The late Dr. Chang had paved the way for their undetected landing. The communications jamming device supplied to the Colombians through Hugo Bix was working perfectly. The scarred man, Roland Arrias, was inside the Boeing 737, monitoring the device to ensure that all communications in and out of Groom Lake were cut off.
Meanwhile Captain Hsu’s strike team had stormed the puny garrison and slaughtered the security staff.
While the Cubans searched the hangars for fugitive Air Force personnel or cowering researchers, Jong Lee issued new orders to Captain Hsu.
“Go to Dormitory B. It is the only one that is occupied,” Jong said. “I want you to capture all the scientists and researchers staying there, bring them back here. I will decide who is useful, and we will take them with us. The others will be executed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to place two guards around the airplane, and have it refueled. We will depart within the hour. With the stealth device the Cubans installed, the 737 will be invisible to American radar. We will cross the border and land at our base in Mexico three hours from now.”
Hsu nodded.
“And after you’ve brought the prisoners here, you must make preparations for your solo flight in the Blackfoot, Captain Hsu.”
17. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 4 A.M. AND 5 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Face tense, eyes wide, Steve Sable peered through a gap in the hangar door. Another gunshot echoed in the night.
“Son of a — they shot somebody else,” Sable cried. “A mechanic, I think. Guys in black BDUs pulled him out of the big hangar… shot him in the back of the head, execution-style.”
Tony, still bound, twisted his head to face his captor.
“They’re after the technology in Hangar 18. Lots of equipment there. They got a taste for high-tech from the stuff you peddled. Now they’re here for the rest.”
Tony paused to listen as another burst was unleashed.
“They’re getting close, Sable. They’re going to be here soon. What do you think they’re going to do to you?”
Sable heard cries outside, backed away from the door.
“Listen,” Tony said. “You were right. I’m an agent for the Counter Terrorist Unit. Cut me loose and I can deal with these guys. Send an SOS—”
“You can’t send shit!” Sable cried. He slammed his cell phone down on the workbench. “Everything is jammed. The cell phone is worthless.”
“I have weapons,” Tony said. “Stashed in Hangar Six. Cut me loose and I can protect you.”
Eyes shifting like a frightened animal, Sable hovered over Tony.
“Yeah, how can I trust you?” he asked.
“You have no choice,” Tony replied, staring straight ahead.
Tony felt cold steel against his wrists. “You’ve got to understand this was nothing personal, Tony. What I did to you I did to survive. Now we’re on the same side, right?”
While Sable babbled, he cut away the cables until Tony was free. Groaning, the CTU agent reached down and rubbed his legs where the wires chafed him. Then he reached for something lying on the floor.
“You’re free, Tony. Buddies again, right? Don’t forget to tell the feds how I helped you. After this is over, I want to cut some kind of a deal.”
“Sure,” Tony replied. “Let’s shake on it.”
Sable extended his arm, and Tony thrust the live wire into his open hand. Sable jerked as if struck, reeled against the workbench. He wagged his arm to free his hand, but the circuit would not be broken. Like a poisonous serpent that sank its fangs deep into flesh, the cable pumped thousands of volts through Steve Sable’s twitching body. Tony crossed to the generator and turned up the juice.
He waited until Sable was on his back, and smoke was coming out of the man’s ears, eyes and nostrils before he cut the power.
“Yeah, there’s your deal, old buddy,” snarled Tony.
Legs numb, Tony stumbled to the hangar door, peered through the crack. He saw the Boeing 737 squatting on the tarmac, two men guarding it, both armed with assault rifles. A third man was pumping jet fuel into the aircraft. It was clear the enemy — whoever they were — was planning to escape in the same aircraft that brought them.
Tony grinned mirthlessly.
Shirtless, Tony was clad in light gray sweat pants and white sneakers that practically glowed in the dark — no match for the black camouflaged BDUs the bad guys were wearing. After he stashed Dr. Sable’s still smoldering corpse in a storage bin, Tony raced to the grease pit behind the helicopter.
Dipping his hand in the muck, Tony smeared the brackish tar all over his pants, his shoes, then his hard- muscled arms and torso. Finally, he streaked oil across his forehead, his cheeks, under his eyes.
Tony moved to the rear of the hanger. On the way he grabbed Sable’s cell phone and tucked it into his sweats.
Cautiously, Tony slipped out the back door and vanished in the fast fading night.
Jong Lee’s commandos had corralled their hostages in Hangar Six. The doors were open and the massive interior of the hangar blazed with light.
The hostages, mostly scientists, engineers and researchers, had been rousted out of their beds and marched to this place. Many still wore robes, pajamas, sweats or underwear, and walked in bare feet or slippers. The few airmen and officers spared immediate execution were in uniform or work clothes. Now everyone was huddled on the concrete floor, hands on their heads, and their armed captors silently watched over them.
Captain Hsu’s men had stormed the dormitory and captured its occupants in an efficient and methodical manner. But the prisoners soon learned that their captors were prone to casual violence if their authority was challenged in the smallest way.
As they were herded out of the dorm at the start of their march, Dr. Megan Reed — ridiculously clad in a pink Meow, Meow Kitty teddy and little else — refused to obey one of the soldier’s commands quickly enough, and was knocked to the ground by the butt of his rifle. Corporal Stratowski moved to defend the woman and was executed on the spot, in front of everyone.
After that, the hostages were cowed, though Dr. Bascomb had to be restrained by Alvin Toth, or the middle- aged, pony-tailed scientist would have been murdered, too.
Gunfire could be heard all over the base. While Captain Hsu grabbed the prisoners, the bulk of the raiders descended on the hangars, stripping them of everything of value.
When the hostages were led past a 737 parked on the runway near Hangar 18, they saw men in black BDUs packing the cargo bays with everything from computers to prototypes of advanced weapons systems, test missiles, even bits of random machinery. Like technology-starved locusts, the raiders stripped advanced avionics systems out of the cockpit of experimental aircraft, looted file cabinets, ripped the hard drives out of every computer.
From her spot on the floor, Dr. Reed observed the activity swirling around the airplane. She also used her time to study their captors, listen to their words. Some of the men spoke Spanish, but most were Asians and spoke a dialect of Chinese. If Dr. Chang were here, she could translate. Megan wondered what had happened to her friend, Beverly. Perhaps she got away.
Dani Welles sidled a little closer to her boss. “How’s the jaw?” she whispered.
