“You mean… on a human?”
“Yeah. I’m up in conference. Get your directives going and get your ass up here.”
He hung up the phone without waiting for a reply, then turned back to Prather. “Here it is: we’ve got a prisoner here, name of Plissken. He’s one of the world’s all-time slippery bastards. I say we offer him amnesty, and give him twenty-four hours to get the President out to earn it. He’s smart and he’s one of them. He could do things that we can’t.”
“Do you really think it will work?”
Hauk walked over and leaned on the table, staring Prather down. “Probably not,” he replied. “But it’s the only game in town.”
“How do you know he’ll even keep his part of the bargain?”
Hauk smiled slightly, more a grimace. “I’ve got an ace in the hole.” He sat back down. “I would suggest that you get your Vice President on the phone right now.”
Prather picked up the receiver and waited for the connections. Hauk thought a minute and realized that he didn’t even know the Vice President’s name. Was he that far out of touch?
He moved away from the table, back over to the map. Prather began talking over the phone, but his voice was just outside the range of Hauk’s hearing.
It was an old map, pre-war. The Battery Park area was shaded a pale green. If they did the map now, they’d have to make it dull brown. He traced the streets with his eyes. Many of them he had walked at length, looking for Jerry.
He listened to the drone of Prather’s voice for a minute, then turned and walked near the Secretary to catch what was being said.
The man was nodding his head. “I’m convinced there’s no connection, sir. The prisoners aren’t aware of the hijacking. As far as they’re concerned, it was an accident… yes sir. He’s right here.”
Prather made a face. “This is Bob Hauk,” he said and handed the red receiver across the table. It was warm to the touch.
Hauk stood there, hearing the man’s voice, but not really listening. The Vice President was simply saying all the same things that Prather had said earlier.
“We can’t,” Hauk said at the proper time. “If we go down there with choppers, they’ll kill him. We’re lucky now if he’s still alive.”
“What do they want?” the voice said, and it sounded tired, too.
“They don’t want anything, yet, and by the time they figure out what they want, it’ll be too late.”
Prather was tugging on his sleeve. “Tell him we have to go with your plan now!”
On the phone, the Vice President was saying something about tomorrow. He didn’t want to make a decision either.
“We can’t wait until tomorrow. If we have to move in and take the island, it’s a last resort. It’s nine oh five. I want permission to try the rescue.”
There was dead air on the line for a time, then, “All right. Try your rescue. But, I’m warning you…”
“I know,” Hauk interrupted. “It’s my responsibility.”
He hung up the phone and looked at Prather. The tension was draining somewhat out of the man’s face. There was a sharp knock on the door.
“Come,” Hauk said, and Cronenberg walked in. He was tall and slightly stooped, his posture and long white lab coat making him look somewhat like a whooping crane. He was old-looking, but it was a healthy old. His features were rugged and likable.
“Is it ready?” Hauk asked.
The man fixed him with a cold stare. “Yes, but I can’t guarantee..”
“How long will it take?”
“A few seconds. But I’m against using it.”
Hauk slapped a hand on the tabletop. “I have a directive from Washington.”
Cronenberg moved over to him, and it was obvious that the man was angry inside, that he was just barely keeping that anger under control. “This is an experimental unit, Hauk,” he said. “I’ve never tried it on a man. This isn’t like you.”
Hauk didn’t have time to be diplomatic. “You can test it out,” he said.
A black-suited, overweight sergeant stuck his head in the door. His eyes bypassed Hauk and stopped on Cronenberg. “They just took him in to quarantine,” he said.
“Bring him to my office,” Hauk returned. The man left. He looked at Cronenberg. “Warm up your machine, Doctor.”
The doctor’s eyes flared, but he didn’t say a word. Instead he turned sharply on his heels and marched out of the room. There was silence for a few seconds, then Prather spoke:
“There’s something that needs to be said, Hauk,” he began. “The President is, of course, very important to us… but the briefcase-that’s more important right now.”
“Yeah,” Hauk replied. “I kind of figured that one out for myself.”
VIII
9:00 P.M.
They sat Plissken in the steri-chamber, so he could think about it for awhile. There was nothing fancy or scientific about the steri-chamber. It was a small, white room where they strapped you naked on a stainless steel table, then put a box about the size of a typewriter over your hips. The machine then, quite quickly and smartly, would cut your balls off.
They had a blackbelly named Duggan in there to watch him. Duggan was the craziest son of a bitch that Plissken had ever seen. If anyone belonged in the steri-chamber getting his balls cut off, it was Duggan.
The blackbelly was hopping around the room on all fours, imitating a rabbit he had seen once that had gotten a dose of gas. Plissken had a pretty good loop of chain to work with while he was sitting down. If he could only get Duggan close enough to him, he could try to get it around the man’s neck. Then, with any luck, he could use his gun to shoot off the chains.
“And then… and then…” Duggan was out of breath, eyes wide, unable to stop laughing. “And then, he’d kindly go on off to the side.”
The man flung himself wildly off at an angle, banging into a small table full of instruments and gauze. The table fell down, skittering the instruments loudly across the shiny floor.
Duggan jumped to his feet and his head darted around. His gummy monkey face suddenly solidified into something rock hard and perverted. He pulled a. 45 out of his belt and leveled it at the Snake. His hand was shaking with rage,
“So, that’s the way it’s going to be, is it,” he said, his voice quaking. He was breathing loudly through his nose. “Just look what you did, you gutless bastard.” He nodded his head toward the mess on the floor.
Plissken tightened his hands on the chain, waiting for his opportunity.
“You know what you’re gonna do?” Duggan asked rhetorically. “You’re gonna get down there right now and pick that stuff up, that’s what.”
“Go to hell,” Plissken said.
Duggan began vibrating physically. He primed the bolt on the gun. His arm was shaking, weaving around. When he tried to speak, the words got all balled up in his throat.
“Down… on the… floor. NOW!”
Plissken moved off the bench, his length of chain stretching full as he stood up. He set the table upright, then squatted down and began picking up the scattered metal clamps and hemostats. Duggan stayed just out of arm’s reach, always out of arm’s reach.
Plissken looked up at him from the floor. The man had a monstrous grin plastered on his face. He turned back
