contingency.”
“Ah, the SA-6 can’t hit shit under a hundred and fifty feet,” said Karr. “We just stay under that.”
“I can take out the processing van,” said Malachi. “Tell me the time and it’s gone.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Karr.
“Yeah, but what about the guns?” insisted Rockman.
“Those Zeus suckers?” asked Karr. “If the helo comes in right, they won’t be a problem. They don’t have a good line of fire, and besides, Fashona’ll splash them.”
“That’s not entirely true,” said Rockman. “There’s about ten seconds’ worth of exposure in and out.”
“Ah, what’s ten seconds?” said Karr.
“You know how much lead that translates into?” asked Telach.
“Enough for a coffin,” said Karr cheerfully.
Malachi leaned back in his seat, sipping his strawberry milk. A diversion in the air outside the fence, opposite the direction of the helicopter, would divert the gunners long enough for the Hind to wax them. He could self- destruct a Vessel out there, but there wouldn’t be much of a bang — the whole idea of the process was to be as unobtrusive as possible.
What if he crashed two together?
Still not much of a bang. Unless he had the boosters on them.
“I got it,” said Malachi. “Rather than using one Vessel and self-destructing, we fly two down, then have them crash into each other. Should cause some sparks.”
“How much?” asked Karr.
Malachi wasn’t sure. “I’m going to have to talk to the design people,” he told her. “May run some sims, too, see where the best impact would be and—”
“Run what you want,” said Karr. “Just as long as it happens in two hours.”
“Two hours — that’s tight, dude.” Malachi turned to the screen where he’d punched up a course earlier. “Two hours — I’d have to launch within five minutes.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Karr. “We’ll look for the bang. Update us on times when you’re ready.”
40
Dean and Karr rendezvoused with the Hind in a deserted field about five miles north of their target area. Fashona had had to scrape his belly against the ground for nearly ten miles to be sure of missing the SA-6’s radar and was in a foul mood, not even helping them unload the gear.
Dean remained dubious. The key to the plan was getting across the minefield using a scanning device attached to the handheld. The problem, though, was that it wasn’t designed to find mines, just explosives.
“Works like the sniffers at airports,” Karr said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“I heard those things don’t work,” said Dean.
“Ah, sure they do, baby-sitter. The only problem is I have to calibrate it for one explosive at a time, say C-4 or gunpowder, or what have you. Not a problem, though, because the Commies only have one kind of mine.”
“Bullshit,” said Dean, who’d dealt with mines in Vietnam. “And these guys aren’t the Commies.”
“You’ve been hanging around with Lia too long,” Karr told him. “You’re getting very negative.”
Lia, carrying a duffel bag of gear from the Hind, snorted in derision. Dean glanced momentarily at her sleek, muscled body, her sweaty T-shirt clinging tightly to her breasts. Then he turned back to Karr.
“How do we get from the minefield to the buildings?” asked Dean.
“We cross the road.”
“Real funny,” said Dean.
“He’s a riot, isn’t he?” put in Lia.
“A comedian.”
“We just duck the patrol, that’s all.”
“We going to time it?” asked Dean.
“Nah. Take too long, and besides, you can’t count on these guys. Their watches are always off. Cheap Commie workmanship,” said Karr. “We’ll watch them and go when they’re not there.”
“How?”
“The Bagel, baby-sitter. The Bagel.”
The Bagel looked like a kid’s hovercraft toy. Round with a hole in the middle — hence its name — it had two engines on either side and a long twin-rudder tail. It carried five kilograms of fuel and could fly for about an hour and a half, feeding its video to a receiver in Karr’s backpack. Though very slow, it was extremely quiet, and once in hover would stay at its designated spot even in gale-force winds.
Dean looked at the thing doubtfully. Even its rotors were plastic. The front had a small clear panel; the rear featured a thick set of baffles where the exhaust was muffled.
“Georgia uses these for traffic control,” said Karr. “Check out accidents, that sort of thing. They get better endurance because they don’t worry about the noise.”
Karr took the Bagel and put it into the back of the truck. It didn’t quite fit and he had to angle it.
“Lia and Fashona can strap the weapons on the Hind. You and I have to get going,” said Karr, looking back to the helicopter. “Long walk ahead of us. Get your vest, headset, gun, knife, the works.”
“I’m not a kindergartner, kid,” said Dean, picking up the lightweight armor.
“Sorry, graybeard.” Karr laughed and walked over to Lia near the cargo door to the helicopter. When he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, Dean felt a twinge of envy.
An hour later, Dean lay prone on the dirt above the embankment that led down to the fenced area, just out of view of the observation post. The boxy A-2 machine gun was in his right hand. His pockets were stuffed with small grenades; on his back over the protective armor was a wide but narrow rucksack. Inside were extra clips for the boxy gun and his two pistols, a backup com device, flares, rope, and a kind of sling made of rope they’d use to carry Martin out if he was hurt. He also carried a.22-caliber Ruger Mark II with a sonic suppressor — aka silencer — strapped in a holster at his chest.
In Dean’s opinion, the gun would be almost useless unless placed right on a victim’s head, assassination- style. Although it was admittedly an excellent weapon in its proper application, its small and relatively slow bullets wouldn’t so much as bruise someone wearing body armor.
Far better, Dean thought, to have MP-5Ns with suppressors — at least you’d have a chance of putting down the person who heard you.
A good quiet crossbow — there was a weapon these high-tech junkies should look into.
“Thirty seconds, baby-sitter,” Karr hissed in his ear. He sounded like he was hyperventilating already.
Dean’s doubts flooded into his veins, replacing his blood with fear. It was a suicidal plan.
He’d done crazy things before. The whole reason he was here — the whole reason he was working for Hadash, if he was still working for Hadash — was a crazy foolish plan.
One that had paid off handsomely.
That didn’t make this one any less ridiculous.
Karr leaped up. Dean followed, nearly tripping as they started down the embankment that led to the fence. A twenty-foot- wide swath had been bulldozed around the fence, both as a perimeter road and to make it easier to see and shoot anyone there. Just as they reached it, Karr pushed a button on his handheld, igniting a C-4 bomb he had set amid the gas cans in the back of the pickup, which they had parked on the northwestern flank of the fence.
Dean pushed himself sideways, got up and reached the fence, then fell through the hole Karr had already cut. He put the fencing back as carefully as he could, using the tape Karr had left to get it back into place well enough to withstand a cursory glance.
Meanwhile, gunfire, cannons, tracers ripped into the blackness. Even the ZSU-23s fired, their four-barreled volleys sounding like the pounding of a giant tin drum. There were sirens and flares, shouts in the distance. Dean pushed toward the supports for the guard tower on his right. Lights were switched on, searchlights — they were
