Thomas Hoover - Project Cyclops

He slipped a glance at Peretz, standing over by the water cooler, then quickly typed in an acknowledgment.

Then came the specific directions. She was asking him to switch control of the servos for Radar One over to her terminal. What was she doing? The radars were always controlled by Big Benny, the Fujitsu here in Command. He grimaced. Switching the big radar over to her workstation was a tall order. And the Israeli bastard was waiting for his SORT run. So now the trick was to try to do both things at once.

He split the screen and went to work.

"Georges is a genius," she said, turning back, "but this may not actually be possible. Nobody's ever done it before."

"Whatever you're planning had better be possible or we've got to begin thinking up a Plan B, and quick." He was staring out the open door. "Because our new friends are definitely on their way and ready for a close encounter."

"Georges has got to hook this terminal directly to the Fujitsu-which isn't how we normally use it-and then give me control of the routine that runs the servos. In effect he has to put them on manual."

"Don't think you're going to manage it in time," he said. He was thinking this was no time to get experimental, but he decided to keep the thought to himself. Instead he nervously checked the Uzi. Three rounds were left in the last remaining clip. He regretted all the random firing he had done over the last few hours. Now every round had to be hoarded as though it were the last. On the other hand, maybe he was lucky just to have the damned Uzi at all, along with the few puny rounds left. The trick now was to try not to have to use them.

Down below them the four black figures had already moved past the helicopter landing pad and were about to be swallowed up in the copse of trees that began at the base of the hill. But now a sliver of moon had appeared from behind a bank of clouds in the east, casting an eerie pale glow onto the scene. He found himself deeply wishing for an IR scope, which would be a great help, bring them right up.

"I just lost them in the trees," he said, turning back. "Which means we've got about five minutes left for whatever you've got in mind."

"Trust me." She was still typing. 'This workstation just logged onto the big system, so the main servo program is now accessible from here. Georges, I love you. Now all I have to do is try and override the internal checks that go through the Fujitsu down in Command."

Vance was staring, not quite sure what he was expected to say. "Then what?"

"Hopefully it's a surprise," she laughed, a trifle grimly. Just be quiet and let me work." Then her voice swelled with nger. "The bastards. This is going to be a pleasure. After what they did to Chris, maybe I'll get to return the favor."

Vance started to say something, but stopped when he noticed the first signs of motion at the edge of the copse of brush. The killers were emerging, and the sight gave him a chill. They're the hunters and we're the quarry, he thought, it's going to be like a giant turkey-shoot, played with automatics.

"You know…" He turned back. '”here's still time for you to give yourself up. They'd probably rather have you live anyway. You could do the white-flag thing and I could use the confusion to try and make it into the brush down here, toward the shore. Those guys are carrying something that looks suspiciously like heavy weaponry. But that's a riddle we don't want to solve empirically."

"Look, trust me," she shot back. "I know what I'm doing… I think. Don't you have any faith?"

"We may not know each other well enough to be having his conversation."

"As a matter of fact, you're exactly right." She hurriedly finished typing. "Okay, Georges has the control set up now and we're on line. Hang on."

She reached down to flip a large red switch on the side of he console. Immediately one of the large green cathode-ray tubes began to glow. What it showed, however, was not the usual sweeping line going round and round. Instead it dismayed the crisp outline of the VX-1 space vehicle at the other end of the island. Next she flipped another switch, then reached for a mouse that was connected to the keyboard. She zipped it across, and the focus of the radar picture changed, almost as though it were a zoom lens. The image of the vehicle became larger and smaller. He realized the radar could be focused.

Then she called in another routine.

"I'm going to cut the power for a second, take it down cross the facility and onto the base of the mountain, and then I'll power up again."

He watched as the outline of the island, in exquisite detail, swept over the screen.

"I thought this thing was only for transmission. How can it be sending back images?"

“There's the phased-array section for powering the vehicle with microwaves-that's part of the Cyclops-but we also have to have a guidance section, for keeping the beam on track. The Cyclops is the gun, but the guidance radar here is what we use to aim it." She was concentrating on the screen "Now, where do you think our friends are down there?"

'They're probably halfway up the hill by now."

"Let's take a look." She brought down the focus, then began scanning.

"Hold on." He stayed her hand, bringing the mouse to halt, and then pointing to the lower left corner of the large screen. "Didn't something move just then, right there?"

"Where?"

There." He took the mouse and guided the image to center screen. "Where is that in the real world? It's got to be close."

She zipped the mouse again, bringing up the detail. A number scrolled at the bottom of the screen. "Four hundred meters, to be exact."

As Moreau emerged from the last copse of cypress, he scanned the mountain, towering upward in the moonlit night, and wondered where the bastard would be holed up. There was one obvious place-in the cinderblock control house.

Yeah, ten to one that's where he had to be. The guy was stupid, riding a lucky streak. It was over.

On the other hand, he thought, there's no reason not to take this slow. Just in case. The fucker wasn't that stupid.

He looked down as a limb of thorny bramble caught his black trousers, tearing a hole near the knee. "Je m'en fiche!”

Although he lived by terrorism, Jean-Paul was a confirmed denizen of Paris's rive gauche and he had little use for roughing it here on this godforsaken island in the bowels of the Aegean. Who needed it? On the other hand, tonight's expedition promised some diversion. It was always a pleasure to take out some jerk who was specializing in making a bloody nuisance of himself. If he could assassinate the chairman of Renault, he figured, he could handle this asshole guard.

Moreau had brought along Stelios Tritsis, reasoning that a native Greek could best guide them up this rugged mountain, but he also had Helling's two Stasi fuck-ups. Merde! What a lousy idea it had been to include them in the first place. Ramirez had lost sight of his better judgment.

He looked back to check them over. They were carrying he RPG-7, as ordered, but he doubted they had the slightest idea how it was fired. Though possibly they were teachable retardates.

He revolved and stared up the mountain, wondering whether the blockhouse contained any technical apparatus that he had to be wary of. Maybe, he thought, I'd better just use a stun grenade… What was that? He checked through the IR scope of his Kalashnikov just to be sure: one of the giant radar dishes was turning.

What in hell did that mean?

Then he caught a flicker of light from the blockhouse. So he bastard was in there. But was he trying to pull something?

Okay, time to get serious. The place is well away from the radars and antennas. So just send a stun grenade through the door and take out the fucker's eardrums. No frags: no muss, no fuss. Then clean up the place at leisure.