Pat Durand flipped the switches on the launch console. Out in the ballast tanks, the doors opened at his command. Each missile roared out of its tube, powered by a rocket booster attached to the back of the bird. The rocket shoved the Tomahawk up to fifteen hundred feet in the cold sky. As the engine burned out and dropped away, a sequence of events began that transformed the missile into a small robot airplane. An air scoop dropped open beneath the missile and two small, stubby wings scissored out from inside the missile’s body. The turbofan engine, supplied with air from the scoop and ignited by a small explosive squid, came up to speed to give the missile power. The bird then dropped down to wave-top height and flew to the east, beginning its preprogrammed flight.

Toledo’s weapons were away.

As he watched his men work, Alexander Durov felt a sharp sense of dread wash over him. No alarm Klaxon or radar track confirmed his feeling, but his instincts told him for certain that danger was imminent.

He had to leave the Command Center at once. Admiral Durov knew from long experience that he must not ignore his finely honed sixth sense.

He grabbed his fur hat and struggled into his heavy bridge coat. Zhurkov looked up. The admiral was preparing to leave? Now, when the operation was at such a critical juncture?

“Should I call your driver, Admiral?” he asked. “I’ll grab my coat and go with you.”

“No, Vasiliy. I’m just going out to get a breath of fresh air,” Durov shot back over his shoulder. “You stay here and keep me informed.” The aide would think he was a foolish old man if Durov voiced his concerns. Better to make an excuse.

The old sailor stepped through the heavy steel door and started up the stairs to the ground floor, two stories above the Command Center.

His Zil limo was sitting at the curb. Maybe a short drive would be better than a walk, he decided.

He was crossing the sidewalk, reaching for the car’s door handle, when he saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. The first Tomahawk plunged sharply downward, almost too quick to be seen. It drove deep into the bowels of the command building and detonated with an awful flood of fire. The shock wave from the explosion threw Durov sprawling on the frozen ground. He rose to his knees just as the second bird detonated behind him.

He stumbled again as he tried to climb into the Zil, then managed to dive in behind the wheel. The ignition key was there. The car started on the first try. He shot down the street before another rocket could fall on his head.