Project Cyclops Part 44

That's when he noticed the line of explosives that had been placed along the wall next to the elevator, neat yellow bars of Semtex, wrapped in cellophane. The first was wired to a detonator, which was in turn connected to a digital timer.

"h.e.l.lo, take a look." He nodded down. "Guess my wild hunch was right.

They're not planning to leave any witnesses when this is over. When they're finished, they'll just pack everybody in here and blow up the place. Nice and tidy. Won't even interfere with the computers, just in case they need to keep them running for a while after they leave."

He bent down and examined the timer, now scrolling the minutes in red numbers. It was set to blow in just over twenty-nine hours.

"Guess we just got the inside track on their timetable."

"My G.o.d," she said, looking at the device as though it were a cobra.

"Can't we just turn it off?"

"Sooner or later we'd better, but it's still got plenty of time left on it." His voice turned slightly wistful. "Tell you the truth, I'd rather some of the guys from ARM did it. I'm slightly chicken when it comes to bomb-squad operations. Cut the wrong wire and . . . eternity takes on a whole new perspective." He shrugged. "Also, there's a chance it's b.o.o.by-trapped somehow. The thing's a little too obvious, sitting out here in plain view. When something looks too easy, I always get suspicious. Maybe for no reason, but . . ." He motioned her away. "I suggest we forget about that for now and focus on finding a steak. I also wouldn't fling a hot shower back in your face."

"That's only on Level Three. It may have to wait." She took his arm.

"Come on. I don't like being around bombs, even if they have timers."

She led the way down the abandoned corridor, its lighting fluorescent and its floor covered with gray industrial carpet. There was a total, almost palpable silence about the place that made it feel all the more eerie and abandoned. It seemed utterly strange and alien.

"The kitchen is in here," she said, pushing open a large steel door.

Vance stepped in and surveyed it: all the fixtures needed for a mess that served several hundred people three meals daily. In fact, it looked as though the evening's cleanup operation had been halted in mid-wash. Dirty pots sat cold on the big industrial stoves, and piles of half-peeled vegetables were on the wide aluminum tables. The storage lockers, refrigerators, and freezers were located across the room, opposite.

"By the way." He had a sudden thought. 'This place must have TV monitors somewhere, am I right? Every other place here does."

"Well, you're right and you're wrong. It does, but they're on the blink. It always seemed like a stupid idea anyway, almost like spying, and then one day somebody just cut the wires. Probably one of the cooks. I never bothered getting them fixed. I just couldn't think of any good reason to bother."

"Well, for once laziness paid off. Maybe we're safe here for a while."

He had opened the freezer. "h.e.l.lo, Lady Luck has decided to get with the program." He was pulling out two thick steaks. "Care to join me?"

"Those are there for Bill," she noted, then laughed. "I'd still rather have a pizza, but I don't guess he'll mind if we dip into his private stock."

"So I repeat the question." He was already unwrapping two, both thick.

"Yes, of course. I'm famished." She shivered. "And I also wouldn't mind a set of dry clothes."

"Maybe one of these will warm you up." He was popping the steaks into a gleaming white microwave for a quick thaw.

"Right."

"And while dinner is coming along, how about drawing me a diagram of what's up there. Maybe we can go up later, take a look around."

"Let's eat first. I'm too wired to think." She switched on one of the large, black electric grills. "My vote is that we just sit tight for now."

And why not? This man with the s.e.xy eyes and healthy laugh attracted her. Mercurial in his spirits, he appeared willing to take chances.

Just the way she remembered her father. And Alan. But she wondered why he was here risking his life for a bunch of total strangers. Even Alan wouldn't have done that.

"You know, Mike Vance, I have to tell you, you don't look much like a commando."

"Guess what? I'm not."

"You know what I mean. For that matter, you don't look like the guys who came and installed our wonderful security system. I'd like to know your real story."

"How are retired archaeologists supposed to look? But I wasn't good enough at it, or maybe I was too good at it--I'm not sure which--and as a result I ended up doing what I really wanted to for a living. Running a sailboat business." He looked her over. "You seem to like what you're doing, too. And from what I've seen, I'd say Bill's getting a bargain, no matter what he's paying you."

She laughed. "I'd say you're an even better bargain. He's getting you for free."

"Freebies are only a deal if they pan out." He lifted their steaks out of the microwave and flipped them onto the grill. They immediately sizzled deliciously, a sound he had loved since he was a child growing up in Pennsylvania. It all mingled together with the scent of trees and summer.

"G.o.d, those smell great." She came over to take a look. "I think the aroma is giving me some backbone. There's nothing like the smell of grease."

"I figured you'd come around." He patted her chastely on the back, half imagining it was farther down, then lifted one of the steaks to see how they were going. Well. Just like his spirits.

But now she was moving off again into a s.p.a.ce of her own. She scrutinized his weathered face, feeling a little hopeful that maybe, finally, she had run across somebody like Alan. Though she still hardly knew a d.a.m.ned thing about him.

"With people I meet for the first time, I like to play a little game,"

she said finally. "It's always interesting to try and guess. What are they really like? Does character show?"

"What happens if you guess right?" He nudged a steak. "Do you own their soul? Like some primitive tribes think a photograph captures their spirit?"

"Guess you'll have to find out, won't you?" She checked him over again.

"Okay." He smiled and gave her the same look back. "But it's only fair if we both get to play. So, if one of us. .h.i.ts the truth, what happens then. Do we get to go for Double Jeopardy?"

"Be warned. The prince who learns the princess's secrets can end up getting more than he bargained for." She came back, full of feeling.

Then she paused for a second, thinking, and began. "All right, I get to go first. Woman's prerogative. And I want to start with the sailboat-- what did you call it? _Odyssey_ _II_?--and what it says about you. I think it means you're a doer, not a talker. I like that."

"Maybe." He felt uncomfortable, not sure what to say, so he decided to let it pa.s.s. "Now it's my turn." He leaned back and examined her, hoping to get it right. Make a good first impression. Ignore the fact she's a knockout, he lectured himself, at least for now. Look for the inner woman.

"You like it here," he started. "But the isolation means everybody knows everybody. No privacy. And you're a very private person. So--to use that famous cliche--you bury yourself in your work. You could be happier."

"That goes for you, too," she quickly began, a little startled that his first insight had been so close to the mark. "And you're a loner. The good news is . . . I think you're pretty loyal. To friends. To women.

The downside is you keep your friends to a close circle."

"Hey, I'd almost think you've been reading my mail." He seemed vaguely discomfited. "But I'll bet you suffer from the same malady. You made some tight friends early on, but not much in that department since.

They're all engineers, and mostly you talk shop. Oh, and no women. You want them but you don't respect them enough. They're not as committed as you are. In fact, your last good friend was in college. Sometimes you have trouble getting next to anybody."

"Well, for the record I'll admit that my best friend was from before college, and it's a he. Georges." She decided to skip over the matter of Alan Harris. He had been a friend as well as a lover. A good friend, or so she thought. Once. "But I think the buzzer just went off. Game over."

"Whoa, don't bail out now, just when it's getting good. This was your idea, remember? And I'm not through." He leaned back. "Okay, let's really get tough. Go personal. You figure falling for some guy might just end up breaking your heart. Maybe it already happened to you once or twice. So these days you don't let things go too far." He rubbed at his chin as he studied her. "How'm I doing?"

"The rules of the game don't include having to answer questions." She took a deep breath. Mike Vance was definitely better at this than she'd reckoned. "But if you want to keep going, we'll have round two. Back to you. I'd guess you're always in control, or you want to be. So what happens is, you co-opt the things and people around you, make them work for you. And from the way things have gone so far, I'd say luck seems to be on your side; some people are like that and you're one of them."

"Don't be too sure." He checked the steaks again, then flipped them over. They were coming along nicely, the fat around the edge beginning to char the way he liked. "Luck always has a way of running out eventually."

"Tell me about it . . ." she said, letting her voice trail off.

"But I'd also guess you're a homebody in your soul. You like a roaring fire and a gla.s.s of wine and a good book over going out to paint the town."

"And you're probably just the opposite. You want to be out in the sun and wind and rain. Sitting around bores you."