Project Cyclops Part 80

Vance watched this, wondering what to do. Was this the golden moment to try and take him? There were only the Pakis outside to worry about. . .

But Ramirez was already moving, grabbing Mannheim by the arm. Abruptly he stopped, turned, and took aim at Vance, somewhere precisely between his eyes.

Vance blanched. Jesus! Go for the Walther and get it over with.

But before he could move, Ramirez laughed and slipped the hand holding the Beretta into his pocket, then gave a nod of his head, beckoning.

"Mr. Vance, I think I would like to have you join us after all. You're right. We still have a few matters to settle." He stepped aside and motioned. "But the time has come to bid farewell to Andikythera."

Ramirez was still dragging Mannheim along as they pa.s.sed through Launch, pausing only to nod lightly toward the two Pakistanis, who immediately snapped to attention and followed. Amidst all the excitement of the pending launch, n.o.body seemed to notice. They pa.s.sed through the outer door and onto the tarmac as an ensemble, Ramirez holding Mannheim by the arm and guiding him.

7:31 A.M.

Bill Bates looked through the Sikorsky's wide windscreen and saw them coming. The time had arrived, he realized immediately, to make a move.

Now or never. The Israeli's attempt to pull out early had just been cut off at the pa.s.s, so why not see what would happen if the scenario got shut down entirely?

He reduced the power, listening to the engines wind down, and rose.

"Guess my part of this is over," he announced. "You've got a go system, so have a nice day. I'll be seeing you around."

Peretz' eyes momentarily flashed confusion, but he was wily enough to recover immediately.

"Your help has been much appreciated," he smiled quickly. "Thank you for checking everything out."

Should I tip off Number One, Bates asked himself. No, that flicker is n.o.body's fool; he's already way ahead of this little twerp. And the second he sets foot in here and sees that dead German hood, there's going to be a lot of heavy-duty explaining to do.

Now Peretz was moving jauntily down the Sikorsky's folding steps, carrying his Walther with an air that proclaimed nothing amiss.

Time to get out of here, Bates told himself. There's going to be h.e.l.l to pay.

He rose and headed down the stairs after Peretz as rapidly as he could.

"Mike, where've you been?" He waved at Vance. "We can't go on meeting like this. What do you say we just pack it all in and go sailing?"

"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 h.e.l.l 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, s.h.i.+fting 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 relations.h.i.+p, the element of trust."

"I never knew our 'relations.h.i.+p' 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 s.h.i.+rt and circled his fingers around the Walther.

He had been right.

"It's over, you little son of a b.i.t.c.h." 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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 d.a.m.ned 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 s.h.i.+elding himself from the downdraft as he tried to stand up. "The f.u.c.ker 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 h.e.l.l 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d had it timed exactly." Bates glanced at his watch. 'That's just a few minutes."