A state of disobedience

Fort Worth, Texas, Western Currency Facility

'And remember,' said Williams, 'we have got to pinch off any penetrations before . . .'

Even through the thick brick walls, deep in the bowels of the facility, the steady slashing of the helicopter's rotors could be heard and felt. 'It seems the governor and General Schmidt are here, sir,' commented Pendergast.

'Fine,' answered Williams. 'I'll keep the officers here. Could you send a party out to escort them inside, Top?'

'Yessir,' agreed Pendergast, turning immediately to leave. 'No problem. In fact, I'll go myself.'

At the exterior wall the first sergeant slipped through a mousehole broken through the bricks. All the normal doors had been sealed or, in some cases, sealed and booby trapped. Emerging into the pale afternoon daylight on hands and knees, Pendergast arose, brushed some dirt off of his uniform, and hurried to where Schmidt and Governor Seguin waited on the concrete.

Johnston Akers, ever suspicious where the governor's safety was concerned, took one look at the First Sergeant's slung rifle. He then immediately began to draw his pistol.

'None of that, Ranger,' commanded Schmidt. 'This one's on our side.'

Akers considered. Yes, it must be so. He slid the pistol back into its holster and grinned an apology at the first sergeant.

'Indeed I am,' answered Pendergast, ignoring the Ranger's previous moves. 'And so are we all, here. Governor, General? Will you all be kind enough to follow me? You too, Ranger. You're welcome inside.'

* * *

'Watch your head there Governor. It's low and crooked.'

'Thank you, First Sergeant. Or can I call you 'Mike'?'

'Mike would do mighty fine, ma'am. Or 'Top'; that's what the troops usually call me.'

Stifling a small curse at scraped knees, Juanita emerged into a rat maze. What's more, it seemed to her a rat maze designed by psychotic elves on LSD.

Whatever the Western Currency Facility had once looked like—no doubt a more or less regular printing plant with offices, hallways, open spaces—on the inside it resembled this no more. Eyes growing ever wider, Juanita swept the open hall into which the mouse hole led.

'Where are the doors?' she asked Pendergast, since the two leading out had been sealed with barbed wire.

'I'll show you, ma'am.' Then Pendergast pushed aside a desk behind which was another mousehole. 'We've sealed—blocked anyway—every normal door and crawlspace. Made our own, so to speak.'

'But . . . but why?'

The first sergeant smiled. 'Governor, it's routine. Even so, the people coming here are bound to have the floor plans for the place. They might even have rehearsed an attack based on those plans. Bound to fu— . . . err — . . . screw 'em up once they get in and find out the plans make no sense anymore.'

The governor had a sudden image of a mouse caught in a maze. 'Ohh. Yes, I could see that.'

Behind Juanita, Schmidt suppressed a slight smile. She's sooo innocent.

'Now if you will follow me, Governor, General, I'll take you on the roundabout tour before we go see Captain Williams.'

* * *

'I'm afraid you're going to have to crawl through this one, too, General . . . Governor.'

Schmidt, unsurprised at the mass of barbed wire hanging in midair in the corridor, simply got down on his belly and started to crawl. Juanita looked at the great wad of tangled up barbed wire very dubiously.

'No need to worry, ma'am,' said Pendergast, pointing at some smooth and thin black wire. 'See, it's held up there pretty well.'

'But what good is it, Mike, if you can just crawl under it?'

'Well, Governor, we can crawl under it, sure. Then we cut the wires holding it and it drops down. A stone cold bit— . . . err . . . pain to move. Especially since we'll likely be shooting at anyone that tries.'

Schmidt asked, 'Shooting, grenading . . . hmm . . .  Top, where are your claymores?'

Pendergast thought briefly, tapped a finger against his lower lip, then pointed up at the ceiling tiles. 'Two up there, General, plus another at each end of the corridor, buried in the walls.'

'Very good.'

The party moved further upward, to one of the two large rectangular projections jutting up from the roof of the building.

'Can't take you onto the roof, ma'am. Nor even you, General Schmidt.'

'Booby trapped, Top?'

'To a fine art, sir.'

'What are you going to do once they clear the traps? The roof here doesn't look like you can hold it by fire from the inside.'