and standing until Townsend had seated himself. Reingruber passed by the open door and Townsend saw the fear in Masters’s face. “Has the Major been bothering you, Doctor?”
“No, not really,” Masters replied. “But I’m always afraid he’s going to hurt me. He keeps watching me, and he speaks to some of the men while they’re working with me. It’s as if he’s plotting to hurt me and make it look like an accident.”
“You need not worry about him. Stay close to me and it will be all right,” Townsend said. “I am the one in command here.”
Jon seemed reassured.
Townsend was pleased. They had organized the psychological dismantling of Jonathan Masters well. Reingruber had had another session with him yesterday afternoon, after the water drum, pressuring him to tell how to work the electronic suit. Masters did a creditable job of resisting the threats, but the pressure took its toll. Reingruber barely even touched him, but he was terrified. When Townsend appeared, he was ready to run into his arms like a child.
From then on, he confided in Townsend, describing his inventions to the point of forgetting who he was talking to, where he was, and the fact he was a captive. Before long, he began to explain the intricacies of the suit-the real evidence of a successful indoctrination, Townsend decided. He and Faulkner had made him feel included, liked, respected. He was eager to please them in return. The belligerent John Wayne attitude was gone. He agreed to let Faulkner wear the suit, and got up before dawn that morning to start working with him, explaining all its systems.
“How is everything progressing?” Townsend asked. “I understand Dr Faulkner is having a little trouble with the suit.”
“It’s going well, sir,” Masters said. “Richard’s a fast learner and he’s patient.”
“But he doesn’t seem to be learning to use the systems as well as I’d hoped.”
“It takes time,” Masters said. “The coordination necessary to use the eyeball sensing menu system is complex. It may take another day or two. But we should be able to try a test outdoors tomorrow morning, perhaps even with live ammunition.”
“We really need to do it much sooner than that. We have very little time to waste. Can you set it up for early this afternoon?”
“I’m not… yes, sir. We’ll make it work. Sir…”
“Yes?” Townsend said patiently.
“I wondered-have you reconsidered perhaps having the suit fitted for you? It will take some time, but I think I can do it.”
“Perhaps later, Doctor,” said Townsend. “Now get back to work.”
Masters jumped to his feet, snapped to attention, and hurried back to Faulkner, who was about to try on the gauntlets. The helmet lay on the table; it would come next.
As Townsend walked off, one of Reingruber’s lieutenants came running up, out of breath. Reingruber was following, as angry as Townsend had ever seen him. “
“What is it?”
The lieutenant held up a portable receiving unit. “This. We did a routine electromagnetic security sweep this morning. We found this.” A needle on the receiving unit was oscillating across the scale. “It is a high-power omnidirectional UHF satellite uplink,” the lieutenant explained. “A tracking beacon.”
Townsend didn’t need to be told more. “Get your men assembled and out the door immediately!” he ordered Reingruber. He drew his Calico automatic pistol and went back into the room where Masters was working with Faulkner.
Masters saw his livid face and froze. Faulkner, oblivious, raised his arms proudly. “What do you think, Colonel?” he said. “I get a shock every time I get hit, but the sucker works.”
“Oh, it works, all right,” Townsend said. “Very clever, Doctor. Pretending to be brainwashed so you could get your hands on the suit and activate some sort of tracking beacon, correct?”
Jon Masters positioned himself behind a confused Faulkner. There was no point in dissembling. “Listen, Townsend,” he said, “I spent enough years with
Townsend raised the automatic. “Well, your friends are too late to save you, Doctor,” he said. “And they’re too late to save your friend Helen.”
Jon blanched. “What did you say?”
“Did I forget to tell you?” Townsend asked. “Yes, Dr Helen Kaddiri is a guest of mine. An unexpected bonus. She will be my insurance policy. If your friends try to come after me, she will die. As for you…”
An enormous blast shook the room and the wall behind Masters crashed down. The concussion threw the three men to the floor, and as the sound of the blast subsided they heard heavy rotors coming close. Masters curled himself up behind Faulkner, as if willing himself to become even smaller than he was.
“You bloody bastard!” Townsend shouted. He lifted himself on one arm and pulled the trigger on the Calico, but the shots went wild as heavy cannon fire erupted outside. Townsend fired again, raking the floor with automatic gunfire. The suit protected Faulkner, and Masters behind him, until one shot hit Faulkner in his unprotected head. Another missile hit the building, then another volley of heavy-caliber cannon fire.
“
Townsend leaped to his feet, reloading a fresh magazine into his autopistol as he fled. “Remember, Doctor,” he shouted, “I have Kaddiri. Tell your friends to back off or she dies!”
The MV-22 Pave Hammer tilt-rotor aircraft swept over the rolling wooded terrain. The pilot had activated the helmet-mounted targeting system, which directed the 20-millimeter Hughes Chain Gun onto a target when he turned his head and pulled the trigger. The targeting system also gave him a virtual targeting reticle for the MV- 22’s pylon-mounted laser-guided Hellfire missiles. Once he designated a target by looking at it and pushing a button, the targeting computer locked on to the target and illuminated it with a laser beam. One push of a button, and a Hellfire missile leaped off the Pave Hammer’s weapon pylons, followed the beam of laser light, and scored a direct hit.
“They’re scattering!” the MV-22’s copilot shouted. “I see a helicopter lifting off to the northwest, and several vehicles heading west. Do you want me to go after them?”
“No!” McLanahan shouted. “I want to get Jon Masters first! Set it down by the building where the tracking signals are coming from.” Minutes later, the MV-22 had transitioned from airplane to helicopter mode and set down a few dozen yards from the main building on the isolated Sierra Nevada-foothill ranch.
The first ones off the MV-22 were California Highway Patrol SWAT officers, who surrounded the landing pad and moved out to secure the landing zone. This was done deliberately. It was highly illegal for the federal government’s Intelligence Support Agency to run any operations within the United States, but it could fly support missions for state or local law-enforcement authorities. As long as the ISA was in a support function only, its men could fly and fight inside the United States.
Lieutenant Colonel Hal Briggs led the way into the main building, armed with his.45-caliber Uzi submachine gun. Right behind him was the commander of the California Highway Patrol Special Weapons and Tactics Detail, Deputy Chief Thomas Conrad, followed by a sergeant representing the Placer County Sheriff’s Department’s SWAT team. Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wohl and Patrick McLanahan followed behind, guarding their rear. Three more four-man squads of SWAT officers fanned out across the ranch and began to search the grounds, but there were no signs of resistance. Afraid of booby traps, Briggs recalled the teams as soon as they completed their sweeps.
To Briggs’s amazement, he found Jon Masters running through the main house, darting from room to room. “Jon!” Briggs shouted, lowering his weapon. “What in hell are you doing?”
“I’ve got to find a phone! I’ve got to find a phone!” he was screaming. Briggs grabbed him and held him tight. “Let me go, dammit!…”
“What in hell are you talking about, Doc?”
