The third strong point was Commo, the communications center, which the van team hit, led by the major, carrying an Uzi. There was smoke everywhere, and as the major kicked his way through the haze, he fired a burst into the shapes he encountered. Each went down.
He pushed his way back to the teletype machines and the computer encrypters and the hardened cables that fed into them.
“There,” he commanded.
A man came forward with a huge pair of industrial wire cutters.
“The red ones,” the major said. The man with the clippers was well trained. He knelt, and adroitly began to cut the post’s contact to the outside world, leaving only a single cable.
The major pushed his way through the rubble to the security officer’s office, off the main room. The man himself had already been killed with a machine pistol burst. He lay across the threshold of his office, having been the first of the major’s victims. A satiny pool of blood lapped across the linoleum.
The major stepped over him and went swiftly to the wall safe, where his demolitions man already crouched.
“Any problem?”
“It’s not titanium. You’d expect better stuff.”
“You can blow it?”
“No problem. I’ve almost got it rigged,” the demo man said. Swiftly, he pinched a latticework of plastique into the crannies of the safe. He worked like a sculptor, trying to build a cross current of pressure that would, upon detonation, spring the box. Then he pressed a small device called a time-pencil into one corner of the glop.
“Are we clear?” he asked.
The major, in the doorway, gestured his men out.
“Do it,” he said.
The demolitions man squeezed the bulb at the end of the pencil, which released a droplet of acid. As he raced from the building, his gear and weapons slapping against his body in his sprint, the acid began to eat through a restraining piece inside the time-pencil. It took seven seconds. When the wire yielded, a coiled spring snapped a striker down to a primer cap, which in turn detonated the explosive. The metal tore in the burst, and the safe was ripped from its moorings in the wall.
The major was the first in, rushing through the smoke. He rifled through the papers until he found what he wanted. Outside came the intermittent sounds of gunshots from the mop-up.
He beckoned to his radioman, took the microphone off the man’s backpack of gear.
“Alex to Landlord,” he said, “Alex to Landlord, are you there?”
“This is Landlord, affirmative.”
“Get the general.”
“He’s here.”
“Yes, I’m here, Alex,” came a new voice on the net.
“Sir, we’ve got it. We’re going down below.”
“Good.” The voice was cheerful. “I’ll meet you at the LCF elevator.”
Even the major was impressed. In the middle of the smoking battlefield the general still looked magnificent and unruffled. But then that was the general’s gift. Beyond the force of his intelligence and the depth of his vision, he radiated confidence, beauty, and supreme knowledge. He had a way of drawing you to him and making you his absolutely.
“Report, Major?” the general asked.
“Seizure procedure complete, General. We control the compound.”
The general nodded, then smiled. His features lit up; his eyes warmed. His sleek hair was gray, almost white, and had been expensively trimmed. He wore a Burberry trench coat over a well-cut jump suit. He seemed, somehow, more like an executive vice-president than a military officer.
“Casualties?”
“None, sir. The surprise was complete.”
“Good. No boys hurt. You planned well. Communications out?”
“Yessir.”
“Enemy casualties?”
“Sixteen, sir. Their entire complement.”
“The specs called for twenty-four. You’d think in an independent-launch-capable facility they’d be at full strength.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They had no idea anybody even knew they were here. Still, it wouldn’t have mattered, would it, Alex? Superb.”
“We try, sir,” said Alex. “I guess we were lucky. We got through the radar all right, and caught them asleep.”
“The elevator code?”
“Yessir.”
The major went to a computer terminal installed in the wall next to the double titanium blastproof doors that led to the launch command capsule; it was configured like a television screen over a typewriter keyboard and looked a little like a bank machine. He bent to it and typed in the twelve integers of that day’s Permissive Action Link, which he had just gained from the safe in the security officer’s room.
ACCESS OK, the machine responded.
The elevator doors opened.
“Final assault team forward,” said the major.
“Time to talk to the boys downstairs,” the general said with a smile.
“I’m going to call Command,” said Romano. He typed a quick message on the teletype, then hit the send button.
Nothing happened.
“Goddammit,” said Romano. “Get your pistol out.”
Both men carried Smith&Wesson.38s, not for defense but to execute the other in the event, however unlikely given the screening procedures, of some kind of psychotic attack.
“Mine’s not loaded,” said Hapgood. “I never — hey, come on. They aren’t going to—”
The phone buzzed.
“Jesus.” Romano jumped. Then he snatched the phone.
“Hello, this is Oscar-one-niner,” he said.
“Oscar-one-niner, Christ! You won’t believe it. We had a goddamn power failure up here. Emergency generators are on and we should have full power back in a sec.”
“What about that vehicle?”
“Sir, PSAT got his tire changed. He’s outta here. All clear, affirmative, and PSAT back inside the perimeter.”
“That’s a big hip hooray. Is this O’Malley?”
“Sir, no, it’s Greenberg, code authenticated Sierra-four, Delta-niner, Hotel-six—”
“That’s okay, Alpha Security, I have you authenticated.”
“Sir, just to remind you, SOP on power failures is for you to open the blast door. You wouldn’t want to be caught in there, sir, if we lose power again and the generators go.”
“Affirmative, Security Alpha, will do. Jesus, you guys had us scared,” Romano blurted out.
“Sorry about that, sir. Couldn’t be helped.”
Romano spun the cylinder on the door, and with a whoosh, the big thing opened. He leaned out into the corridor and took a deep breath.
“Jesus,” said Hapgood. “You were really sweating there.”
“Boy, I—”
But a woman’s voice suddenly filled the air. Her name was Betty and she was the voice of the computer.
“Warning,” she cooed, “access has been achieved.”
At that moment, at the end of the corridor the elevator doors burst open. A trooper with a laser-sighted Uzi put a beam of red light into Romano’s center chest and fired a burst. As Hapgood watched, his friend’s uniform exploded; Romano’s eyes went blank as he pitched forward, his head askew.
Hapgood knew he was going to die. He could hear them coming down the corridor, the swift, slapping pound of their boots, driven on by the shouts of their officer.
“The other one. Quick, the other one.”
Panic scampered through the young man’s mind and he felt his joints melt, his will scatter. He knew he could never get the blast door closed in time.
They’re coming for the bird, he thought.
And at that moment he remembered procedure. He turned and sprinted for the far wall. His one advantage came from Romano. “Take your key off, Donny.” It was a small thing. That was all, but it was enough.