There was a black wedge open on Pak’s side, and he could make out some movement there. Staying low, he continued forward, slowly closing the distance. He halted as soon as he saw a small antenna dish set in the snow, just outside the doorway. His team was poised behind him, waiting for his instructions.
Pak stayed in position. He didn’t want to interrupt if a communication was being transmitted. The lack of movement allowed the cold to penetrate his body and coil around his skin, sending sharp pain messages to his brain. Pak ignored them. He silently worked the bolt on his weapon, making sure it wasn’t frozen.
After five minutes, three figures appeared in the doorway. One bent over and hooked something into the satellite dish, then went back in. The other two just stood there peering out, almost directly at Pak.
Devlin shivered under the lash of the cold, but a few minutes’ release from the claustrophobic underground base more than made up for the pain. Vickers had just gone back in, having hooked up the cable to the satellite dish. Kerns was standing next to Devlin, gazing out at the storm.
The shots sounds like muffled pops, and Devlin turned, astounded to see Kerns pirouette into the snow, bullets tearing through his body. Devlin stared at the blood seeping from Kerns for a split second and then looked up, first into the muzzle of an M16 and then at Vickers’ face.
“Please! Don’t,” Devlin begged, raising his hands in futile defense as the man’s finger tightened on the trigger. Devlin stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the gaping muzzle, when Vickers suddenly jerked to the side, like a marionette pulled offstage. The sound of gunfire thundered through the howling wind.
Pak moved forward at the run, his team dashing behind him. In two seconds he’d closed half the distance to the door. Pak fired another sustained burst from his AK-47, and the man with the M16 was slammed against the white steel, slowly sliding down to the ground, a long smear of blood on the wall tracking his descent. As Pak shifted his weapon, the second man dove for the door. The man who had been shot was crawling for the opening, yelling after his comrade.
Pak slipped on the ice but immediately rolled back to his feet, keeping his eyes on the door. He was twenty feet away when it started to swing shut. The wounded man reached forward, trying to crawl in; his hand was almost crushed as the door closed with a clang.
One of Pak’s men rolled the wounded man over, kicking his rifle away. A black face stared up with wide eyes. Pak looked at the blood-encrusted parka; the man would soon be dead, from either the cold or loss of blood. Pak lowered the muzzle of his AK-47 and fired twice, then turned as his team gathered around.
He pointed at the door. “Lieutenant Kim! Open this!”
Chapter 21
Riley met Devlin halfway down the stairs of the shaft. “What the hell happened?”
Devlin slumped down on the metal steps, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “It was Vickers!”
“What?” Riley asked, grabbing him by the arm.
“It was Vickers.” Devlin was dazed. “He killed Kerns and he was trying to kill me! And then they shot him.”
“Who shot him?”
“I don’t know! Some men with guns!”
Riley looked up the stairs. “Where is Vickers now?”
“Outside. He’s dead. Kerns is dead!”
A dull echo sounded from above as two shots rang out. Riley let go of Devlin and sprinted up the remaining stairs. The door was shut. Riley slid the blade of the broken pick through the wheel and jammed it against the side wall.
The rest of the party assembled on the stairs around Devlin, yelling confused questions at him. They’d heard the initial rifle fire and had followed Riley here from the mess hall to see what was happening.
“Everyone shut up!” Riley yelled sharply. He knelt down next to Devlin. “All right. Tell us what happened. Who shot Vickers? Who’s up there right now?”
Devlin took a deep breath. “Vickers had gone inside after hooking up the satellite dish, and I went out with Kerns. Then Vickers came back out with the M16 and shot Kerns. He was getting ready to kill me when someone else shot him. I could see the blood. They kept shooting — I could feel the bullets going by me — so I dove for the door and just got in. I managed to get it shut.” Devlin looked up. “That’s all I know.”
“Did you see who they were?” Sammy asked.
Devlin shook his head. “No. I caught a glimpse of several people moving out there. I think Vickers must have seen them and maybe that’s why he started shooting. Or maybe he just didn’t want the message to go out. I don’t know.”
Riley craned his head up. There were no more sounds from the door. That worried him.
“Who could have done that?” Conner asked.
“Someone who wants us dead or who wants the goddamn bombs, or both.” Even as he answered, Riley knew what the immediate course of action had to be. “All right. Listen up and do what I say. I don’t know who these people are. For all we know they could be Americans, but one thing’s for sure: they aren’t friendly. They’ve already killed Vickers, and I don’t think they’d hesitate to shoot any of us.
“Sammy, you take Conner, Swenson, and Devlin to the reactor. I want you to wait by the first door. If you hear Lallo or me, open it. If it’s anybody else, retreat and shut the second door, securing that one too. You all should be safe in there.”
He turned to the cameraman. “You come with me.”
“What are you going to do?” Conner shook herself out of her shock.
“What I should have done when we first found the bombs.”
“Maybe we can talk to these people,” Devlin suggested tentatively.
Riley grabbed him by the shoulders. “Kerns and Vickers are dead. You would be too if you hadn’t acted so quickly. If they get in and catch us, we’ll all be dead. We don’t have time to stand here and discuss things.” He pushed Devlin toward the corridor. “Move!”
The four headed off down the east tunnel. Riley sprinted for the armory, with Lallo puffing along behind. He threw open the door and headed directly for the cases lining the wall, calling over his shoulder, “Grab two Ml6s and two pistols!”
Riley looked at the bombs. He wasn’t even sure which access panel opened onto the PAL keypad. On the top side of each bomb were at least six metal plates secured with numerous Phillips-head screws. He didn’t have time for that. He needed a more expedient way to neutralize the bombs.
He used a bayonet to open a crate of 5.56mm ammunition. He threw a couple of bandoliers over his shoulder and tossed two more to Lallo. ‘The magazines are in that locker. Start loading.”
Riley then grabbed a crate marked C-4 and tore off the lid. He took out several blocks of the plastique explosive, then looked for caps and a fuse. He found them on the other side of the room. For good measure, he grabbed a few other items.
Lallo was still fumbling with his second magazine, loading it round by round, when Riley finished collecting what he needed.
“There’s a speed loader in each bandolier,” Riley explained. “Here…” He pulled a small metal piece out of the green bag. Taking ten-round clips, he used the speed loader to slam them down into the magazines, leaving out the last two rounds on the second clip. Eighteen rounds per twenty-round magazine: it echoed through Riley’s brain almost like a chant as he quickly loaded six magazines. The last two rounds were left out to prevent the magazine spring from overcompressing and malfunctioning.
Riley slammed a magazine home in each weapon and handed one to Lallo. “You know how to use this?” Lallo shook his head. Riley was already regretting his decision not to take Sammy or Swenson instead.