Project Cyclops Part 33

"The U.S.," she guessed anyway. "Think they can get away with it?"

"Probably not without these." He closed the box. "Maybe we've just pulled the plug. So let's take these and get out of here."

She glanced down at the surly Pakistani. "What about him?"

"We could take him with us, as a bargaining chip, but I don't think he's worth the bother." Vance reached over and turned his face up. "How about it? Do your buddies out there care whether you live or die?"

His eyes betrayed his fear they did not.

"Didn't really think so," Vance revolved back. "I say we leave him.

They'll probably execute him anyway, for being a screw-up and losing these." He tucked the box under his arm, then turned back one last time. 'Tell your chief we're going to take good care of them. They're the world's insurance policy." He pointed toward the opening into the wiring shaft. "Want to go first?"

'The conduit?" She frowned.

"You get used to it. It's just--"

"I really can't believe any of this is happening." She turned, walked over, and--with only minor hesitation--began climbing through.

At that moment, the Pakistani suddenly rolled to his feet and lunged for the sealed door. Vance whirled to try and catch him, but it was too late. He had already thrown his body against the release b.u.t.ton. The seal clicked off, and in an instant their security evaporated.

"Go!" he turned back and yelled, but she was already through.

What now? he wondered fleetingly. Stay and shoot it out, or disappear.

The second option had more appeal.

He dived for the open grate of the conduit, but the door was already opening. The Paki couldn't yell, but when the door slid back, he pushed through . . . and was cut down by a fusillade of automatic-weapons fire. The impact blew him back into the room, sending his riddled body full length across the floor.

Vance swung around the Uzi and laid down a blast of covering fire through the doorway, which had the effect of clearing the opening for a second. He got off a couple of last rounds, just for good measure, then turned and hurled himself into the communications shaft.

No sooner had he pulled himself inside than rounds of fire began ricocheting through behind him. The aim, however, was wide, and he managed to flatten himself and stay out of the way.

Then the firing abruptly stopped.

They must have seen what's in here, he realized, all the wiring.

"Are you all right?" It was Cally's voice, somewhere in the dark ahead.

"I'm doing fine." He paused, hating the next part. "Only one small problem."

"What--?"

"I managed to drop our insurance policy on the floor in there. They're back in business."

3:20 P.M.

Isaac Mannheim checked his watch and then gazed down the hill, marking the time with growing impatience. Coping with inactivity, he felt, was the most extraordinarily difficult task in life. In fact, he never understood how anybody could retire, when three lifetimes would not be adequate for all one's dreams. The tall man who had saved his life earlier in the day had departed almost an hour and a half ago. Where was he? This waiting around was not accomplis.h.i.+ng a d.a.m.ned thing.

He rose off the rock where he'd been sitting, and stretched. Enough of this lollygagging about; he had to get down there and find out what was happening. Already he a.s.sumed that something had interfered with the schedule. This afternoon's agenda included a communications power-up of the servomechanisms that guided the phased-array transmitter through the trajectory. He had even warned the tall stranger about it before he descended into the conduit. Well, he seemed to carry luck around with him, because the power-up had begun, then suddenly halted. But that meant somebody was mucking with the timetable. It was necessary to stop these people, whoever they were, from causing any more interference.

In times like these, he figured, it paid to be pragmatic. So give them a piece of whatever it was they wanted and they'd go away. It always worked. Even the student sit-ins of the sixties could have been tamed with a few gestures, a handful of concessions. If he'd been in charge, the problem would have disappeared.

So this time he would take the initiative. These people had no reason to want to stop the project--which meant, logically, that they had to be after something else. So why not just let them have it and then get on with matters?

After squinting at his watch one last time, he shrugged and started down the hill, working his way through the rocks and scrub brush. The sun beat down fiercely, making him thirsty and weak, while the sharp rocks pierced the lightweight shoes he had worn for the plane. But the other, st.u.r.dier pair he had packed was lost with the helicopter. . . .

Well, so be it. The first rule of life was to make do with what you had, manage around problems, and he intended to do exactly that.

Shrugging again, he gingerly continued his climb. On his left he was pa.s.sing the landing pad, with the slightly beat up Agusta, the sight of which momentarily discomfited him. But surely Bates had it insured.

Still, the whole business was d.a.m.ned irritating, start to finish.

As he walked onto the asphalt of the connecting roadway and headed for the entrance to Command, he puzzled over how these thugs could have penetrated the facility in the first place and why Security had not handled the problem. That was b.l.o.o.d.y well what SatCom was paying its layabout Greek guards to do. Thev should have nipped the whole mess in the bud.

He turned and scanned the mountain one last time, but still spied n.o.body. The chap who saved his life must have gotten lost. Or killed.

With a shrug he walked directly up to the SatCom entry lobby and shoved open the gla.s.s door. To his surprise n.o.body was manning the security station. And an ominous dark stain covered the desk. Why hadn't anybody cleaned that up?

Readying his lecture, he dug out his security card and headed across toward the door to Command.

3:21 P.M.

"Let them go," Ramirez said. "We have what we need." He bent down and picked up the box.

"What about the woman?" Wolf h.e.l.ling asked. "Can we work without her?"

"She'll be back." Ramirez seemed to be thinking aloud. "I'll see to it."

"But--"

"There are ways." He cut him off. "It's not a problem."

"What do you want us to do here?" h.e.l.ling inquired finally, skepticism in his voice. He stepped over to look at the body of Rais, staring down dispa.s.sionately. One less amateur to deal with. He had shot the Pakistani by accident, but the kid was unreliable. And this job had no room for unreliability.

"Just get on with arming the devices," he said, checking his Rolex.

"I'm going back to Command." It's time, he was thinking, for an important phone call.

3:39 P.M.