the fate of nations and the application of raw power in its most elemental, atomic form.”

“Like I said, you’re nuts,” Flynn said bluntly.

Petrov’s eyes opened fully again. “Insult me all you like,” he said coolly. “It changes nothing.” He waved his left hand at the white wilderness visible ahead of the speeding bomber. “Enjoy the ride, Captain.”

Swiftly, Flynn looked around the cramped cockpit. There had to be something he could try, he thought desperately. Something he could use to stop this lunatic from triggering a war that would kill millions. Faster and faster, he scanned displays, dials, buttons, and switches. There was nothing. No control helpfully marked “Pull to stop nuclear holocaust” in Russian and English. No magic off switch.

He swallowed hard against a sharp, acid taste in his mouth. For one thing, he decided there was no way he was going to ride this bird all the way to the point where it fired its missiles. Especially not strapped in beside this smug Russian son of a bitch. He glanced down at his pistol. If worst came to worst, he always had at least one way out.

A way out. The thought echoed in Flynn’s mind, bright and clear like a bugle call on a windless summer morning. Carefully, he looked around the cockpit again. And this time, he saw what he was looking for.