Speed, speed. All risks were justified now.
'Clear to the bottom,' Meredith shouted. 'I'm at the door.'
Taylor pulled a sports whistle from under his blouse, drawing it up by the lanyard. He blew two blasts, then scrambled down toward Meredith. From above, the rest of the party made a terrific racket stumbling down the stairs. Taylor popped another of the disposable mini-lights to guide them. It was hard to believe that the Japanese had not yet alerted to their presence. The fighting out in the corridors had not lost any of its intensity, and Taylor figured that the defenders had their hands full and probably could not do anything even if they were aware of the new threat posed by his ragged team.
He drew up beside Meredith, hacking in the dense smoke. Once, his lungs could have withstood everything. But you got old, did foolish things.
Meredith held the handle of the basement door in his left hand, autorifle ready in his right, poised off his hip. In the chemical glow of the mini-light he looked like a beautiful animal, taut and deadly.
Taylor readied another grenade. The smoke had thinned just enough so that the two men could look each other in the eyes. Both knew that this was it. If the Japanese, or anyone else, were waiting to ambush them, they would have to do it now.
Taylor had already made up his mind. He was going to be the first one through the door this time. If anything happened, Merry would know what to do.
The younger man's eyes were sharp, his nostrils flared.
Kozlov, Parker, and Ryder joined them at the bottom of the stairwell.
'To the left now,' Kozlov said. 'Three doors down, I think. The operations center is at the end of the hallway. The computer room is the last doorway on the left before you reach the operations center. It's very easy.'
Taylor nodded, not at all certain how easy it was going to be! 'We'll have to clear the ops center first.' He glanced at Parker and Kozlov. 'All right. I clear the ops center. Merry covers to the right down the hallway. You two get golden boy into the computer room. Then you relieve Merry. Everybody got it?'
Each man mumbled his assent.
'All right,' Taylor said. 'Everybody back against the wall.' He pointed to where he wanted them. Then he turned to Merry. 'Ready?'
Meredith's hand tensed on the door handle.
'Do it,' Taylor said.
Meredith ripped open the door. Taylor lobbed the grenade out into the corridor. Then Meredith slammed the door shut again, and both men hunkered down away from the door's swing radius.
The blast tore the door right off its hinges. It popped from its frame and fell at a cant across the stairwell.
Instantly, Taylor hurled himself into the hallway, diving flat to the left and firing burst after burst. Meredith mirrored his actions, rolling to the right and shooting into the smoke.
A foreign automatic weapon coughed in the artificial fog. Merry fired again and again, hunting the sudden jewels of light. Taylor rolled over to help him with a burst, then rose and began to run in the direction of the operations center.
So close, he thought, so close. Please, God, no fuck-ups now.
He heard the others hurrying along behind him.
The door at the end of the corridor was shut. Taylor increased the force of his movement and struck it with all his weight, knocking it open. He rolled into a sudden clarity of light, into the coolness of an artificially controlled climate.
Behind him, the others had turned to their own mission of locating the computer room. Taylor was alone. He came up fast from the carpet, rifle ready. Everything happened in parts of seconds. A standing figure fired at him, missed, and Taylor knocked the man back over a bank of consoles with a short burst. Another man raised a pistol, but Taylor was quicker, putting a full burst into him at waist level. Then his rifle's magazine went dry.
Standing almost on the other side of the big room, a Japanese officer held a microphone in one hand and a pistol in the other. His scalp was swathed in loose, bloodstained bandages, giving him the appearance of a renegade sheik. The layout of the room was such that there was no cover between the officer and Taylor, not a single obstacle. The Japanese lowered the microphone and raised his pistol.
Taylor did not try to run. He stared at the man with a lifetime's worth of hatred. His lips curled in a snarl. He kept his eyes locked on those of his opponent, as if staring down an animal. And he methodically ejected his empty magazine and reached into his ammo pouch for another.
The Japanese officer aimed his pistol at arm's length. There was no way he could miss at such a range, Taylor felt the pistol reaching out to him with invisible lines of power, searching into him, testing the softness of his body. But he did not break the stare.
He continued to reload.
He waited. And waited. Growing hideously angry at the Japanese officer's delay, at this teasing. He almost wanted to bark a command at his opponent: Shoot. Goddamn you.
With a chill, Taylor recognized the man under the dirty bandages and bloodstains. It was General Noburu Kabata. The Japanese theater commander.
Why didn't the bastard fire?
The Japanese stared into him with a look that Taylor could not comprehend. The eyes made no sense, the facial expression did not come from Taylor's catalog. Its closest relative was fear. But that was crazy. The Japanese was the one who held the power of life and death between the two of them.
The Japanese general's eyes began to weaken, eyelids twitching. He looked beyond Taylor now, through him, as if he had seen a ghost.
Noburu's pistol began to waver. He thrust it harder in Taylor's direction, as if warning him, trying to frighten him off. Taylor could see the finger straining at the trigger. He could feel it as though the hand were his own.
Their eyes met in a perfect line.
Taylor jammed the fresh magazine into his weapon and put a burst into the Japanese without an instant's hesitation. Noburu twisted, firing his pistol into the carpet at Taylor's feet. The general stepped backward with the disjointed movements of modem dance. Taylor shot him again. And again.
'Fuck you,' he told his enemy. 'Fuck you, you bastard. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.'
He was breathing as though he had just run the race of his life. Half sick, clutching his weapon against his side with the desperation of a terrified private, he walked over to where Noburu lay.
The Japanese lay absolutely still, eyes wide. Taylor stopped just short of the body, shaking with old wordless tears. As though Noburu might suddenly spring back to life, reaching for him, biting.
Taylor emptied his weapon into the torso of the corpse, then spit into Noburu's face. He kicked the body in the side, then kicked it again, harder.
'You bastard,' he said. 'You filthy bastard.'
A burst of automatic weapons fire out in the corridor ailed him back to the present. He reloaded another magazine and took off at a run.
The smoke had partly cleared. He could see Merry lying at the elbow of the hallway, shielding himself behind an overturned file cabinet. As he watched, Meredith sent two shots into the distance.
Taylor scrambled down the corridor to the S-2, covering each doorway as he passed. In the last office, two Japanese lay sprawled before a shredding machine. Another lay just behind Meredith.
A grenade explosion on the upper floor shook the ceiling and sifted dust over them like a curtain of rain.
Taylor tucked himself in behind the corner where Meredith was on guard.
'Need help?' he asked, surprised at the normalcy in his voice.
'Sonofabitch,' Meredith said, voice quivering. 'I almost missed the sonofabitch.'
Taylor noticed that the younger man was bleeding from the neck.
'Merry, you all right?'
'The sonofabitch,' Meredith repeated, panting. His breathing was quick, but healthy. The wound was very light, of the sort that misses taking a life by half an inch. 'I didn't see the sonofabitch. He came at me from behind. With a goddamned knife.'
Taylor glanced at the dead Japanese. There was no knife in his hand, only a scissors. But, in Meredith's
