Another step. He was in arm’s reach now. Balboa’s eyes were wide, nostrils flared. Jack could see he was panicking. “Move again and I’ll—”
The gunshot shattered the tense stillness. Balboa’s head jerked backwards in a fountain of blood. Jack lunged, snatched the girl out of his limp arms, clutched her tightly. The Makarov clattered to the balcony as the dead man pitched backwards, over the edge.
Jack turned to see Lilly racing toward her daughter. He released the girl and Pamela ran into her mother’s arms.
Nina stepped out from behind the curtains. The Glock seemed huge in her dainty hand.
“Good shot,” said Jack. “What about the others.”
Nina frowned. “I think the man I shot was meant to be a diversion. Curtis and I found two dead men in the janitor’s closet. Firemen. Their gear was missing. We called downstairs to have the stairs guarded, but we were too late. Whoever killed the firemen managed to slip past the cordon.”
15. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 A.M. AND 3 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Gripping Stella Hawk’s hand in his own, Pizarro Rojas dragged the woman across the deserted airport parking lot, toward a fence surrounding the private military terminal. The lights of the Vegas Strip blazed, but it was the sound of emergency sirens that dominated the night. In the distance, Pizarro could see plumes of smoke rising above the skyline, police and press helicopters circling the smoldering Babylon Hotel.
The Colombian was surprised to find the guardhouse empty. He led Stella around the roadblock and into the restricted aread. Crouching behind a row of parked cars near the terminal building, Pizarro spied Carlos Boca. The Cuban waved them forward.
“You made it, Senor Rojas. Congratulations. By the noise on the streets, I would guess the bombs went off on schedule,” Carlos said.
Pizarro nodded. “How many others are here?”
“Eight, counting Roland and I.”
“Who is missing?”
Boca frowned. “Salazar and young Hector. I don’t know what happened to them. And your brother?”
Pizarro shook his head. “He helped me escape the hotel, but I’m not sure he got out himself.”
Carlos Boca sighed. “Two men lost to that spy at Bix’s Garage. Now Salazar and Hector—
“The stealth device that was stolen from us was only the beginning. If all goes well, we will have technology to match anything our enemies possess. Machines that will erase national borders. We will control the cocaine market as never before,” Pizarro declared.
Roland Arrias joined them. Like Boca, he carried a metal toolbox in his hand. “There is no sign of the Chinaman,” he said.
“You’re wrong,” Pizarro hissed. “Look.”
Jong Lee stood at the terminal’s front door. At his side a woman in a black jumpsuit clutched an AK–47. With a casual gesture, he waved them forward. Hesitantly, the Cuban commandos rose from their hiding places among the cars.
“Move,” Roland barked, and the men sprinted to the terminal entrance. Moaning impatiently, Stella rose and followed Pizarro, heels clicking on the pavement.
“You are early,” Jong Lee said. “You didn’t require our assistance, I see,” Rojas replied.
“Yizi, with my commandos, secured this building—” He glanced at his Rolex. “Twenty-one minutes ago.”
Jong Lee glanced at the box clutched in Roland’s hand, then the one held by Carlos Boca. “You have both devices?”
Carlos nodded. “Here and operational.” “Good,” Jong said. “Then let us board the airplane.”
Lee led them through the silent, windowless terminal. The harsh glare of overhead fluorescent lights cast ghastly shadows across the corpses sprawled on the floor, draped over chairs and desktops. Men and women. Air Force security personnel in blue uniforms, terminal employees, and over a dozen civilian workers who had reported for the late shift had been cut down in a hail of gunfire.
“How did you manage this without attracting attention?” Pizarro asked, clearly impressed.
“Yizi, Captain Hsu and my commandos, they are all highly trained,” Jong replied. “They infiltrated the terminal using current security codes and a valid card key. Their weapons were equipped with noise suppression devices, and they killed without hesitation.
It took only a few minutes to wrest control of this facility from the American military.”
“Where are your commandos now?” Roland asked, stroking his scar with his free hand.
“They are waiting for us inside the plane. Hurry, now. We must take off precisely on time so we do not attract the attention of McCarran Airport’s air traffic control personnel.”
A moment later, the commandos exited the terminal on the opposite side of the building. In a long line they crossed the tarmac and climbed stairs that led into the passenger compartment of an unmarked Boeing 737–200, its engines idling on the tarmac.
Three minutes later JANET 9—the call sign for the two forty-five AM flight to Groom Lake Air Force Base — lifted off from McCarran on schedule. Captain Hsu was at the controls, Yizi in the co-pilot’s seat.
The trip was a short one. They would reach their destination in approximately twenty-two minutes.
Airman Trudi Hwang was the only air traffic controller on duty that night. Since the process of base deactivation had begun, the pace of the flights had diminished, and so had the work load. With all but one of the dormitories unoccupied, the full-time staff cut to less that a hundred, there was less and less to do.
In the old days, a minimum of two controllers were required on every shift. Nowadays, it was two guys in the morning, two in the afternoon, and one lonely and bored controller on the graveyard shift.
Trudi sat up in her chair and stared out of the tall windows. The night sky was black and strewn with stars. Not even the brilliant lights of Las Vegas interfered with the star shine here in the desert. She sighed and reached for her tea, to find it ice cold.
She glanced at the clock. JANET 9, the next flight of the evening, arrived in less than ten minutes. She’d already verified the IFF signal, and the pilot had radioed in. If she bothered to look, Airman Hwang could watch the blip approaching the base on her radar. Instead she headed for the tiny kitchenette to brew more tea.
Feeling lonely, she considered calling Tom, the night officer downstairs, just to hear a human voice. But the man on security detail in the tiny terminal building would only think she was interested in him and hit on her. The military was different than the real world. A girl had to watch how she presented herself, lest the men around her neglect to take her seriously.
She was filling the tea pot at the sink when a silhouette loomed in the doorway. Startled, Trudi yelped.
“Whoa. Calm down. It’s me… Beverly.”
The woman stepped into the light and Trudi breathed a sigh of relief. “Dr. Chang. You scared the heck out of me.”
Beverly Chang smiled, displayed a plastic bound folder. “Sorry. I was delivering the new security protocol codes.”
“You could have left them in the box,” Trudi replied, moving the pot to the hot plate. “Or you could have delivered them tomorrow.”
“I was awake. Big demonstration today, another experiment Tuesday. Lots to do…”
Turning away from the woman, Trudi shook her head. “I don’t know how you scientist types do it, I mean —”
The silenced gun coughed twice. Trudi tried to cry out. Instead she dropped the tea pot and pitched
