Thomas Hoover - Project Cyclops

"Fine with me," Vance yelled back. "No time like the present.”

At that moment, a shot rang out from somewhere in the direction of the fallen gantry, whereupon Peretz whirled, leveled his Walther into the mist, and got off a burst on full auto. Emptying the clip.

The scene froze, like a tableau. Vance's first thought was that Peretz had overreacted. Nervous. And probably with good reason. But at least Cally was trying to do her share. The problem was, the quarters were too close.

The two Pakistanis were still standing on the tarmac, not quite understanding what was happening, but Ramirez sized up the situation in an instant. He shoved Mannheim up the steps ahead of him, ducked into the protection of the Sikorsky's open door, and then turned back. Peretz was slower, caught standing on the foggy tarmac next to the bottom step. When he realized his Walther's clip was empty, he fished another out of his pocket and quickly began trying to insert it.

"That won't be necessary, Dr. Peretz." Ramirez's voice was like steel. "Let me take care of it." Whereupon he leveled his Beretta 9mm and shot a startled Abdoullah squarely between the eyes. Before Shujat realized it, he shot him, too, point blank in the left temple.

"What in hell are you doing?" Peretz yelled, watching them fall. He was still trying to shove a new clip into his automatic, but now he was losing his touch and it jammed. "That's not how we-"

"I suppose you thought me some kind of fool," Ramirez replied, shifting his aim. "It's time I laid that fond illusion of yours to rest once and for all."

"I don't appreciate your tone of voice." Peretz was still struggling frantically with his Walther.

"And I don't appreciate you trying to make off with this helicopter. We have just lost a crucial element of our relationship, the element of trust."

"I never knew our 'relationship' had all that much trust in it." Peretz looked up defiantly. "We had a business arrangement. I've kept up my end to the letter."

Vance watched the exchange with mixed emotions. He realized that Peretz, being no idiot, knew the situation had just gone critical. He had begun stalling for time. It wasn't going to work.

But after Ramirez finishes with this computer clown, he told himself, Bill and I are next. And with that thought, he reached around under his shirt and circled his fingers around the Walther.

He had been right.

"It's over, you little son of a bitch." Ramirez fired point blank into Peretz’ chest. The Israeli jerked backward, stumbled, and crashed, slamming his head against the hard asphalt. He didn't move.

Uh-oh, Vance thought. Now it's our turn.

He was standing next to Bates, while around them were three bodies of terrorists. Ramirez, however, was safely inside the open doorway, out of range for Cally.

Does she realize what's about to happen?

She must have, because just as Ramirez leveled his black Beretta to finish off what he had started, there was another burst of fire from the direction of the gantry. It was the diversion Vance needed. He dove for the tarmac, rolled, and extracted the Walther he had shoved into his belt.

Come on, baby, keep giving me cover.

"Mike," Bates yelled, seeing the pistol as he, too, dove for the tarmac, "shoot the bastard. Now."

Vance aimed for the doorway, but it was already closing, the steps coming up. Sabri Ramirez was not a man to engage in gunplay for the fun of it. He was about to be gone. A second later the main rotor, which had been idling, immediately began to whine into acceleration.

"We blew it," Bates boomed, his voice now almost drowned by the huge GE turboshafts.

"The Hyena," Vance muttered, pulling himself up off the asphalt. "Headed back to his lair. And there's not a damned thing anybody can do about it."

"Not with Isaac on board," Bates concurred. "Sorry I yelled. You really didn't have a chance." He was shielding himself from the downdraft as he tried to stand up. "The fucker is getting away without a scratch. Looks like he pulled it off."

"Right," Vance said, watching the giant Sikorsky begin to lift. "But maybe there's one thing left we can do. How about trying to remove that bomb"-he pointed up at VX-1-"before that thing goes up?"

"What in hell are you talking about?" Bates turned to squint at the silver spire. 'There's no way."

"Well, I don't know, what about using the Agusta? It's probably still flyable." He had turned back to watch the Sikorsky bank into the thinning fog. Ramirez was just barely visible through the windscreen, smiling as he disappeared into the mist.

"There's no time. Peretz told me that VX-1 is set to lift off at seven forty-eight. The bastard had it timed exactly." Bates glanced at his watch. 'That's just a few minutes."

"No balls," Vance snorted. "Bill, for godsake, let's give it a shot. Maybe we can at least disable it, turn it into a dud."

Bates was still dubious as he gazed upward. "Buddy, I don't want to be hovering over that thing when the Cyclops kicks in. Do you realize-"

"Come on, where's your backbone." He waved to Cally, who was now coming around the corner of the gantry. 'Thanks for not shooting me."

"When I saw Ramirez start killing everybody, I assumed you two were next. It was then or never." She looked exhausted.

"You assumed right. We were on the hit list. Thanks." He kissed her on the forehead, where her hair was still plastered. "Now will you help me talk some sense into this guy? I say we could at least try to mess up the bomb before the Cyclops launches it. They've got it programmed for Souda Bay."

"You're kidding." Bates was transfixed.

"That's what he claimed. Come on, let's… hang on a second." He turned and trotted over to the doorway of Launch, where he seized a coil of electrical wire. "This may come in handy." Coming back, he punched Bates' arm. "Let's give it a try. No guts, no glory."

"Souda Bay. Christ!" Bates glanced again at his watch. "Mike, we've got less than nine minutes."

"I copy," Nichols said into his mike. "When did the chopper lift off?"

"The AWACS picked it up at… just after 0730 hours," came the voice from the Kennedy. It was General Max Austin. "The bastards are bugging out."

"So what do we do now? Try and intercept them?"

"We're taking care of that from here. Fixed-wing. First, though, we've got to figure out if there really are hostages aboard, like they claim. But don't worry about it. There's nowhere they can hide. Your mission is still the same. Secure the facility. There could still be some of them left, so just interdict anything that tries to egress."

"That's a confirm. If it moves, it fucking dies."

Dawn had arrived, though the mantle of light fog was still adding a hazy texture to the air. The sun-up had a freshness that reminded Vance of the previous morning, the first glimmerings of daybreak. Now, though, visibility was hampered by the residual moisture in the air, just enough to give the world a pristine sheen. What would the morning look like, Vance wondered, if a nuclear device exploded at Souda Bay on nearby Crete? It was a possibility difficult to imagine, but the results were not.

Bates began spooling up the power, and slowly the blue-and-white striped Agusta Mark II started lifting off the pad. Fortunately it had been prepped the previous day and was ready to fly.

"This is going to be dicey, Mike," Bates yelled back from the cockpit, his voice just audible above the roar of the engines. "I don't know how exactly you expect to manage this."

"I don't know either," Vance yelled in reply. “Try and see if you can hover just above the payload bay. Very gently."

Cally was helping him circle the insulated wire about his waist, then his crotch, making a kind of seat. Finally he handed her the free end and shouted, "Here, can you secure this around something?"