The locator David Chung gave a massive start. As his eyes opened wide, he pointed at something — some non-specific point high on the face of the cliffs at the rear of the resort — and gripped Trask's elbow. And as Trask looked at him in astonishment, Chung gasped, What the…?'
At the same time:
Fifty or so feet behind the group where they sheltered on the 'safe' side of the armoured car, a ball of brilliant light lit the night; following hot on its heels, there came the deafening roar of an explosion, and the death cry of a soldier.
The savagery of the blast was such that it hurled them all against the side of the car and rocked the vehicle on its shock absorbers. All eyes blinked, and hands were thrown up to shield startled faces. Then, as debris began to rain down, they looked back. The SAS man was in mid-air, a human Catherine wheel spinning there — torn almost in half, black and burning — and quite obviously dead.
Bricks from the low wall where the NCO had taken cover — which had at least sheltered Trask and his group from the worst of the blast — were showering down; a jagged half-brick struck Chung on the forehead, threw him a second time against the side of the car. He slid to the ground in a hail of lesser debris.
'Jesus Christ!' the Major straightened up, went to stagger toward the spot where his man's body lay in a crumpled, smoking heap. Trask stopped him, croaked:
'You saw what I saw. You can't help him now.'
'But what the hell…?' The Major asked helplessly, of no one in particular. 'A mortar, a grenade — an accident? Jesus, it must have been a fucking accident!'
And meanwhile, the night had come deafeningly alive.
From the casino, a withering stream of automatic fire sent bullets ricochetting off the far side of the car, and from somewhere in the night a soldier shouted, 'I'm hit! God — I'm hit!' It hardly sounded like the cry of a man, but more like that of a small, bewildered child.
Then the casino's entrance was lit by twin balls of brilliant white light — the blinding flashes and shattering reports of stun grenades — and figures were glimpsed briefly, silhouetted in the swift-dying glare.
There were explosions from all around the Pleasure Dome as two-man units hurled grenades to breach the outer wall and gain entry, and covering fire as men went in through smoking holes.
'We have to go in, too,' said the Major. 'We need to know what's going on. But first let's see to your man.'
They laid Chung on the rear seat of the car. Mumbling to himself, the locator was already regaining consciousness. The Major gave Liz a field dressing, said, 'Staunch the blood. He looks okay, but stay with him. Where's your gun?'
Liz took out her Baby Browning, cocked it and laid it on the rear windowsill of the car within easy reach.
Trask leaned inside the car to touch her shoulder. 'You'd better do as he says,' he said. 'And when we're gone, lock the doors.' For the moment shaken, disoriented, and concerned for Chung, Liz did as she was told. Through the window, she watched the Major, Trask, and Goodly move off towards the casino.
In a little while Chung opened his eyes, looked up at Liz and said, 'He's up there… up high… Malinari!' He managed to lift himself up a little as she applied the field dressing. He was looking at (or perhaps looking beyond?) the casino. The way he rolled his not-quite-focussed eyes, it was hard to tell.
'The bubble on top of the dome?' Liz answered, and nodded an affirmative. 'We know. They're going in after him now.'
No!' The locator tried to shake his head. 'Not the Pleasure Dome, but up there! Up… up there…'
'Up there?' Liz had the dressing in place now. Tying off the bandage, she looked where Chung pointed a shaky hand. 'The mountain?'
'The cliffs,' he mumbled. 'He's… he's in the cliffs!'
After that it was all instinct, and almost instantaneous. Liz didn't think twice but sent out her telepathic thoughts to follow Chung's line of sight, to be guided like a laser-assisted missile to his target. Except that in this case the target was far more dangerous than the missile. And:
Ahhhhhhlsaid a voice in Liz's mind — a voice like steam escaping from a kettle, or the hiss of a volcanic vent — It's the sweet little telepath herself! And Liz could actually feel the patterns of her mind being scrutinized, fingerprinted, and memorized. She erected shields and felt the hideous, slug-like presence of Malinari withdrawing, dwindling, gone! Then:
'My God!' She exploded into frantic activity, grabbed her gun, scrambled backwards out of the car. 'I have to tell Ben!' But then, pausing to lean back inside: 'David, I—'
'It's okay.' Chung was really coming out of it now, beginning to make good sense. 'Go find them, Liz, and tell them Malinari's in those cliffs. If they call the chopper down, and get the pilot to use thermal imaging, he'll spot the bastard easily enough.' He managed to sit up, however groggily.
'Lock the doors when I've gone,' she told him. And, crouching down low, she ran for the casino…
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Trapped!
Chopper one's pilot had heard the Major's call for action, seen the explosions, heard something of the messages passing between the men on the ground. The assault on the Pleasure Dome was proceeding just a few minutes behind schedule; it was time to give the ground forces a little aerial support. Bright searchlight beams — aimed inwards on the casino, to blind anyone trying to escape from that place — swept down from above.
Like all the rest of the attacking force, Liz wore phosphorescent patches front and rear of her combat suit. It wouldn't do for anyone to be shot dead by 'friendly' fire. Lit up like a human neon, gun in hand, she ran towards the doors at the top of the steps. Hanging askew, the doors were still giving off smoke from the grenades. Of soldiers there was no sign, but she could hear the occasional burst of gunfire from within…
A few minutes earlier, not far inside the same shattered doorway, Trask, Goodly, and the Major had found a wounded NCO sitting on the floor with his back to a slot machine. He had taken a bullet in the leg but had seen to the wound himself. 'This'11 keep,' he told them through gritted teeth. 'I'm okay here — but you should take this with you.' Trask accepted the man's flamethrower and pack, and the precog helped him into the gear. The wounded man retained his machine-pistol; when they left he was slapping a fresh clip into the magazine housing.
Then, moving deeper into the smoky gloom of the place, the Major spoke into his headset: 'This is Zero. My group is inside the main doors and advancing. Sitreps, over?'
And the answers came back:
'Zero, this is Alpha Group. We're on the stairs on the far side, going up one level. No opposition.'
'Zero, this is Bravo Group. Stairs your side, going up one level. No opposition.'
'Zero, this is Charlie. We're ahead of you toward the central spindle. We have a man down inside the doors — and we just found something nasty.'
'Zero for Charlie, how nasty?'
'Charlie for Zero, not life-threatening — but nasty.'
'Zero for Charlie, we saw your man,' said the Major. 'He's okay… but you should have taken his flamer.'
'Charlie for Zero, we couldn't stop. We're in hot pursuit. Our target is still in here somewhere. Towards the elevators, we think.'
'Zero for Charlie, wait there/ said the Major, and moved on with Trask and Goodly close behind.
Throughout the casino's ground floor, mainly on the perimeter, several hissing phosphor flares had been lit; they gave light but also made smoke, which in turn made for a very eerie, shadow-etched atmosphere. Charlie group (which was now made up of just two men, WO II Red Bygraves and an NCO) was waiting midway between the doors and the central column of elevators. And indeed they had found something nasty. Zeroing in on their reflective patches, the Major's group of three found the soldiers keeping well back from their gruesome discovery.
Hanging by its ankles, upside-down from a chandelier, the corpse of a thin, spidery male figure turned slowly on a triple loop of electrical cable. The man's throat had been cut ear to ear, and his flesh was like snow, drained of
