Project Cyclops Part 63

"If you are so wise, then tell me now." Moreau said.

"With all due respect, I don't talk to messenger boys." He tried to s.h.i.+ft his weight, but his body hurt no matter what he did. "You wouldn't understand anyway. It's too technical. Why don't you let me have a chat with that genius you've got running the computer? He's the only one around here who could possibly understand what I'm talking about."

And he's the one, Vance told himself, who now holds the key to everything. Remove him and their whole house of cards crumbles.

"You mean the Israeli." He fairly spat out the words. "He's--"

"So, this operation is multinational."

"Peretz is handling the computer."

"Peretz. Is that his name?" Now we're getting somewhere, Vance thought.

If I can get in the same room with the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, maybe I can rearrange his brain cells.

"He is supposed to be a computer specialist." Moreau's voice betrayed his contempt. "Maybe he is. But he thinks he knows everything. Whenever anybody tries to tell him anything, he just laughs and makes bad jokes.

He won't listen to you."

"Well, why don't we give it a shot anyway?"

Moreau examined him closely, still skeptical but beginning to have second thoughts. "Why would you want to do this, anyway? Help us?"

"Like I told you, I figure you're going to end up detonating that bomb somewhere. Frankly I'd just as soon it wasn't fifty feet from where I'm standing, make that sitting. I do have a small sense of self- preservation left. So why don't you do everybody a favor and let me talk to this Peretz? He has to change the radio frequency that detonates the bomb to digital mode. If that thing is controlled with plain old UHF the Cyclops may just set it off before it ever leaves the pad."

Vance knew he was talking over this thug's head. He was talking over his own head. But who knew? His fabrication might even be true. The story, though, probably could use some work. "Look," he said finally, "why don't you raise him on that walkie-talkie and let me talk to him?"

Moreau frowned at the idea. "We've gone to radio silence except for emergencies."

"I'd say this qualifies."

"That remains to be seen." He paused. "I'll go and tell him what you said. Then he can decide for himself what he wants to do."

"I don't want to belabor the obvious here, but time is running a little short."

"I'll be back. If he says you are lying, I may just kill you myself."

Whereupon he opened the door and walked straight into a befuddled Isaac Mannheim.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

5:03 A.m.

They had used the same insertion procedure off Beirut three years earlier, so there was nothing about this that was new. Standard procedure. As had been planned all along, they donned scuba gear at five hundred meters out, packed their equipment in waterproof bags, and entered the churning water. After the raft was punctured, obliterating all evidence, the seven men of ARM set out, underwater, for the rugged sh.o.r.eline of Andikythera.

Their scuba gear was invisible against the dark sea as, one by one, they emerged through the breakers and into the last remnants of rain from the storm. They faced a short ledge of surf-pounded rocks immediately ab.u.t.ted by a sheer granite cliff--exactly what they expected, indeed what they wanted.

They were greeted by silence from up above, which gave lope that the insertion had gone undetected. So far. They were in, with the only problem being they no longer had Vance to serve as point man. They would be proceeding blind.

But not too blind. Back in Athens they had studied the schematics of the facility carefully and had concluded the most vulnerable insertion point would be Launch Control. Added to that, Ramirez was last reported to be there, and the objective was to take him out as quickly and efficiently as possible. That also was the place where they believed they could shut down the operation quickest and get their hands on the weapons. Everything came together: hit Launch.

They had discussed renewing radio contact with the woman named Andros, in hopes she might be able to give them an update on the disposition of the hostiles and friendlies. But they decided to wait and see first if they could handle it alone. Radio security was nonexistent, as they had already discovered. For now, the downside of breaking radio silence outweighed the upside. Later, perhaps, when it no longer mattered.

After he had pulled off his scuba gear, Armont took out his IR scope and surveyed the top of the cliff and the coastline. Both looked clear.

"All right, it's going to be light soon," he whispered. "Let's get up there and get to work."

Dimitri Spiros nodded, then began donning an old SatCom uniform he had brought, left over from his days on the island, hoping to pa.s.s himself off as a company staffer if need be and get in position to act as point man--since Vance was not part of the picture now. Spiros would guide the unit in, using a secure radio to coordinate the overall operation with Pierre, and with Reggie, who would be standoff sniper.

By the time Dimitri was finished, they were ready. Marcel tossed a grapple up the side of the steep cliff and it lodged somewhere near the top. Next Spiros tested the line, then started making his way up, inserting silent spikes into the creva.s.ses as he climbed. The granite was firm, with enough irregularities to hold onto. When he reached the top and signaled the all-clear, the others immediately followed, with Hans bringing up the rear after he had secured the gear with ropes, ready to hoist.

As the last black satchel topped the cliff, they went to work, breaking out the hardware they would need. The light of dawn had opened just enough for everybody to see what they were doing, yet remain little more than shadows in the early mist. Or was it fog? The dark made it hard to tell, but it was a magic moment that would not last long.

Since Reggie was the standoff sniper, he normally would have begun installing his IR scope, but now, with dawn so near, the need for IR capability was problematical. Not being seen was as great a concern as seeing.

Just ahead, barely visible, was the Rota-Barb fence. Since Spiros had installed it, he strode ahead and did the honors, cutting the razor wire quickly and efficiently. With daylight approaching, there was no time for niceties such as scaling; they would just have to take the chance that the security system was no longer operative.

They carried the equipment through, then scouted the approach. Up the rocky hill they could see two silver spires, now illuminated with spotlights. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Reggie Hall nodded and pointed toward an outcropping of rocks located near the north entrance to Launch Control, indicating with hand signs that they would provide the best location for overall surveillance. He would set up there, a look-down spot from where he could handle the standoff- sniper ch.o.r.es, ready at any time to neutralize any hostiles who might emerge from Launch. It also was a good spot from which to monitor hostile radio traffic.

Having done this many times before, they were ready. Armont and Hans, together with the brothers Voorst, would lead the a.s.sault, while Marcel would be at the rear of the entry element, serving as defense man, covering for them and providing security. As point man, Spiros would supply backup for Marcel if things got hot or if somebody tried to ambush the entry team during approach and entry, or during withdrawal.

The Greek would also be in charge of directing any pyrotechnics.

In addition to acting as commander, Armont would a.s.sume his usual role as security man, providing covering fire for the entry element during the a.s.sault and more close cover during withdrawal. He also would be in charge of any other equipment they might need.

Since the a.s.signments reflected ARM's standard configuration, with everybody in their usual slot, there was no need to squander time reviewing who would be where. . . .

In moments they were ready, silencers attached, poised to move through the dark, early morning haze. It was providing a small semblance of cover, but not for long. They hoped they could take Launch Control fast enough that there would be no time for the terrorists to use hostages as human s.h.i.+elds. If that happened, there was sure to be bloodshed.

Just to be on the safe side, Armont did a quick run-through of the a.s.sault with hand signals. He was just finis.h.i.+ng when Reggie Hall's radio came alive in a burst of static.

"Sirene, please come in." It was a woman's voice. "Do you read?"

"Blast," he whispered, his face rapidly turning florid in the dim mist.

"Didn't we tell her radio silence was essential?" He quickly switched on the microphone. "Ulysses One, get off this channel. Sirene is here."

"Thank G.o.d. But you've got to try and find Mike. Isaac went to look for him, but he hasn't come back."

"You mean Mannheim?" Armont took the microphone. "Where did he go?"

"He said he was going to try the empty loading bays down at Launch,"

she said. "He hasn't come back, so maybe he found him. Could you try there?"

Reggie turned to Armont with a questioning look that needed no words.

It was, simply, What do we do now?