"Regrettably he is no longer with us." He shrugged, not pausing as he
took her arm and shoved her on.
"You mean you murdered him, too?" She felt herself about to explode.
She had loved that Greek, who spent more time worrying about soccer
scores than he did about security. Thinking about his death, she felt a
wave of nausea sweep over her. "You bloodthirsty--"
"Please, we're going to try to be professionals, remember," he
interrupted her calmly. "We will be working together in the days ahead,
and animosity will serve no purpose."
She thought of several responses, but squelched them all. Talking
wasn't going to make things any better. In that respect, he was right.
Talk would have no effect.
They were facing the tunnel leading to the mechanical- systems sector
at the other end of the island. The large metal doors, operated from
the security system at the desk, had been opened, slid back, and
permanently secured. The short- circuiting of the security system had
disabled all the electronic locks in the facility.
Scrutinizing them, she felt sadness. All the months of fine-tuning and
technical calibration throughout the facility, had all that effort been
wasted? Probably not, she suspected. These goons, true to their word,
had taken great pains not to disturb anything in Command. So far
everything had apparently conformed to their plan, except for something
to do with a helicopter. Whatever that was, it had taken them by
surprise. What was it?
Ramirez said nothing as they started down the asphalt pavement of the
underground passageway. Over a thousand meters long and illuminated by
fluorescent lighting, its cinderblock walls were wide and high enough
to accommodate a standard Greek truck or two small lorries. Cally noted
the deserted guard desk at the far end. Had he been killed as well? she
wondered.
"Let me put your mind at ease," Number One announced, as though reading
her thoughts. "The other guards have merely been disarmed and locked in
their quarters. As I said, we have no desire for any unnecessary
bloodshed."
"More lies?" She tossed her hair.
"You should try to believe me. Again, trust will make things easier for
us both."
She pushed past the doors at the end of the passageway and together
they entered the first sector, Launch Control. Beyond, another set of
doors led to the giant underground installation for the superconducting
coil, which fed into a massive glass tube holding the wiggler, heart of
the Cyclops. Above that, now unseen, stood the launch vehicles,
"rockets" that carried no fuel.
Neither was yet primed; they planned to ready the vehicle designated
VX-1 just before launch. In fact, nothing had happened since the test
the night before. Tech crews were checking the instruments, knowing
only that a communications breakdown with Command had occurred and some
strange visitors had shown up in a helicopter. Something was going on,
but nobody knew what.
"A very impressive installation," Number One said, watching as the
technicians all nodded their greetings. "Incidentally, there is no
point in alarming any of them now. For the moment, you should just
proceed normally."
"That's why you're here, right?" she shot back. "To make sure there's
all this normality. Things were pretty normal before you and your band
of thugs barged in."
"We are colleagues now, Dr. Andros. I'm here to observe the lift-off we
all are so anxious for. Please, for starters I would like to tag along
and have you show me around. You're a congenial guide."
You bet, she thought. You'll discover how "congenial" I am soon enough.
Of course, she had not yet formulated a strategy. One bright spot was
the voice on the radio this morning? Was somebody on the island still
free? She had peeked out into the lobby long enough to learn that the
mysterious "guard" had shot one of the Germans and then escaped. So who
was it? That was what she wanted to find out next. . . .
But first, business. She approached Jordan Jaegar, a young Cal Tech
graduate and friend of Georges who had been with the project from the
start.
"J.J., how long did the coil temperature stay nominal?"
Although he had a master's in mechanical engineering, Jordan sported
shoulder-length hair and had just gotten a tattoo on his right bicep--an
elaborate rendering of his initials, J.J., which he much preferred to
be called. He liked the fact Dr. Andros remembered that.
"For just over twenty-one minutes," he announced with pride, his eyes
discreetly taking in her hourglass figure. "Long enough. Then it
started creeping up, but we'd have almost inserted into orbit by that
time. And after twenty-nine minutes it was only five degrees Celsius
higher. No sweat, Dr. Andros."
Who, J.J. was wondering, was this hotshot standing next to Dr. Andros?
He had seen a lot of SatCom brass come and go, but this dude was
definitely new. What was his scene? No question, though, the boss lady
was really pissed about something. She also did not seem interested in
introducing this new creep to anyone. Fine. There was enough to worry
about without more head-office brass.
Cally nodded. "The on-line readout in Command showed that the Cyclops
reached saturation at twelve point three-five gigawatts."
"Right," J.J. agreed. "The wiggler went critical and we used the phased
array to dissipate the energy." He beamed. "Hell, we could have sent
her up last night. The whole thing was textbook."
He knew she already knew all that. But he figured there was no harm in
impressing this front-office creep that all the money they'd spent
hadn't been wasted. SatCom was definitely on-budget from his section.
Management had to be happy. Payoff time was just around the corner.
This time next week, SatCom's stock was going to be pure gold. After
VX-1 went up, there wouldn't be any more shit from Arlington. They'd be
passing out stock bonuses like fucking peppermints. He figured a hot
new Nissan was definitely in his future.
"Good," Dr. Andros said, but she seemed distracted, having trouble
staying focused. Something was definitely wrong, but she was hiding it.
"How about sending a data summary to my terminal in Command."
Cally walked on past J.J., thinking as fast as she could. None of the
technicians here knew what had happened. When they found out, were they
going to fall apart, endangering everybody and everything? Maybe, she
thought; it would be better now to just continue normally as long as
possible.
Number One, whoever he was, wasn't carrying an Uzi now; instead he had
a 9mm skillfully concealed beneath his double-breasted. It was all very
stylish. He was keeping the takeover on low profile, at least down here
where the vehicles were. Maybe, she told herself, he doesn't feel as
sure of himself here, or maybe he needs to keep their plans a secret.
So they're definitely up to something.
As they walked past the massive steel housings enclosing the wiggler's
controls, Ramirez suddenly paused and cleared his throat.
"Dr. Andros, what is the payload for the test launching? You certainly
wouldn't put a multimillion-dollar communications satellite at peril
during your maiden run."
He isn't stupid, she thought. He understands the economics of the
satellite business.
"It's just a test. With a dummy payload."
"Good. We will have a real payload for you. It won't be low-cost, but
it will definitely get you some attention. We--"
At that moment his walkie-talkie crackled.