Parsons was momentarily speechless. Things were totally beyond his control. "I seem to be expendable," he said.
"Not at all. We need you very much, Mr. Parsons. That should be apparent. You will give us the media exposure we want. Your presence will ensure that people pay attention to what we say rather than to what we do."
"What do you mean? What's the difference?"
"All in good time. We have to hurry. We have things to do. We are to meet Peter in two hours. Inside Thunder Mountain."
"But..."
"First, come with me."
Glinkov walked toward the back of the house. Parsons meekly followed. There was nothing else he could do. Entering the kitchen, Glinkov opened a wooden door that hid behind a flight of stairs. Glinkov motioned for Parsons to follow him downstairs. The basement was illuminated by a single overhead bulb. In one corner, two figures lay huddled against the wall.
Alan Reynolds moaned as the two men approached. The other figure, a woman, was lying facedown.
"What happened? What's going on here?" Parsons demanded.
"Mr. Reynolds has served his purpose, Malcolm. It wouldn't do for anyone to learn just how helpful he's been, would it?"
"But what..."
"That favor I mentioned? It's time to deliver. I want you to dispose of Mr. Reynolds. Now." Glinkov reached into his pocket and withdrew a small automatic pistol. The blue steel of the .22 caliber Walther PPK glittered in his palm. "I trust you know how to use this?"
"I won't do it. I'm not a murderer. I can't shoot a man in cold blood like this. What the hell do you think I am?"
"That's a question you might more appropriately ask yourself, Mr. Parsons. What the hell do you think you are? It will only require one shot." Glinkov extended the gun.
"No, I won't. I can't," he argued even as he snatched the gun from Glinkov's hand. He was beginning to sweat. "Don't ask me to do it. There's no point, no reason."
"Of course there is. He's seen me. He can identify me. We can't have that, can we?"
Parsons slowly raised the gun, pointing it at Reynolds and then at Glinkov. "I could shoot you, you know. I could do that!"
Glinkov said nothing.
He stared unwaveringly at Parsons. He had seen the man squirm earlier. He would do it again now.
He was broken. Parsons's last vestiges of self-respect had been stripped away. He would do what he was told.
Slowly, the gun was shifted away from Glinkov toward the whimpering man. Reynolds wouldn't feel anything; he was too far gone. Parsons knew that if he didn't shoot him, Glinkov would. And then the Russian would shoot the antinuke leader.
Parsons closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The report bounced off the basement walls. Parsons opened his eyes and looked at Reynolds. The bullet had hit him in the left temple. Blood pooled on the canvas beneath the dead man's head. The wound was raw and ugly. A thin trickle of blood oozed from Reynolds's open mouth.
Parsons turned away. Throwing the gun across the cellar, he bent over at the waist and threw up.
A series of dry, racking heaves twisted his gut into knots.
"Well done, Mr. Parsons. You have more backbone than I thought. Perhaps we shall enjoy working together, eh? Who would have thought it?"
"You cold, murdering bastard," Parsons whispered. "There was no need for that."
"No? Then why did you do it? It was you, after all, who pulled the trigger."
"You made me do it."
"Did I?" Glinkov retrieved the pistol and handed it back to Parsons. "Keep it. You'll need it before the night is over."
"What do we do with the woman?" Parsons didn't want to know the answer, but he had to ask.
"We'll take her with us. We will have use for her at Thunder Mountain. Give me a hand." Glinkov rolled the unconscious woman into a second canvas, then pulled her forward. "Take the other end. We'll take her out to the car."
Parsons bent to grab hold of the other end of the roll. The woman was heavier than he had expected. She had seemed so frail lying next to Reynolds.
The two men struggled up the narrow stairwell.
Back in the kitchen, they lowered their unconscious package to the floor. Glinkov reached back to turn off the cellar light.
"What about Reynolds?" Parsons asked.
"We needn't concern ourselves with him any longer. There is nothing to connect us with this place. It will be weeks before anyone finds him, if then. And by that time we will long since have accomplished our purpose. Let's go."
They hoisted the canvas roll again, Parsons grunting under the unaccustomed exertion. They dumped the woman in the trunk, but as Parsons moved to close the lid Glinkov stopped him.
"I think we better make sure she can breathe. Our cargo is rather valuable."
"Why..."
"I'll explain while we drive." Glinkov tugged at the canvas, pulling it down and away from the woman's face.
"Christ. It's Rachel!" Parsons rasped.
Glinkov laughed. "You must miss her on these cold winter nights."
18
Thunder Mountain was the largest reactor complex in the American northeast. Three nuclear reactors, each capable of generating two thousand megawatts, were nestled in the woods high above the Hudson River. Right from the beginning, the plant had drawn opposition, both from local residents and environmentalists. Construction of the project had been marked by riots and sit-ins. The first day the plant had gone on line, three hundred people had been arrested during a riot. Police records proved that few of those arrested lived in New York State. Thunder Mountain was a national concern.
Security measures at the plant were strict.
The entire complex was fenced in. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter twenty-four hours a day.
But things had been relatively quiet until Three Mile Island had had its accident.
Hordes of media people had descended on the plant, and the news reports had been full of footage showing the earlier unrest. Unlike many of the nuclear installations around the country, Thunder Mountain was located relatively close to a major urban center. Its public relations problems were tricky, and its attention to safety more scrupulous than most.
It had been cited by the NRC for its exemplary conduct in dealing with potential accidents on three separate occasions. That was about to change.
In the heavily wooded area behind the plant, Peter Achison went over his plans one final time. Timing, he kept reminding his small assault team, was everything. The first attempt might be the only attempt. If they failed to breach security and gain entrance to the grounds, the ball game would be over before it began.
The twenty-five members of the team had been divided into squads of three to five, each with a specific task. The greatest burden would fall on the initial attack team. All were heavily armed.
Each man carried a Kalashnikov assault rifle. Several of them also carried grenades stolen from a U.S. Army depot two years before.
"Any questions?" Achison asked as he looked from one member of the team to another. He had been drilling them for weeks and didn't expect any questions. He wasn't disappointed. "Everybody should be in position in twenty minutes. The first team should be inside ten minutes later. We'll open the rear gate and let the rest of you in."
Achison felt a rush of excitement. He hadn't felt like this since Vietnam. An Australian by birth, and trained in the Australian military, he had been assigned to U.S. forces for three different tours. Each time he had kept his eyes open and his mouth shut. But much of what he'd learned had been wasted. Until now.
"Remember. No shooting unless absolutely necessary. In order for this operation to succeed, we need hostages. Let's move it."
The assault team broke up and each squad moved quickly to take up its assigned position. Achison would lead the initial attack.
The others, including a backup team assigned to crack the rear access gate if the frontal assault failed, were led by Eli Cohen. The remaining members of the team would wait until access had
been achieved. Achison led his men through the woods, circling toward the front gate. They kept well back from the fence, which was regularly patrolled by two-man guard teams in Jeeps.
The perimeter of the plant was large, and the four teams made continuous circuits, passing a given point at half-hour intervals. The main gate was well lighted and guarded by six men at all times.
Security had gotten somewhat lax after the Three Mile Island incident had died down, but Achison knew his task wasn't an easy one. Surprise was crucial.
As they moved through the woods, Achison kept an eye on the fence. He wanted to get a fix on the sweep cycle kept by the patrols. A fifteen-foot strip of cleared land ran along the inside of the fence to allow passage for the Jeeps.
On the inside of that strip were more woods, and beyond that, the buildings of the reactor complex. As they neared their goal, one of the buildings vented steam in a huge cloud. The noise was nearly deafening.
"Shit, no wonder people don't like these things," one of the men whispered. "I wouldn't want to hear that in the middle of the night, either."
"That's why we're here, asshole," somebody laughed. "We're gonna shut it down."
Achison kept silent. Only two other members of the team knew the actual purpose of the raid. It was one of Glinkov's cardinal rules that information be parceled out jealously on a need-to-know basis. Even Parsons had no idea how big the operation was. But that didn't make any difference, Achison thought, because Parsons would soon be out of the picture. He had served his purpose.
"All right, let's slow it down. We're getting close."
Achison held up his hand.
"I'm going to move in for a look. Wait here."
He slipped into the trees, making a wide arc to his left. Ahead, he could see the glow of the lighting at the main gate. The next ten minutes were critical. They were so close. He didn't want a mistake now. Worming his way through the trees, he cursed as snow, dislodged by his passage, cascaded down his open collar.
Fifty yards from the access road, he could see the guard station. The main gate appeared to be closed but unlocked.
All six men on duty were present. It was best to know where everyone was. Achison had seen perfectly ordinary missions fall apart because someone had gone off and returned at an inopportune moment. That would not happen tonight.
Achison returned to the rest of his team and filled them in. His intention was to vault the fence and come on the gate from the inside. It would be easier to control the guards and reduce the possibility of a confrontation.
"Look, the next patrol is due in four minutes. When they pass, we'll wait another five. That will give us plenty of time before the next unit comes in. Remember the TV cameras. Louis, I want you to take one out. But just one. Anything more than that will attract attention. Get it now, but keep your eye out for the Jeep."
Louis moved away and headed toward the fence. An electronics specialist, the surveillance camera posed no problem for him. He was back in three minutes, grinning.
"Man, this is gonna be a piece of cake." He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "I'm almost disappointed, man. I thought we were gonna have some excitement."
"You want some excitement, just screw up. I'll show you more than you can handle," Achison warned.
"No sweat, man." Louis laughed.
So far everything was going like clockwork. Achison checked his watch. Eli should be in place now, he thought. He hoped his second-in-command didn't have to hit the back door.
A rumble in the trees alerted the men. The next patrol Jeep was making its pass.
"Quiet everybody," Achison whispered. "As soon as they're gone, get ready. We hit the fence in five minutes." The men sat quietly on the snowy ground as the Jeep rumbled past. It was so close, they could hear snatches of conversation from its occupants. Thirty seconds later, it was gone. It was time to go to work. Achison stood and gestured to the others. "Let's go." They checked their weapons and moved toward the fence.
The chain link was topped with coils of concertina wire. Getting over would be tricky.
"Louis," Achison whispered, "is that wire hot?"
"Nope. And I already cut it over by the camera. Just left it in place so the patrol wouldn't notice anything."
"Nice work." Achison thought the guy was too cocky by half, but he did good work.
"Like I said, man. No sweat." Louis tossed a grapple over the fence, letting it catch on the inside of the chain link, then hoisted himself up to pull the concertina wire aside. He continued on up and over, landing with a thud on the inside of the compound. The others followed, their Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders. Twice, a rifle rattled against the fence. When the five-man team was inside, Achison gave the sign. Swiftly they moved toward the guardhouse at the main gate. All six men on duty were inside. Approaching from the windowless backside, the assault team lined up against the rear of the guardhouse and split in two.
Two men moved to the side away from the gate where they could cover the guards through a window. The remaining two moved to the opposite side, ready to force the door.
Achison stayed in the middle where both teams could see him. When the cover team was in place, he signaled the others. The guards were caught napping.
Four men were seated at a table, playing cards. One was making coffee. The sixth man was lying on a cot, watching the card game.
The guardhouse door burst open with a slam, breaking two panes of glass.
"Nobody move. I mean nobody, understand? Hands up. Now! And don't even think about that alarm button, pal."
Louis was in his glory. He wasn't even sure there was an alarm button, but that's what they said in all the movies. How could it hurt?
Without warning, one of the men at the table pulled his .38 revolver. He got to his feet carefully, backing toward the nearest wall. Partially concealed behind another member of his team, Louis raised his Kalashnikov. The guard reached back with his hand to find the wall. It was a standoff, until Louis fired a burst. The rifle hammered, its noise deafening in the small room. Louis had aimed high.
The burst slammed the guard into the paneled wall behind him. The man grabbed his throat as if to prevent the bullets from striking it. He was too late.
Blood spurted from behind his fingers, staining his shirt and spattering the wall behind him.
No one moved, as if they were all waiting for the echo to die. Then Louis said, "I hope one of you guys has a spare shirt. We were counting on those uniforms." He laughed once, a brittle bark from deep within his throat. "Come on, guys, get their guns. We're on a tight schedule here."
Quickly the other guards were disarmed. Forced to strip off their uniforms, they were then herded into the bathroom of the guardhouse where they were bound and gagged.
The antinuke raiders quickly put on the discarded uniforms. Achison grabbed a large ring of keys and tossed it to Louis.
"You and David get out to the rear gate. Eli's waiting. Take the Jeep outside. Make it fast."
"Right, chief." Louis snapped off a sardonic salute. He was beginning to get on Achison's nerves. Either he didn't realize just how serious this was or he didn't care. Either way, he could be a liability. Well, there were ways to handle that, too, Achison thought. He watched the clown hustle out to the Jeep, relieved not to have to listen to him for a while. And he had work to do. They would have to clean the bloody mess to preserve the appearance of order.
The next obstacle would be the Jeep patrols.
There were four of them, and each had to be captured and replaced. The best place to handle the switch would be at the back gate. Eli would handle it. Anything, an employee going home sick, an unexpected delivery, hell, even a routine late shift arrival, could upset their plans.
Achison checked his watch again. Glinkov would be here any minute. And Parsons. Wait until the bastard found out what was in store for him. Louis roared off to let Cohen and his men in. At the rear entrance he hopped from the Jeep, fumbled with the keys and finally un
locked the gate. Cohen waited in the trees until the gate swung open. The next patrol was due any minute.
"Louis, you and David stay with the Jeep. Put the hood up, like you're having trouble. We'll be in the trees. When the patrol gets here, get the drop on them. We'll back you up. We'll take all the guards out the same way. As soon as that's done, bring the rest of the men to the guardhouse."
"Right."
It worked to perfection. The surprised guards were stripped, bound and gagged, then dragged into the trees.
Two of Cohen's men replaced them in the Jeep and moved off. Cohen thought it ironic that, having taken control of the power station, they had also taken on the responsibility to protect it.
"Louis," Cohen said, "I'm leaving you in charge. I have to talk to Peter. Handle the rest of the teams the same way. When you've nailed them all, meet me at the guardhouse. Got it?"
"Sure thing."
Cohen sprinted off toward the guardhouse, keeping toward the trees to avoid the next patrol. He reached the gate just as a car pulled through. It was Glinkov and Parsons, but where the hell was Rachel?
Glinkov got out of the car as Achison locked the gate. It would not open again. "Peter, I see everything is under control. Mr. Parsons ought to watch you carefully. He might learn a few things."
Achison laughed. Parsons might learn something, all right. But it wouldn't do him any good. "How did things go on your end, Andrey?"
"Very well. Malcolm took care of Mr. Reynolds for us. Very neatly, I might add."
Cohen rounded the corner of the guardhouse.
Glinkov spotted him first. "Eli, any trouble?"
"No. Everything is going according to plan."
"Good. I have Mr. Parsons, as you can see. The next phase should go rather well, I should think."
"It should. As soon as the perimeter is secured, we better start rounding up the staff. There should be about thirty people on duty tonight. They're spread out, so we'll have to be careful. One reactor's down and one's still under construction. Unit 1 is the only one operating tonight. We'll take the main control room first. From there we can monitor communications and make sure we keep a lid on this until we've consolidated our control."
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