the machinery. Ryan saw that the ceiling was almost thirty feet above them. The basement in this portion of the building was two stories high. For some strange reason, Lucinda laughed. He cocked his head in a silent question.
'Nerves. Either that, or I'm slipping over the edge.'
He took her hand and squeezed it.
'Let's get these handles loosened.' He handed her two pairs of square-bit, rubber-handled pliers and took two pairs for himself. Then he moved to the first lever, and clamping the teeth of the pliers to each side of the bolt that held the handle, he started to unhook it. The idea was to get all six of the power levers loosened so that they could throw them and shut off the power. Seeing by the flashlights, they would then unscrew the bolts with thei r f ingers, remove the handles, and take them with them when they left, making it impossible for UBC security to turn the power back on.
It was here that they encountered their first major problem. . All of the bolts had been spot-welded into place.
Chapter 70
Red Decker was in his chief engineer's office at UBC when Wallace Litman called and told him to go directly to an office in midtown Manhattan. He had packed o ne of the little Sony GPS hand units and a large electroni c s atellite map of New York that gave latitude and longitud e a ccurate to feet and inches. It filled a small suitcase. Th e m ap had been developed by Lojack, a car alarm syste m t hat gave precise electronic locations of stolen cars throug h a radio signal. It would also work for the portable GPS.
Red found the office in a turn-of-the-century building decorated by ornate columns and pigeon shit. The office he was looking for was on the third floor and the fogged-glass door said DIMARCO AND SON, FREIGHT FORWARDING. He had been told to be there at five P. M. and was right on time. He tried the door and found that it was unlocked, so he moved slowly into the little room.
'Is'a okay, I'm'a wait for you. . '
Red spun around and saw Pulacarpo Depaulo leaning back in a swivel chair, a Sony Walkman on his curly, black head. Pulacarpo flashed a broad, white smile across iridescent green lapels.
'You from'a TV?'
'Yeah. From UBC. I'm here to help find the stolen equipment,' Red said, demonstrating his total lack of understanding of the real mission.
Pulacarpo pulled the headphones down around his neck and got up. 'Everybody, they next door. . ' Red Decker followed him down the hall to the rickety lift, which groaned like an old whore as it rattled and lunged down four flights to the underground garage.
A blue van pulled up and Red was ushered into its plush gray interior. Once inside, he found himself looking into the four faces that C. Wallace Litman had confronted that morning. Two of them sat on jump seats. The other two made room for Red on the back seat. They were all dark-skinned men, with hooded eyes and five o'clock shadows.
' 'AV sa my cousins.' Pulacarpo waved a green-suited arm at his four cugini.
'Nice to meet you,' Decker said.
They didn't respond.
`They no speak'a no English just now. 'At'sa my pretty good, in'a school, I'm'a think,' Pulacarpo explained, getting the idea across badly.
They pulled out of the underground garage into the cold, New York twilight. The sun was just going down as they headed across town.
Everybody wasn't next door as Pulacarpo had said.
The blue van went east four blocks. It pulled up in front of sixty stories of poured concrete and mirrored glass. The marquee said LINCOLN PLAZA. The building was half owned by the Alo family. Joseph Alo had always liked to put American names on his real estate properties-Lincoln Plaza, Hancock Square-but everybody in New York called it the Pasta Palace because the building housed crooked unions and mob front businesses.
Red was accompanied by Pulacarpo and his cousins into the elevator and taken to the top floor with such speed that his ears popped. He was led out toward a staircase and eventually found himself on the roof, which was covered with AstroTurf.
The center of the roof was dominated by a heliport and a gray and red Bell Jet Ranger. Six men were standing in the misty rain on the raised heli-platform, but Red's gaze was drawn to a short, round-faced man with oily hair who stepped forward.
'You got the doohickey?' Mickey Alo said, not introducing himself.
'Right here.' And Red pulled the small Sony GPS receiver out of his pocket and opened the suitcase with the electronic map.
'That's it?' Mickey said, surprised at the size of the thing.
'Yes, sir.' Red had a funny feeling about this little round man. Something told him to be respectful.
'Fucking-A. I thought it was gonna be like some kinda big deal.'
'No, sir, it's very miniaturized.'
'What's your name?'
'Russ Decker.'
'Decker? Like the chain saw company?'
'People call me Red.'
'Okay, set up where you want. This okay, up here?'
'It's great. Good place, no interference. I should be able to receive if they send.' Then Red noticed several automatic weapons lying on the seat in the back of the Jet Ranger. Some survival instinct told him he should just keep his mouth shut, get the job done, and go home.
'Hey, Chain Saw,' Mickey said, 'You want a special?'
'No, sir.'
'Nickadoma, give him a meatball special.'
A tall man with broad shoulders handed Red the chunky sandwich.
'Thank you,' Red said, taking it even though he didn't want it. He tuned in the GPS, and wondered what C. Wallace Litman could possibly have in common with this bunch of thugs.
They found a sledgehammer in a tool cabinet under a workbench. Ryan hefted it. It had a ten-pound head. 'What're you gonna do?' Lucinda asked.
'I don't know, but we gotta stay on schedule. We disable the generators, then we'll turn off the shore power and try to break these handles.'
They both knew that if security guards came down and the handles were still attached, the guards could simply shove them back into place and knock Cole's broadcast off the air. The UBC ten-meter C-band dish on the roof next to their SNG truck was more powerful and could cut right through their transmission. They had to break the handles somehow. Lucinda spotted two carbon dioxide fire extinguishers hanging in brackets near the door.
'Maybe if we cool them down first, it will make the metal more brittle,' she said.
'Worth a try.'
Ryan looked at the closest generator, the air starter perched on top of the unit like a giant prehistoric insect. The starter would drive a heavy blast of air down into the motor and turn it on. By blocking the intake, John had said, they could stop the process.
Ryan climbed up on the generator and looked at the intake. It was about two feet by one. 'Gimme a blanket,' he said to Lucinda. Ryan took it and jammed it down into the air intake.
'Get the fire extinguisher.' He looked at his watch; they were almost out of time. The network would be in the forty-five seconds of black in under two minutes. 'We gotta throw the switches,' he said, as he climbed atop the
