The room shook as a blistering shock wave rolled over the island. Outside, the distant sky above the eastern Mediterranean turned bright as the midday sun. Fifteen thousand feet above the Aegean, a blinding whiteness appeared unlike anything a living Greek had ever seen.
[Chapter Twenty]
12:10 A.M.
"My God," the President muttered, settling the red phone into its cradle. "They did it. The bastards detonated one of them. NSA says their SIGINT capabilities in the Med just went blank. An electromagnetic pulse."
"I don't believe it," Morton Davies declared. Sitting on the edge of his hard chair, the chief of staff looked as incredulous as he felt. "We're tracking their helicopter with one of the AWACS we brought up from Rijad. The minute they set down, we're going to pick them up, rescue Mannheim and any other hostages, and nail the bastards. They know they can't get away, so why . . . ?"
"He'd threatened to nuke the island," Hansen went on, "but I assumed that had to be a bluff. Why in hell would he want to go ahead and do it? It didn't buy him anything at this stage."
Edward Briggs was on a blue phone at the other end of the Situation Room, receiving an intelligence update from Operations in the Pentagon. As he cradled the receiver, he looked down, not sure how to tell Johan Hansen what he had just learned. Mannheim.
"What's the matter, Ed? I don't like that look. What did—?"
"Mr. President." He seemed barely able to form the words. "Our people just got a better handle on . . . It wasn't Andikythera."