When Able Team found Toni she smiled, picked up the M-16 and joined them. Gadgets found another contingent of mobile troops were covering the other entrance to the building.
He radioed Lyons who moved to the back of the second floor. Half of a 30-round drum of heavy pellets fired from the second-floor window reduced the backup terrorists to a mixture of gore and auto parts.
J. Courtney Cain was a man who loved to talk. At this moment he would have preferred that others talk to him. First, he had lost contact with the sniping party. So, he had called the mobile troops and told them to move in cautiously. Both troops had reported moving right into the building. Then he had lost radio contact with both halves of his mobile pincers.
"Get me the interior patrol," he told the radio operator.
But firing burst out outside the door. He knew that the interior patrol would not answer either. He leveled his Colt Commander at the door and waited.
"Let head office know what's happening," he ordered the radioman.
Before the radio operator could respond, the knob of the door began to turn. Cain put a half clip through the door from bottom to top.
Politician saw the bullets stitch the terrorist who had tried to retreat into the room he was supposed to be guarding. Two shots from Lyons's assault shotgun cleared away the last of the guards on the top floor.
Politician and Toni approached the room together. Pol picked up an assault rifle and threw it against the door. Another hail of angry bullets flew out through the wood. Pol then booted the door. It split up the middle to reveal a small man in perfectly pressed fatigues, desperately trying to change clips with shaking hands. Behind him a radio operator frantically tried to raise someone to come to his aid.
Toni walked to the shattered door. "Goodbye, Commander," she said.
She emptied the clip into the small communications room. She spared one shot for the radio man. The rest of the bullets were used to perforate the carefully pressed fatigues.
16
July 14, 502 hours, Boston, Massachusetts
"I said close the damn thing down. Destroy it!" Jishin screamed into the telephone.
The voice on the other end squawked in protest.
"Did you or did you not send the orders for simultaneous attacks yesterday?" Jishin demanded.
"I do believe you. That's why I'm telling you to wipe out that idiot computer. Someone's gotten to it."
She cut off the protests in midsentence. "It may be impossible, but it's been done. I've arranged by telephone for your office, Salt Lake City, Houston and Seattle to hold simultaneous attacks later today. I spoke to each group leader myself. I also told them to ignore any orders that came via the computer link. So close it down. I'll be there after the raids to see what went wrong."
She slammed down the telephone and turned to the Japanese terrorist standing next to her. "The idiots think they must see something happen with their own eyes before it really happened. I think the long nose puts undue strain on the brain."
The terrorist, who called himself Colonel Noh, laughed politely. "What is the target of our Boston team? We have ten professionals and lost only half the long-noses. We may as well expend the rest."
"We may as well, indeed," Jishin agreed. "Our target will not be synchronized. We're going to fly to Atlanta. So our strike will be later."
"Surely we have sufficient targets in the Boston area?"
"We have unfinished business in Atlanta," she snapped. "No one there will be expecting another raid. Elwood Electronic Industries and that mongrel bitch that works for them will both go."
July 14, 812 hours, Smyrna, Georgia
Deborah wandered into Ti's lab to find her throwing punches and kicks at the window glass.
"What on earth are you doing?" Deborah asked.
Ti looked around and grinned, like a kid caught playing in a puddle. "Making sure this tempered glass is as strong as it's supposed to be."
"I thought when they fixed the place up, Mr. Brognola had bullet-proof glass put in?"
"I believe it will stop light automatic fire, but will it stop human beings?" Ti questioned.
She dragged a heavy table over to a position four feet from the window.
"Did you see the sign on the door?" she asked Deborah.
"Yeah. That's why I came in. You're out of your mind."
"You're just in time. Brace the table."
"What?"
"The table. Keep it from moving away from the window."
Deborah dutifully put her shoulder to the table, spread her feet and pushed against it. Ti stood with her back to the window and her hands on the edge of the table. Suddenly she kicked her feet up into the air and then straight back in a mule kick that hit the center of the windowpane with a resounding bang. The window did not break, but Deborah and the heavy table moved back eight inches. Ti landed lightly on her feet.
"I'm sold. It's good glass."
"God," Deborah said, "to resist a kick like that, it's good steel."
Ti dusted her hands off. "Thank you. Now, you saw the sign on the door. I have to get ready for the meeting."
"Yeah. Well, I'm going to attend the meeting too," Devine said.
"But, it's scientific personnel only. You saw the sign on the door."
"Save it for someone who isn't in the business. You're the only scientific personnel left in this joint. That sign is nothing but an engraved invitation to the terrorists. I'll hang around, thank you."
Ti looked at the platinum blonde with a mixture of respect and affection.
"Sure?" Ti asked.
"Positive."
"Then let's start getting ready."
"What makes you so sure that they'll attack again today?"
"They turned their computer off at 5:06 this morning. But not before a telephone call from Jishin. I feel sure she'll be coming back here."
"Why?"
"It's a matter of face. She lost a great deal of face here. In her mind, she won't be able to regain her respect until she's returned here and destroyed whatever caused the loss of face."
"You?"
"Mostly, me," Ti admitted.
"Where do we begin?"
"Gadgets left some plastic explosive behind. I want booby traps. I also want to keep this place looking as if it were in full use."
"Let's do it," Deborah said.
July 14, 923 hours, Santa Clara, California
"What was that?" Babette asked.
Hal Brognola pulled the cigar from his mouth and whispered. "Someone picking the lock on the door."
Babette quietly moved to the small desk and chair she had put into the office. She sat in the chair facing the door and pulled open the top drawer. She removed an Ingram Model 10, chambered a .45 round and put the weapon back, barrel forward in the open drawer.
Brognola moved against the wall to stand behind the door when it opened. He carefully placed the wooden chair in which he had been sitting so it would prevent the door from being slammed into him. He took out his VP 70Z and waited.
The lock on the door finally clicked back. The picker opened the door and stepped back.
"It's open, Fred."
"Then let's see what's in there."
The one called Fred took three paces into the room and stopped cold. His partner who picked locks almost bumped into him.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Babette said calmly. "Couldn't you have waited? The office opens at 9:30."
The two men had stopped exactly between Babette and Brognola. The one known as Fred brought his hand from his pants pocket. The hand was wrapped around a Colt 1911 Al automatic. He pointed it at Babette.