ID.'
'We have to knock out the videocamera,' Jeffrey said. 'Then one of us can carry her on his shoulders through the floor-to-ceiling turnstile.'
'Won't breaking the camera set off another alarm?' Ilse said.
'Sir, let me use the welding rig real quick, since they'll be watching on the fish-eye. I'll zap the camera cable.'
'I like it. Then, if we can move fast enough, the alarm should work in our favor.' The alarm must have been silent. Past the turnstile, the threesome ran as fast as they could. They came to the spot where the rest of the SEALs were hiding. It was an especially hot, humid, and noisy cul-de-sac, where few lab workers or guards were likely to go, well concealed by big steel cooling pipes that also gave good cover from enemy fire. SEALs One and Nine brought their weapons to bear, then waved Jeffrey through as soon as his group was recognized.
Clayton and Salih were there, huddled over a floor plan and recon photos. Clayton was suited up for battle.
Salih held a pistol borrowed from a SEAL. Twenty other Gastarbeiter were there, also armed with borrowed pistols, or borrowed knives or grenades, or lengths of pipe. They weren't a rabble, but a disciplined formation in two squads.
'When we couldn't find you, sir,' Clayton said, 'Salih alerted his people. We were hoping you three would make it back on your own.'
'I think there are guards right on our tail,' Jeffrey said. It was better tactically for the first wave of guards to come to them. 'Where's the toolbox?'
'Inside a T-joint access hatch, in a cooling bypass loop we closed the valves to isolate.
Where's Ilse's briefcase?'
'In a supply room in the other half,' Ilse said, 'down on the third level. Behind cartons of printer paper and water-cooler refill jugs.'
'I know what's in your boxes,' Salih said. 'I'm a building engineer, remember? You'd never come this far just to spy. Do what you have to do.'
'ROEs have been satisfied.' Jeffrey checked his watch. 'Lieutenant Clayton, arm and start your bomb, seven five minutes timer delay.'
'Arm and start it, seven five minutes, aye.' Clayton rushed off. SEALs One and Nine moved out to deepen the perimeter. One of Salih's squads followed each SEAL, crouching low.
Jeffrey and Ilse hurried into their black drysuits and flak vests. They pulled on urban warfare camo smocks — a pattern of broken shapes in white and black and gray, like shattered concrete and asphalt. SEALs Seven and Eight helped them don the rest of their battle gear. Jeffrey double-checked Ilse from head to foot, feeling very protective of her, especially now that they might have a chance to survive. She stood still for his close inspection, and made quick eye contact from very close, and there was something very intimate and special in her look.
Jeffrey turned to Salih. The Turk's stooped posture was long gone. His eyes sparkled in a way Jeffrey hadn't seen before.
'You held something back from us, didn't you?' Jeffrey said. Salih grinned. 'Need-to-know, Commander. In case you were captured yourself. After the first hangings, we reorganized from an ersatz labor union into infantry platoons in secret. A lot of the men did national service in the army, in Turkey or in Germany. I made corporal before I got out of the Bundesarmee.' The German Army.
'Did your two men really confess about the guard?'
'I'm not good at making speeches. Those two volunteered, as soon as I explained things. They knew what would be done to them. I knew the rest of us would have to watch. That got my men fired up, far better than my words could.'
Jeffrey gulped: the self-sacrifice, the ruthlessness. 'I'm glad you're on our side, Mr. Salih.'
'Call me Gamal.'
'There are a hundred of you?'
'Some are massed at key points on the other side of the interlock, waiting to break cover when they hear the shooting reach them. The rest of us are here, or waiting near here. My men all know the only alternative to escape is death, from your bombs or from a German noose. We'll fight hard.'
'How many more of you have firearms?'
'None so far,' Salih said. 'We'll get them the time-honored guerrilla way, from enemy dead. Some of you might reach the surface, with our help.'
'All right.' It would be a slaughter, but with both A-bombs in place they had nothing to lose. The same idea had come to Jeffrey after crawling through the air duct — to join with the Turks and try to fight their way out together — but Clayton and Salih were way ahead of him.
Clayton returned. 'The device is armed and set.' Jeffrey looked at the SEAL team leader with new, heightened admiration.
'There's one change,' Jeffrey said. 'On the way out, we work past the test chamber, and grab the model missile.'
'Concur,' Clayton said.
'There's something else,' Ilse said. 'We should swing by the computer center. Before the A-bombs blow, we steal the drive disks outright.'
Over Jeffrey's helmet earphones came, 'Six, One, contact! Contact!' Around a bend there was a crackling burst of assault rifle fire. Jeffrey heard soft sputtering, and whining ricochets, as SEALs One and Nine responded. A grenade went off with a flash and a sharp concussion, and there were screams.
To sounds of more gunfire, Clayton finished his hasty briefing, telling everyone where to go and what to do and how to stay coordinated. 'Keep them guessing! Keep up the pressure! Don't stop for anything till we get out the front door!' Each platoon had phase lines, and intermediate objectives, like any infantry assault. Clayton, Montgomery, and Jeffrey each commanded a platoon. Each of the SEALs, and Ilse and Salih, led a squad of Turks.
Jeffrey's group took off in one direction, Montgomery's in the other. Ilse and Salih stuck with Clayton, the headquarters platoon.
There was a deafening blast. The overpressure tried to burst Ilse's lungs. Her headphones crackled.
'Six, Nine. Turnstile down with C4!' That was SEAL Nine calling Clayton. Smoke and concrete dust began to fill the air.
Another burst of assault rifle fire, then more grenades.
'Six, Three! Three Platoon advancing toward trucking interlock!' That was Montgomery. Ilse knew his thrust was a feint, but one with a purpose. He had to secure their rear. With most of Clayton's scratch command half- starved Turks, they couldn't afford a fight on two fronts inside the lab.
Ilse followed Clayton round a bend. She leaped past dead Germans and Turks. Her own Gastarbeiter squad followed in her footsteps, lugging her pack. Some of her Turks stopped to strip dead guards of weapons and ammo, helmets and body armor.
'Their boots!' Ilse shouted in German — the Turks' sandals were pathetic and it was dead of winter outside. 'Take their hoots!' A spent round ricocheted past her head, then another. She bent lower and charged. She came to the wrecked turnstile; she vaulted over twisted titanium bars. It was raining. What? The sprinklers had gone off. She dashed through a waterfall, a ruptured overhead pipe.
She glanced back. Three of her Turks had weapons. She waved for them to fan out, to build a base of fire. For all their zeal, their combat skills were rusty; she didn't want one firing into her back.
'Six, Three,' came over her headphones. 'Truck interlock jammed as ordered. Mechanism fused with thermite grenades. We'll wreck the service elevator next.' Ilse heard and felt a heavy blast. 'Elevator destroyed.'
'Three, Six. Casualties?' Ilse caught a glimpse of Clayton, firing on the run. He dropped a guard. Another fired at Ilse, hit one of her Turks. She dropped the other guard. A Gastarbeiter grabbed the fallen Turk's rifle.
'Achtung, achtung,' came over the public address. 'All staff proceed to safety areas. This is not an exercise.'
'Five, Four,' Jeffrey's voice called Ilse. 'What was that?'
'The staff's taking cover!'
'Where?' Jeffrey shouted.
