Project Cyclops Part 32

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.

CHAPTER NINE

3:18 P.M.

Vance c.o.c.ked the Pakistani's Uzi and trained it on the door, not sure what to do. The fear was that he might inadvertently kill a friendly.

Hostage situations always presented that harrowing possibility. Quick identifications and quick decisions were what made good ant.i.terrorist teams. He was afraid he had neither skill. He wasn't even that great a shot.

But events were to break his way for a change. As the door swung in, he saw a woman framed there. He needed only to lock eyes with her to know she was a friendly. Okay, one ID out of the way. Then a man behind her, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, reached out to seize her and pull her in front of him.

No good. As Vance watched, mesmerized, she elbowed him in the chin, sending him reeling backward and out into the hallway. Then, before he could recover, she slammed the door, using her other elbow to hit the blue Airlock b.u.t.ton next to the frame. With electronic efficiency, the red "Sealed" light above the door blinked on and bolts around the edges clicked into place.

She turned, still shaking, and looked at him. "Please tell me you're not one of them, too."

"No way. I'm just a tourist." Vance examined her and liked her on the spot. She was a stunner, with dark hair and an eye-catching sweater emblazoned with the SatCom logo-- one of those take-charge women made for the modern age. Exhibit A: she'd just iced the thug in the hallway.

"And who are you?"

Instead of answering, she glanced over at the Pakistani, his mouth gagged. "I see you've already met one of our new guests."

"We got acquainted informally. Not exactly a meaningful relationship."

He stared at the door, wondering how long it would hold. "By the way, is that guy outside who I think he is? Didn't he just shoot somebody in your control room?"

"He did. And you were probably about to be next." She took time to examine him more closely. He couldn't tell if she liked what she saw, but her look quickly turned to puzzlement. "You're soaking wet."

"I had an afternoon dip."

"What? You swam here?" She looked about the room, then back. "How--"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Who are you?"

"Mike Vance." He extended his hand. "Friend of Bill's. It's a long story. In real life I run a sailboat charter operation back in the Bahamas. And you?"

"Cally Andros. I run this place, or at least I did until last night."

She shook his hand, tentatively. "So what are you doing here?"

"As I said, just an island tourist. But I've got to tell you, Greek hospitality isn't what it used to be." He reached down and picked up the box with the krytrons. "Now what do you say we get out of here before that guy outside comes blasting in?"

"Through that door?" She laughed. 'That's an inch and a

half of steel. Even better, it's fail-safe, which means that if the electronics fail, it stays in the locked mode anyway."

He liked her snappy answers. "Nothing lasts forever. I strongly recommend we do ourselves a favor and move along." He turned and indicated the open panel where the wiring entered. "How does the back way sound to you?"

"You came in through there?" She clearly was startled. "You're either very smart, or very stupid. That's where--"

"I'll tell you what's really stupid. Standing around while those goons figure out how to take out that door. Because there's something in here I've got a feeling they're going to want back very badly."

"You mean him?" She pointed at the Pakistani, still gagged, hunching down on the floor.

'This one? Doubt that. He's just a water carrier. No, I'm talking about the gadgets inside this box."

"What . . . ?"

"Check them out." He pa.s.sed it over. "What do you think?"

She lifted out one of the gla.s.s-covered units, three wires extending from one end, and her dark eyes widened. "My G.o.d, do you know what this is?"

'Tell me."

"It's a krytron." She rotated it in her hand, gently, as though it were crystal. "I've never actually seen one before, only pictures. You can trigger a nuclear device with one of these. They're worth millions on the black market."

"Guess we just made the Fortune Five Hundred." He laughed. "If we live long enough to cash them in. Should be lots of buyers around the Middle East."

"Do you realize--?"

'The nightmare's finally come true? Looks that way." He sighed.

"Terrorists are building a bomb. Or, more likely, they've managed to steal one somewhere."

"One?" She shivered from the cold and pulled at her sweater. 'There must be more than one, if they've got all these detonators."

"But a bomb is just another chunk of enriched uranium without these, right?"

"Well, if they're planning to do more than threaten . . . Oh, my G.o.d."

She froze. "That explains why they've got Georges changing trajectories. They--"

"What! Are they tinkering with your rockets?"

"So far just the computer-guidance part. But if they put a bomb on VX- 1, who knows what they could end up doing?"

"How does nuclear blackmail sound? But n.o.body goes to this much trouble just to shake down a corporation. There're lots of easier ways." He paused to ponder. Ten to one it's not SatCom they're holding for ransom. They're aiming for a lot higher stakes. They're probably planning to shake down a country somewhere. No prizes for guessing which one."