Baron looked around as if he could see the sound. “The damned thing is about to launch.”

“Can you do anything?” Mason said evenly.

“There's a chance. If I can get this panel off, maybe I can sabotage its activation circuit. Stand by with those wire cutters.”

Baron unscrewed another bolt and was working on the next one when they heard a new noise, like the grinding of great gears. The sound was coming from below. They looked down, which probably saved them from eye damage when the electrical conduits and hoses blew off the sides of the missile a few feet above their heads. They dove onto their stomachs. Below them, the moon pool gates started to move apart.

Then the rotors inside the thruster housings began to whir.

As the moon pool fully opened, there was another explosion and the gantries holding the missile blew off. The jerry-rigged cables snapped like thread and the loose ends sliced the air and would have decapitated anyone in the way.

Then the bomb dropped.

VOICES WERE YELLING in Mason's ear. The other teams were seeing similar developments. Joe Louis was yelling. “Omega Two. Bomb has dropped.”

Then Carmichael's voice came on. “Omega Three. So has ours.”

Mason and his men crawled to the edge of the opening once occupied by the bomb and stared down. Waves and froth created where the missile splashed into the sea and its thrusters dug in. As they peered into the dark roiling sea, it was as if they were looking into the bowels of hell.

NUMA 3 - Fire Ice

-36-

PETROV'S LEAD MAN, a giant whom Austin had nicknamed Tiny, stepped forward and drove the wooden butt of his AKM into the side of the guard's head. The guard's legs turned to rubber and he crashed to the deck. Figures were running toward them. Someone flicked on a flashlight that caught Austin in its beam. An AKM burped once. At a firing rate of six hundred rounds per minute, even a short burst was deadly, especially at close range.

The flashlight skittered across the deck, but in its quick flicker, Razov's men had sized up the strength and position of the assault group. White-hot muzzle bursts blossomed in the darkness. They dove for cover. In the stroboscopic effect created by the fusillade,.Petrov's men looked as if they were moving in slow motion.

Austin and Zavala hit the deck belly first and rolled over until they were behind the protection of a bollard. Bullets shredded the air over their heads and ricocheted off the big steel mushroom. Austin hauled out his Bowen and blasted at a moving shadow, unsure if he'd hit anyone. Zavala pecked away with his H and K. The muzzle bursts became more scattered, indicating that Razov's men were spreading out.

“They're trying to outflank us," Zavala shouted.

Tiny, who was on his belly a few feet away, was waving to get their attention.

“Go!” he bellowed. “We hold position.”