TWENTY-SIX
The guards were dead scared now, fearing the reactions of Rencke and Kalitzkin as much as the physical threat from their former prisoners. Their eyes flickered warily as they watched for their chance.
Shaw said, “Take their guns, Ingrid.”
The girl came forward and removed the sub-machine-guns from the three men.
“Keep one yourself and be ready to use it if I say. Put the other two down by my feet.”
Ingrid did as she was told. Shaw ran his eye over the disarmed guards. “Now strip,” he told them. “All of you. At once.” The men shifted their feet but didn’t obey. Shaw jabbed his gun forward, ramming it hard into the belly of the nearest guard. “I said strip. I’ll give you all just five seconds to start, and if you don’t, I’ll blow this man’s guts right through his backbone. And after him, you two others.” He added, “Don’t let the television cameras give you a false sense of security. They can’t see into the gangway… maybe any shooting would be heard, but that’s not going to save you.”
Shaw’s eyes were like ice.
There was a silence and then the man under the closest threat decided his stomach was of more immediate importance to him than loyalty to Kalitzkin. He began to take off his clothing. The others followed his example. When they were all stripped right down Shaw said, “Ingrid, take them over from me and keep them covered. Don’t hesitate to shoot if you have to.” He laid down his own gun and then sorted out the clothing of the tallest of the three men and dressed himself quickly in it; the clothes fitted him adequately enough for his purpose. When he was fully dressed he took over the men again from Ingrid. “Now,” he told her, “get into one of those sets of clothing as fast as you can. Stuff your hair up tight under the cap… pull down the ear-flaps, and you may pass.”
She grimaced. “Always provided anyone we meet is blind, Smith!”
He said with a grin, “True the figure’s a bit different, but it’s the best we can do.” Quickly Ingrid pulled on a set of the Chinese clothing. When she was ready Shaw said, “Fine! It’s rough enough, but it gives us something of a chance.” He touched a strand of her hair. “Tuck it in a bit more. That’s better.”
“What are we going to do, Smith?” she asked.
“We’re going to kill this place by attacking its heart and soul,” he told her. “The Masurov Beam won’t survive a power cut!” He jabbed the gun once again into the stomach of the nearest of the guards. “You’ll know where the power room is, friend. I want you to lead us right to it — and fast!” The man swallowed and glanced nervously at his comrades. “I not know,” he said, his eyes darting, looking everywhere but at Shaw.
The gun went in harder. He squirmed. Shaw snapped, “Try again, and this time do better. You can’t have been around this place for long without finding your way to the parts that matter. Your two friends will stay here, but you’re going to take the lady and myself to the power room, so you’d better get used to the idea. Granted I can’t make you look English, but you’re going to do your best to look like what I was supposed to be — a prisoner under escort. Got that?”
The man nodded.
“Good! Remember, if you try anything funny on the way, or if you take us to the wrong place, you’ll die on the spot — like your friend with the broken neck behind me.” He glanced at Ingrid. “Take over again for a moment,” he said. While the girl covered the man who was to guide them, Shaw lined up the remaining two with their backs to the bars. Then, stepping aside, he gave each of them a blow to the jaw that rocked their teeth loose. The men slid to the floor, one after the other, without a sound. Bending, Shaw unfastened a bunch of keys from the Number One guard’s discarded belt, locked the doors of the cages containing the television cameras, then ordered the naked man out into the main corridor, with his own gun and Ingrid’s urging him on from behind. There was no-one in sight. Shaw locked the outer door of the cell alleyway behind him. “Lead the way,” he told the Chinese, “and keep remembering what I told you. I never make empty threats. If anyone interferes, the shooting starts right away — with you as number one target. From then on, I play it by ear — only you won’t be around to listen.”
They went fast along the passage, following the naked guard round in a circle to their right, and then down a flight of concrete steps leading off a small lobby connecting with the main passage. They saw no-one; presumably all personnel would by this time be at their allotted stations for the action that was now so imminent. Very soon, once the empty cages had been noted on the television screens in the control room and Shaw and Ingrid had still not appeared as ordered, the hunt would be on. For now, they had it all their own way.
In this lower passage the hum of dynamos and machinery had increased until it seemed to reverberate throughout the silo; the whole place was vibrant, shaking gently to the power harnessed to the giant stalk and its attractor-plate.
Ahead, a little farther along, they saw the red-painted door marked in Russian and Chinese characters: POWER ROOM.
Klaber had come on the air a while earlier for the start of the last act. He’d said, “Greg, you’ll ditch on the next orbit. Report as soon as you’re ready… and good luck to you both, Greg.”
Schuster said, “Thanks, Mr. Klaber,” flipped off his communication and turned around to give the necessary orders for going into ditching procedure.
Danvers-Marshall’s face was tight with strain now and the eyes were staring at Schuster, again with that look of incipient insanity. When Schuster passed the orders Danvers-Marshall nodded and said, “Right, but we’re going into retro-sequence sooner than you think, Greg.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Schuster asked harshly.
“We don’t ditch in the Caribbean. We re-enter over the Pacific, over the Phoenix Islands.”
“We do?” Schuster stared at him. “What’s the idea?”
Danvers-Marshall said, “Don’t worry what the idea is. Just do as I tell you. Start getting ready now, you and Wayne, and I’ll give the order for firing the retro-rockets. No need to call mission control, either. They’ll know soon enough.”
His face set, Schuster turned away and started to go through the routine. This time, everything was working perfectly. On the next and final orbit, as the capsule hurtled on through space, closing the point where now it would so unexpectedly re-enter the earth’s atmosphere, Gregory Schuster, under Danvers-Marshall’s direction, reached out for the button to send off the retro-rockets. The early pressing of that button was going to send mission control to panic stations, all right.
The astronauts sweated.
A few moments later, Schuster pressed the button. As he did so, Danvers-Marshall once again operated his minute metal cylinder, though not this time so as to interfere with the retro-system. The cylinder acted to cut out other controls, also the radio, while at the same time Danvers-Marshall reached back to move two levers on a panel in rear of him; there was no subsequent response on the banks of instrument dials ahead of the two intent astronauts. Though Schuster knew the retro-system was going to be att right this time it was still with a sense of profound relief that he felt the rockets fire at their five-second intervals. As each one went off there was a feeling of being pressed relentlessly backwards; as the deceleration increased, so did the G forces. The eyeballs of the three men seemed to leave their sockets as the forces acted upon them, then suddenly, as the capsule began to enter the heat passage, this feeling eased.