'The camera sight line is dead-on,' Quarry added. 'But I'll check it right up to the last minute.'
'Chances of it being discovered and taken out of operation?'
'Slim at best given the time parameters, but if it does you've got to resort to the backup.' Quarry slipped a pair of heavy binoculars from his knapsack and handed them to Carlos. 'An old-fashioned decent pair of optics and two good eyes. I've got a sightline for you that won't reveal your position. You just slide the lever I showed you in the bunker open, like a gun turret.'
Carlos nodded in understanding. 'And the other thing?' he said, eying the house, the treeline, and the critical ground in between.
Quarry smiled. 'That's the beauty of the whole damn thing, Carlos. It's all activated when you hit the one button.' He grinned like a schoolboy who'd just won the science fair. 'Took me a while to build, little tricky, works off a split feed, but I got there. And once you push it, Carlos, there ain't no going back, my friend.'
'And how do I contact you at the mine?'
'First, you'll contact me whether things go right or go to hell. And you'll do it with this.' Quarry handed him a boxy device. 'Like a SAT phone,' he explained. 'The call will get to me, even up at the mine. I've already tested it. But the slit in the hole you'll be in has to be open so it can communicate with the satellite. But it'll only take you a few seconds to make the call. No long-winded messages, just yea or nay.'
Carlos held the phone. 'Where did you get this?'
'Built it out of spare parts.'
'But the signal from the satellite?'
'Piggybacked on an existing platform. Went to the library and got some info off the computer that showed me how to do it. Easier than you might think if your mind works that way. Hell, Carlos, all this stuff I did here is easy compared to what we had to jury-rig in 'Nam. So this way saved me a lot of money. Money I ain't got.'
Carlos looked at him in unconcealed awe. 'Is there nothing you can't do?'
'There's lots of things I can't do. Most of them important. I'm just a working man. Don't know squat about shit.'
'So when is all this going to go down?'
'I'll let you know, but it'll be soon.'
Carlos once more looked over at the knoll. Quarry watched him closely.
'You'll be hidden, but exposed at the same time,' Quarry said. 'Close quarters.'
'I know this,' answered Carlos, whose gaze shifted to a buzzard making lazy ovals in the sky.
'It's only an issue if they make it one. Otherwise you walk away.'
Carlos nodded, but kept his gaze on the bird.
'You want me to switch with you I got no problem with that, Carlos. But I'll ask this one time only.'
The wiry man shook his head. 'I told you I would do this and I will do this.'
Carlos left and Quarry unlocked the door to the little house and walked in. Everything was ready, except for one missing piece. But that would come.
An hour later Quarry lifted into the sky in his Cessna. The low-level winds were rough and his little plane crab-walked across the sky, but it didn't bother him. He'd flown through a lot worse. A little turbulence would never kill him. A lot of other things could, though. And probably would.
He had a lot to think about, and he did his best thinking while flying along. At a few thousand feet up, his mind seemed to clear even as the air thinned. In the back of the plane was a box filled with cables and wires. In that box, and in a second box up at the mine, he would draw out his doomsday scenario. He would only use it if he had to, and he hoped he didn't.
As he flew, Quarry's thoughts went back to the last time Tippi had ever spoken. He and his wife had rushed to Atlanta when they'd been told how desperately ill their daughter was. Quarry had never wanted his little girl to move to the big city, but children grow up and you have to let them.
When the doctor at the hospital told them what had happened, neither of them could believe it. Not their Tippi. There must have been some mistake. But there had been no mistake. She had already sunk into a coma because of the blood loss. However, the physical evidence was conclusive, they'd been told.
Cameron had left the room to get some coffee and Quarry had been leaning up against the wall, his jeans dirty, his shirt stained with sweat from the long ride over from Alabama in summer heat with no air conditioning. He'd come right from the fields after his wife had raced across the tilled dirt screaming about the phone call she'd gotten. The compressed, artificial air in the big hospital had been foul, suffocating for a man used to wide-open spaces.
The police had also come in and Quarry had had to deal with them. He'd become so enraged at their line of questioning that Cameron had been forced to make him leave the room, the only person on earth, other than Tippi, who had that sort of influence over him. The cops had finished and gone on their way. From their sour looks as they trudged past him down the hall, Quarry held out little hope of getting any justice that way.
And so he'd been alone in her room, just him and his little girl. The machines had been clunking, and the pumps pumping; the monitor making its little screeches that felt like the boom of artillery to Quarry. Even screaming shots of anti-aircraft fire aimed at his Phantom in the skies over Vietnam had never scared him as badly as the whine of that damn machine while it dutifully recorded his baby's desperately poor condition.
It was extremely doubtful she would ever recover, the doctors had warned them. One unsympathetic white coat with the bedside manner of a hyena had been especially pessimistic. 'Too much blood loss. Brain damage. Part of her mind had already died.' He added, 'If it makes you feel any better, she's not experiencing any pain. And it's not really your daughter there anymore. She's already gone, actually.'
This had not only not made Quarry feel better, he'd knocked the doctor's front teeth out and nearly been banned from the hospital because of it.
And then while he'd been standing there Tippi had opened her eyes and looked at him. Just like that. He remembered every moment of it precisely, vividly, as he flew along the thermals in his Cessna.
He'd been so shocked that at first he didn't know what to do. He'd blinked, thinking his vision was just messed up, or he was merely seeing what he wanted to see rather than what was actually there.
'Daddy?'
He was next to her in an instant, holding her hand, his face bare inches from hers.
'Tippi? Baby. Daddy's right here. Right here.'
Her head started swaying from side to side and the monitor was screeching like it never had before. He was terrified he would lose her again to the shadows, to the part of her mind that was no longer there.
He squeezed her hand, gently held her chin in place, stopping the swaying so her eyes focused only on him. 'Tippi. I'm right here. Your momma'll be right back. Don't you go away now. Tippi! Don't you go away!'
Her eyes had closed, panicking him. He looked around to maybe call somebody. Get some help to hold his daughter with them.
'Daddy?'
He jerked back. 'I'm here, baby.' Despite trying to hold them back, the tears came hard and fierce down his lined face, a face that had aged more in the last day than in the last ten years.
'I love you.'
'I love you too, baby.' He put one hand against his chest trying to stop his heart from ripping through. 'Tippi, you got to tell me what happened. You got to tell me who did this to you.'
Her eyes started to lose focus again and then closed. He searched frantically through his mind for anything to keep her attention.
'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,' he said.
It was the first line from Pride and Prejudice.
They'd read the book back and forth to each other over the years.
Tippi opened her eyes, smiled, and a gush of air came out of Quarry, because he was convinced that God had just given him his little girl back, despite what the white coats had said.
'Tell me who did this to you, Tippi. Tell me, baby,' he said as firmly as he could.
She mouthed only four words but it was enough. He understood them.
'Thank you, baby. God, I love you so much.'
He looked up at the ceiling. 'Thank you, sweet Jesus.'
