Vance heard a sound outside the clean room, footsteps. Somebody was
approaching, but not with a walk that suggested familiarity with the
place.
This might turn out to be his hoped-for break. Maybe he was about to
have a nice face-to-face with one of the terrorists. At last, an
opportunity for some answers.
He slipped back against the wall next to the door, his wet clothes
chilling him in the low temperature. But he sensed that things were
about to warm up. The person behind the door paused for a second, then
shoved it open. A box appeared, then a face. It was young and cocky.
"Don't even think about making a sound, asshole." He slapped his
Walther against the guy's cheek, then yanked the Uzi from his leg
holster and pulled him into the room. Next he kicked the door shut and
shoved his new guest to the floor. The box he was carrying thumped down
beside him.
In the glare of the fluorescents the "terrorist" looked like an aging
graduate student, except he was wearing a Palestinian _kaffiyeh_. Vance
ripped it away, rolled him over, and inserted the Uzi into his mouth. A
metal barrel loosening the teeth, he knew, did marvels for a wiseguy's
powers of concentration. That was one of the first lessons he'd picked
up from the boys at ARM. And this one was no exception. He stared up,
genuine terror in his eyes, and moaned.
"Speak English? Just nod."
He dipped his forehead forward, eyes still in shock.
"Good. Now we're going to play Twenty Questions. That's about the
number of teeth you've got, so each time I get an answer I don't buy,
one of them goes. And when we run out of teeth, you won't be able to
talk any more, so I'll just blow your head off. Okay, how're we doing?
We understand each other so far?"
He nodded again and gave an airless grunt.
"Great. Looks like we're on a roll. Now, how many more of your team is
in there? Hold up fingers. Very slowly. I was never good at fast
arithmetic."
His eyes were cloudy, but he managed to lift five fingers.
This guy is one of the new arrivals, Vance thought. I counted three of
them. So that means two others are down here as well. Those first guys
were the pros, but this kid barely knows which end of an Uzi to hold.
"Do they know you came back here?" He rattled the barrel of the Uzi
around in his mouth, just to keep him focused.
Again he nodded, even more terrified.
Okay, he thought, we're going to have to make this a short chat.
"Are there hostages down here?"
Again the man nodded.
"How many?"
He just shrugged, clearly having no idea.
Well, Vance thought, maybe it's time to get this show on the road.
He slowly removed the barrel, then ripped off a portion of the kaffiyeh
lying on the floor, balled it, and stuffed it into his mouth. Next he
tore off a longer strip and tied it around his head, securing the gag.
The eyes were still terrified.
"By the way," he said, "what's in the box?"
A new look of even-greater horror entered the eyes. He's really scared
now, Vance thought. Interesting.
"Well, well, maybe we ought to take a look."
He reached over and opened the lid. There, nestled inside several
layers of bubble-wrap, were what looked like large, oversized blue
transistors.
Bingo, he thought, what have we here? Could it be these are the tickets
to the upcoming show. This ain't chopped liver.
"Okay, pal, on your feet. We're going to get moving. Just you and me.
And we're going to take along your little box of toys. You can tell me
what they are later."
The young terrorist started to rise, gingerly.
"See that opening over there"--he pointed--"where the wires enter into
the conduit? We're going through there, you first. You're about to have
some experience in mountain climbing. The workout might do you good."
That was when the door opened.