Project Cyclops Part 65

She had told the ARM team she could be there in eight minutes, but now she realized that was optimistic. Though she was moving as fast as she could manage, hugging the line of the security fence, the island seemed to be getting bigger all the time. And smaller.

The fence, which had seemed so rea.s.suring when it was installed, wove among the trees and rocks as it went down the hill, almost a meandering presence. But it was not hard to follow, even in the reduced visibility of the half-dark and fog. The trick, she realized, was going to be finding the ARM team. Or maybe they would find her. Finding things was what they were supposed to be good at. . . .

Thank G.o.d. There was somebody up ahead, barely visible through the dim light. Only one, however, which immediately made her wonder.

She paused, drew a deep lungful of the fresh morning air, and waited to see what he would do. For one thing, he was moving along as though he was searching, yet with an air of owning the terrain.

s.h.i.t, it was one of Ramirez's men, out on patrol. She recognized him.

It was one of the European hoods who had barged into Command the fateful evening now half a lifetime away.

Quickly she tried to melt into the shadow of a tall bush, but she was too late. His head jerked around and he saw her. Up came an automatic.

He was dressed in black, and as he approached her, he flashed a crooked smile, then produced a German accent. "So, it's you. We've been missing you."

"Which one of them are you?" She didn't know what else to say.

"I am Max Schindler," he replied, in heavily accented English. He was at least thirty pounds overweight, the hard-earned rewards of a lifetime of potatoes and strudel. He looked like a puffing, black balloon. "Number One vill be pleased to have you return to us. He thought you were an a.s.sault." He laughed as he gestured her forward with the weapon. "Come on. This morning, I think, is going to go quickly. Just another couple of hours and the real excitement will begin."

"I can hardly wait."

"Good"--it sounded more like goot--"you are going to have a circle-side seat." He seemed extremely pleased with himself, both with his own humor and with the fact that he had been the one who would be bringing her back.

"You mean ringside. Great." The time was already flashing by, she thought--the eight minutes she had given ARM were undoubtedly up--which meant they probably would be changing plans again, working their way.

Would they just forget about her and move on? "Tell me, how did a smart guy like you end up working for a maniac like Ramirez?"

"Who?"

'The guy you call Number One. I hear he's really Sabri Ramirez. Didn't you know?"

The German's startled look betrayed his disbelief. His small, pig-like eyes narrowed. "Who told you such a thing?"

"Just a little birdie."

Schindler shrugged, unconvinced, then pushed her on. "That's impossible. Everybody knows Sabri Ramirez has been dead for two, maybe three years."

Well, she thought, with any luck he soon will be.

"Whatever you say," she continued.

"It's absurd. Ramirez was South American. Number One is from Beirut.

Now come on, hurry. Just keep your hands where I can see them."

Schindler was almost shoving her around a rocky outcrop. "We have to get up to Launch before he gets impatient and sends somebody else out looking."

"Well, if you're in such a big rush, there's a quicker way

to get into Launch than the way we're going. We can just enter through the loading bays"--she pointed--"up there. We don't have to go all the way around."

"Are they unlocked?" He looked up and squinted through the mist. The bays were distinguishable by tall metal doors that were sized to accommodate some of the large vehicle components that had been delivered over the past couple of years. They could just be seen now, dark silhouettes against the horizon.

"The big doors are probably locked, but there's a side entrance that's always open." She paused. "Do what you want. But I guarantee you it's quicker than going around."

"All right"--he nodded, a quick bob of his beefy neck-- "you lead the way."

What she really was thinking about was the rocks and trees covering that back route. This German blimp escorting her would be no match if she simply took matters into her own hands and made a dash.

Why not? It was a desperate move, but this was a desperate moment.

"Wait . . ." She bent over, as though to tie a shoelace, and when she came up, she was swinging. Schindler was tired, and perhaps because of that he was caught completely off guard, staggering backward. It was the moment of disorientation she needed. She grabbed at the Uzi, hoping to wrench it from his grasp. He may have been surprised, and overweight, but he had lost none of his dogged Stasi tenacity. His one- handed grip tightened on the weapon as his other hand flew up to defend his face.

Now she had one hand on the breech of the automatic, and with the other she reached out and seized the muzzle. It was the leverage she needed to swing the b.u.t.t of the metal stock up against his jaw. The blow caught him with his mouth open, smashing his lower lip against his teeth and slicing his tongue.

He emitted a moan and yanked the Uzi away with both hands.

But now Calypso Andros was already stumbling through the brush, up the hill and into the fog.

Schindler felt his bleeding lip as he recovered his balance, and he fleetingly considered just taking her out with a quick burst, nice and simple. Though Number One had insisted she be returned alive, he told himself he was mad enough he didn't care. He wanted to kill the b.i.t.c.h.

But the second he took to make that calculation proved to be crucial.

She had gotten into the heavy brush that ringed the hill farther up.

_Scheisse_.

He plunged after her, puffing and seething. It was one thing not to have found her; it was another to have had her within his grasp and then let her escape. He would be a laughingstock, again. Wolf h.e.l.ling, who had given him this job, would be humiliated once more. It was unacceptable, unthinkable.

The rocks along the fenceline were jagged, cutting into his boots as he half ran, half stumbled through the dim light. She was up there, somewhere. She had said something about the loading bay, so she probably was headed there. In any case, there weren't that many places to hide. It was just a matter of time. Just a matter of time. . . .

5:24 A.M.

Ramirez was talking to Peretz again on his walkie-talkie. "I've been monitoring the scrambled radio traffic, and I've begun to have a sixth sense about the situation. I think we're about to have some uninvited guests from the U.S. Special Forces; ten to one it's Delta. Are you ready?"

"Jean-Paul just came in, and he says we're totally secure, baby. SatCom thoughtfully lined this place with steel. Ain't n.o.body gonna waltz into this little enclave of ours without a press pa.s.s. Rest easy, man. Keep cool."

"Well, I'm thinking I should send you some more backup, just in case."

What I really should do is shoot you and just use the backup. "By the way, how does the schedule look?"

"The countdown's now being handled entirely by the computer. So far there are no holds. Lift-off is coming up exactly as scheduled."

"Good," Ramirez spoke back, "keep me updated on a ten- minute framework." He paused, thinking. "Incidentally, is there any way we possibly could speed it up?"

"Things are pretty tight as they stand. There might be some shortcuts, but I'm not sure I know this system well enough to start fooling around. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, know what I mean?"

"An original sentiment," Ramirez responded dryly. "But don't be surprised at anything that may happen here in the next ninety minutes.

There may be a setup for an a.s.sault, but I'll take care of it."

"It's a tough game coming down here. But ain't n.o.body gonna f.u.c.k with us, 'cause we got all the big cards."