we’re about to punch in Seventeen ... Very good, sir.’ He hung up. ‘He’s coming in.’
It was then O’Hara realized what was happening. They were getting ready to bring an oil well on-line.
They had to get out of there fast. O’Hara reached up and switched off the scanning button. The camera stopped roving. It was aimed directly at the Midas screens. He hurried back down the ladder and jerked his head toward the door.
Chameleon did not move. He was staring at the door. O’Hara grabbed his arm but Chameleon shook his head. He could not leave.
He had to see Hooker.
Just once, he had to be an arm’s length away from the man he had hated since he was a child.
The general entered the room from his office.
O’Hara busied himself by returning the ladder to the corner, keeping his face away from Hooke r and Garvey.
We have to get out of here fast, thought O’Hara. Everyone’s in this room but Le Croix, and God knows where he is. If Hooker or Garvey spot me, the game’s over. He turned back.
Chameleon was edging closer to the tall hawk-faced man. Christ, O’Hara thought, he’s blowing it,
But the small cluster of men at the console were all riveted to the instruments, to the action at the console.
The key operator said, ‘Okay, we’re ready.’
‘Close-up on the valve,’ Garvey said.
The operator punched a key, and the camera, obviously equipped with a zoom lens, was triggered. The picture on the TV screen changed slowly as the lens zoomed in.
It was perfect. A close-up of the stolen pumping station actually in the process of switching on a new well. Now all he had to do was get Chameleon the hell out of there without being obvious. The tattooed man stood a few feet behind Hooker, transfixed, staring at the sharp profile.
His own father, a few feet away.
‘On-line programmed,’ the operator said.
He punched some more keys.
‘Counting down ... five, four, three, two, one ... and switch-in.’
The TV screen told the story. On the console of the pumping valve, a bank of lights blinked on in sequence. Then the numbers on the digital counter began switching so fast that it was hard to read them.
‘And we’re in,’ the operator cried.
The general laughed and clapped his hands. ‘Well done, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Congratulations. Jess, come on into the office, I’ve got champagne on ice.’
‘Right, sir, in a minute.’
Hooker wheeled around and started back toward the office door. For a moment he came eye to eye with Chameleon. The general looked at him briefly, then nodded and marched off.
Chameleon was right behind him. Nobody else saw him but O’Hara. The others were still staring intently at the nerve centre of Midas.
What the hell’s he doing? O’Hara thought.
The general entered his office, and Chameleon, waiting until the door was almost closed, leaped through it sideways. The door clicked shut.
Well, I’ll be damned, O’Hara thought. What now?
In the van, the Magician and Eliza were howling with glee. There it was, a close-up of what they needed, and in the process of bringing in a new well.
‘We got it!’ the Magician yelled.
‘We’ll get another minute or two, then we’ll have to get rolling. They should be on their way out. We need to get back down the hill.’
‘Hey,’ the Magician cried, ‘something fucked up!’ Garvey was yelling, pointing off-screen, clawing at his belt. A machine pistol appeared in his hand. Then suddenly O’Hara leaped into the screen. He slapped Garvey’s gun hand away, grabbed it, wrenched it backwards.
The pistol coughed a half-dozen times.
Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap.
The bullets ripped into the sprawling glass map. A string of holes splattered across South America. The glass weakened and shattered. Behind it, the maze of wires that controlled the electronic marvel was sliced by falling glass. Sparks showered the room. Streaks of fire raced up the wall.
Inside the van, Eliza and the Magician were staring hypnotically at the tape recorders. They did not see the shadows at the edge of the road begin to vane, were not aware anyone was there until the side door slammed back and they turned to face the biggest human being they had ever seen. Four hundred pounds if an ounce his neck bulging over the shirt collar, his eyes scowling out from a balloon face.
‘Holy shit!’ the Magician cried. He started looking for a weapon, a club, anything.
The guard reached in with a tire-sized arm and grabbed Eliza, lifting her out the door as if she were a doll. She did not utter a sound. She made a fist, stuck out her forefinger and little finger and thrust them into the guard’s
